Battle: Los Angeles
Mission: South Central
There are certain places that aliens should not try to invade.
[Author's Note: This story takes place soon after the story Mission: Downtown.]
Staff Sergeant Nantz awoke with a start, immediately reaching for his gun. Then he remembered: the invasion, the police station, the alien C&C, the downed communications ship –
"Good morning, Staff Sergeant," said a civilian, a middle-aged woman who was acting as an orderly.
"How long was I out?" said Nantz.
"Nineteen hours," said the woman, as she handed Nantz of cup of hot coffee. "To be expected. As I understand it, you and your men were on your feet and in the fight for two days straight."
Nantz nodded. He knew that one of the dangers of a high-stress combat situation was the feeling that you could keep going, running on adrenalin and willpower. You push yourself through the fatigue and the pain ... and then you suddenly collapse. So when the colonel, Ritchie, had ordered him and his men to take a break – Santos, Honorary Marine, was in the infirmary – he saw the wisdom of the advice, and lay down before he fell down. As did Imlay and the others.
As he downed some food from the table in the tent, he did some mental calculations. It was a bit under four days since the alien landing.
The colonel walked up to him and started to pile scrambled egg onto his own plate. Guy looked like he could use some sack-time as well.
"If you're wondering, we're holding them," said Colonel Ritchie. "They haven't got their air power back since you took down the command ship but they've got some pretty good surface-to-air. And they've established a solid beachhead, from Thousand Oaks to Long Beach. And they've still got their big ship in the water near Catalina Island. The experts say it's sucking up seawater somehow."
Nantz nodded as the two of them sat down at a table. "How are other countries doing?" he said.
"Mixed," Ritchie said. "One thing, though: everyone has chipped in to work on the translation of the Santos Stash. A team of linguistics techs from all over have already got some chunks of it worked out, and are writing a translation program. They say that if we can set up some transponders we might even be able to eavesdrop on their comms. That would help, since we really don't know much about them. We've managed to intercept a few signals from their advance units and it seems like they don't use code. Just speak in plain language. Plain for them, I mean.
"Which brings me to my next point. We need a team to go into an area on the front line and set up a transponder. It would be the last piece in a network. That's where you come in. You and your squad, and your Air Force liaison."
Nantz gave a grunt. "Where does it have to go?" he said.
Colonel Ritchie took a map from his pocket and unfolded it. "Here," he said. "It's an area where we haven't had any troops, so we don't know the level of alien activity."
Nantz looked at the map.
South Central.
He located and roused Imlay, Lockett, Adukwu and Harris, made sure they were re-supplied. They were eating breakfast when Santos appeared, saying she had "escaped" from the infirmary. Nantz explained the mission to them.
"South Central," mused Lockett. "Dangerous territory. And that was before the aliens."
"What's wrong with South Central?" said Adukwu.
Imlay, Lockett, Harris and Santos looked at him – and then laughed.
"The tech boys are preparing the transponder now," said Nantz, as he spread out the map. "It will be a couple of pieces, can be carried in backpacks. The best location is on the roof of a building here, the tallest one in the area still standing, according to drone surveillance. Called The International Mart, 155 West Washington Boulevard, northern end of South Central."
"How do we get in, Staff Sergeant?" said Harris. "The last time, with Moped in the chopper, didn't work out so well."
"Bushmaster light-armoured vehicle," said Nantz. "We go in, set up the transponder, get out. If we can listen to their signals, it will be a big advantage. And maybe the Navy boys will be able to launch an attack on their mother ship off the coast."
Lockett grunted. "Sure, we roll into one of the nastiest places on Earth in a light-armour truck, hump a pile of tech up ten flights of stairs and stick it together, avoid the ETs, and be back in time for dinner," he said.
"What's not to like?" said Santos.
They entered South Central, going west along Florence Avenue. The freeways had been smashed, as had most of the large buildings.
They were passing under the Harbour Freeway when they came across it: the scene of a battle. A dozen alien bodies; looked like a platoon of them had been caught in a cross-fire. They had been riddled with bullets from automatic weapons.
Lockett, driving, slowed as they passed. "I thought that there hadn't been any of our troops in here, Staff Sergeant," he said.
"That's what I was told," said Nantz. "But someone took these ones down pretty effectively. Fire points in buildings there and there, elevated position, waited until the target was in a kill box, another fire point back there to cut off the line of retreat."
They turned north onto South Normandie Avenue. In the distance, they could see The International Mart, the only tall building in the area.
And then they heard it: the chatter of gunfire, and the whoop-whoop of alien rockets.
"Sonia's Market, probably," said Lockett. "On our way, couple of blocks."
"Let's go," said Nantz.
It took them only a few minutes to reach Sonia's Market, a smashed-up mall. A dozen aliens were trying to make a stand in an intersection but were taking fire from all sides, guns firing from windows. The aliens fired a cluster-bomb rocket at one of the windows and the guns there fell silent, but the fire from the other points continued. Aside from the machine guns there was an occasional single shot, and each time a bullet whacked into an alien.
Lockett pulled the Bushmaster into an alley and the six of them got out. As they did so, they saw a pair of alien tanks coming along the road, cannons traversing to give covering fire to the besieged soldiers.
"Whoever is doing the shooting, it doesn't look like they've got anything that can deal with tanks," said Imlay.
"But we do," said Santos. "There's two RPG7s in the truck."
"Get them and load up," said Nantz.
Harris and Lockett took up firing positions, hefting the shoulder-launched anti-tank weapons.
The tanks had reached the middle of the intersection now and were spraying the windows with fire, providing cover to the alien soldiers.
"Mow 'em," said Nantz.
Harris and Lockett fired, and the rockets streaked across the open space, smashing into the tanks. The simultaneous explosions took out the tanks and the last of the alien soldiers.
There was a long silence as the smoke drifted away.
A voice shouted from one of the windows: "Yo! Who are you?"
"US Marines!" shouted Nantz back. "Friendlies!"
There was a long pause. Then the voice shouted: "Not around here you ain't!"
The six Marines looked at each other. "What the hell?" said Lockett.
Then, from a different building, a woman, black, with long hair tied back, emerged. She was carrying a sniper rifle. She headed for Nantz and the others. When she was only a few meters away, she stopped and looked at them.
After a while, she said: "Ignore Drive-by, he's an asshole. Good to see you. We didn't know if there were any of you guys left." She gestured for the others to join her, and a dozen men and women armed with automatic rifles emerged from the buildings. The two groups studied each other.
"Are there any more of you?" said the guy who had called out before, Drive-by. "Or is the US army only six grunts?"
"Re-grouping, getting ready for a counter-attack," said Nantz. "As part of that, we need to get into that building over there, 155 West Washington."
"Huh," said Drive-by. "You can't."
"Yeah, there could be a problem with that," said the woman. "I'm Shooter, by the way. And I guess we should take you to see General Mama."
It was a building a few blocks away, looked like it had once been a store that sold whitegoods. Shooter had gone on ahead, and Drive-by – somewhat reluctantly – led the squad through a maze of washing machines and refrigerators.
General Mama was a square-built older Hispanic woman, standing at a large table where an improvised map of the South Central area, with little cardboard boxes and blocks of wood representing buildings, was laid out.
She and Nantz shook hands. "Shooter tells me that you took out two alien pots," she said. "That's good, we don't have anything that can do that. All we can do is take out the grunts and then retreat when they call up the armour."
"Looks like you've done alright," said Santos.
"The General has got a good head for finding ambush spots," said Shooter.
"We know the territory," said General Mama. "It's ours. That why we're fighting for it."
"Didn't the army tell you to evacuate, soon after the alien landing?" said Adukwu.
"It's home," said Shooter.
"And the army is not much different to the cops," said Drive-by.
"What we need," said General Mama, "is heavier weapons. Some of those RPGs – you got any more?"
"Sorry, no," said Nantz. "But maybe we can have some brought in. It would be good if we could establish communications to the forward army base."
"But not radio," said Mama General, gesturing to a battery-operated radio set in the corner. "Their planes fell out of the sky a few days ago – we don't know why that happened – but if you use a radio they can target you with one of their rockets. We think they don't have a long range but they're pretty dangerous. Took us a while to realise that. Even a cellphone brings a load down on you. Lost some good people that way."
"They can't track landlines," said Imlay. "Maybe we can find one still working."
"Maybe ... a public phone," said Santos. "They have their own power lines."
"There's a phone box still standing in the next street," said Shooter.
General Mama took a battered helmet from a shelf and plonked it onto her head. "Let's go," she said.
As they left the building, Shooter leading the way, Nantz and the others saw people putting bottles of water and packs of food into boxes and loading them onto bicycles ridden by kids.
"Still a lot of people living around here," said General Mama. "People who didn't get the evacuation order or didn't understand it. Lot of people who are illegals or have cop trouble thought it might be a trick so they stayed. We're trying to get supplies to them. Taking it from supermarkets. If the people who own the stores have a problem, they're welcome to come and discuss it."
Santos pointed to a group of men loading weapons. "Gang colors?" she said.
"Yeah, that's where the guns come from," said General Mama. "When the aliens first rolled in, the gang-bangers put up a fight, but they were getting smashed up, fighting for their little patches of turf. I told them that if they didn't get their shit together, start co-operating, then I would personally tear them each a new one. Told them they can go back to killing each other once we've kicked the ETs off the planet."
"But they're tough critters," said Shooter. "There's been ones I've put six slugs into and they don't fall down."
"Weak spot is the side, left of where the heart would be," said Santos.
"Huh," said Shooter. "How do you know?"
"Took one apart," said Santos.
"General, what were you before all this happened?" said Lockett.
Mama General shrugged. "Nothing," she said. "Just another anciano."
"How did you learn about military tactics?" said Nantz.
Mama General pulled a tattered book from the pocket of her jacket. It was The Battles of Stonewall Jackson. She showed it to Nantz and said: "You know it?"
Nantz nodded. "Compulsory reading for Marines," he said. "Nothing better for small-arms combat. But maybe we can organise some anti-tank weapons for you as well."
"Good," she said. "One thing Jackson said was that you have to go on the offensive. So far, we've been defending, setting ambushes, picking them off. It's good as far as it goes, but you don't win a war that way."
"Damn right," said Lockett.
They reached the phone box. Nantz picked up the receiver. Then he realised: no change. He looked at the others of the squad. They all shrugged.
"Damn, I thought you guys were supposed to plan ahead," said Shooter, handing Nantz a quarter. "I'll be wanting it back."
Nantz punched the emergency contact number. After a long time, someone at Mojave Base picked up. Eventually, he got through to Colonel Ritchie, and explained the situation.
"Hmm," said Ritchie. "RPG7s for a bunch of gang-bangers? I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"They're a viable force but they need support," said Nantz. "I'll let their commander tell you herself."
He handed the phone to General Mama. "We need RPG7s, at least twenty," she said. "Heavy machine guns, 50-cal or bigger. Bullets for M16s and AK-47s, and for sniper rifles. Medical supplies, at the moment all we've got is illegal drugs and what we've salvaged from a pharmacy. A communications line. Night vision goggles. Got all that?"
Nantz could imagine Ritchie scratching his head.
"Not a whole lot of time to fuck around," said General Mama. "We're in the open and the neighbours have got big eyes. Put it this way, Army. My people have killed maybe two hundred of those suckers, and I've put seventeen down myself. How many have you iced?"
Ritchie said something. Mama General handed the phone to Nantz.
"Can you do all that?" said Nantz.
"Have to," said Ritchie. "She ranks me. Staff Sergeant, we'll send a chopper in with the supplies, as much as we can muster. It will be flying low to avoid the alien SAMs." They agreed to a place and a time.
As Nantz and the others made their way back to General Mama's headquarters, several kids on bikes passed them. "Scouts, as well as supply delivery," said Shooter. "Vehicles sometimes draw alien fire, we think because of the heat. Bicycles don't."
"A scout unit has already looked at the building you wanted, and it's not good news," said General Mama, as they returned to the map room. She pointed to the area. "The aliens have got an observation post on the roof, it's caused us a lot of trouble. Always four pots around the building, they're represented here by the jam-jar lids. And a couple of dozen soldiers in the building next door, right here, see? That's a big problem. So we haven't been able to launch an attack."
Nantz picked up one of the jam-jar lids and looked at it.
"Yo!" shouted Drive-by from the entrance. "There's a chopper coming this way, along West Manchester Avenue!"
"Uh, you mean above it, don't you?" said Imlay, as they all ran into the street outside.
"See for yourself," said Drive-by.
And, indeed, the chopper – an MH6 Little Bird – was coming along the street, not two metres from the ground. It landed in an intersection and the pilot jumped out.
"Hey, it's Moped!" said Adukwu.
"Hi," said Moped, shaking their hands. "How do you like my new ride? Couldn't get another Blackhawk, apparently it's one per customer. When I heard it was you guys I put my hand up for the job. I've brought as much as I could carry, not everything you wanted but enough to start with, I think. The colonel says they'll send a Bushmaster in tomorrow with more."
There were ten RPG7s amongst the supplies. Nantz, still holding the jam-jar lid, turned it over in his hands, thinking.
"Time to go on the attack," he said aloud.
"You sure you want to do this?" whispered Imlay.
"I was more sure back at base," whispered Shooter back. "Now we're this close, it's a whole different deal."
Imlay gave a soft little laugh. "And that's why you should never volunteer for anything," he said.
"You did," said Shooter.
"I thought that the Staff Sergeant wanted someone to get some beers," said Imlay.
Shooter smiled.
They were close to the alien encampment around 155 West Washington Boulevard, hiding behind a pile of rubble. Four tanks, with a half-dozen soldiers wandering about. More, maybe twenty-five or thirty, in a nearby building. That was the building that was the mission of Imlay and Shooter.
"I guess we could just go back," said Shooter.
"Retreat, hell," said Imlay. "We just got here." He checked his watch. "Let's go."
They crawled forward, slowly. Eventually, they reached the building holding the alien soldiers. They did what they had to do, hiding it at the corner of the wall, and crawled back.
They reached their hiding place. Imlay checked his watch again. "One minute," he said.
From a block away, they heard the engine of a pick-up start. It was coming their way.
On the radio they had secreted, a timer flicked a switch. With a burst of static, the radio came on.
Long seconds ticked by. The sound of the engine was coming closer. The tanks started up, turned their barrels towards the sound.
Then it began to fade, moving away.
From the other side of the street, another engine started up, and a van smashed through the glass window of a store – and the barrels of the tanks were still pointed the other way. The side door of the van opened, revealing a 50-cal, Drive-by behind it. A volley of heavy bullets smashed into the soldiers around the tanks.
There was another sound – the whooshing whistle of a barrage of alien rockets. Homing in on the radio signal, they smashed into the building holding the alien troops. The windows blew out in a cascade of glass. There was the sound of alien screams.
The van zoomed away, turning a corner. The four tanks went after it – and found themselves in a narrow street with buildings on either side, not more than ten metres away.
"Light 'em up," said Nantz.
The four RPG gunners – Lockett, Harris, and two of General Mama's soldiers – fired together. Each of the missiles hit their target – they could hardly miss – and all four tanks exploded.
"Outstanding," said General Mama, next to Nantz. "Stonewall would be proud."
"Mission's not done yet," said Nantz. He and his squad ran for the door of 155 West Washington Boulevard, Imlay and Shooter joining them there. Lockett, Harris, and Santos were carrying the components of the transponder.
Together, they ran up the stairs, an exhausting climb. But eventually they were at the door that led to the roof.
"We don't know what's on the other side, so be prepared for anything," said Nantz.
"Well, we didn't climb all those stairs for nothing, Staff Sergeant," said Harris. He kicked the door.
Nothing happened.
He kicked again.
Zip.
"Strong door," he said.
"Hey, try this," said Santos. She turned the handle and pushed. The door swung open.
"Very funny," said Harris.
"Laugh later," said Nantz. They burst through the door, scattering and hitting the ground. Firing.
There were four aliens there, only two of them were soldiers. They raised their guns but were obviously stunned at the sudden appearance of the humans. One went down to the concentrated machine-gun fire, but the other stayed up even after a series of hits. Then there was a single shot, and it fell.
"Damn, Santos, you were right, left of where the heart would be," said Shooter, as she reloaded her rifle. "Say, what did you mean when you said you took one apart?"
"Staff Sergeant, I think I'm in love," said Lockett.
"Later," said Nantz. He turned to the two remaining aliens. Unlike the others, they did not have guns grafted onto their arms, although they appeared to have comm-packs attached to their backs.
"Techs," said Imlay. "These guys are tech support. Not grunts." He gestured for the aliens to put up their hands. They did.
Harris and the others were already assembling the transponder, and connecting it to the battery.
General Mama came through the door and onto the roof. She was puffing. "That's a lot of stairs for my old legs," she said. She looked around. From here, you could see all the way to the ocean, although the alien landing encampment area seemed to be covered in a grey haze. "This will be useful," she said. "I'll get some guys to set up a post here for us. What are you going to do with these two?"
"Take them back, see if they can tell us anything useful, see if the equipment they've got can help us," said Nantz. "The colonel told me that some of our people were close to cracking their language. So some prisoners could be a good source of intelligence."
He looked south, towards South Central. A good part of it was smashed and ruined. "Looks like your home has taken a pretty hard hit," he said.
"Tell the truth, it was much like this before," said Shooter. "Except that the aliens were illegal and spoke Spanish."
"Almost hard to believe," said Colonel Ritchie, putting down the report provided by Nantz. "But it sounds like they're a tough bunch."
"Tough and clever," said Nantz. "Sir, has there been anything from the prisoners?"
"Yes, quite a lot," said Ritchie. "Once they got over their shock about us being able to speak their language – via a computer – they told us a lot. Apparently, no-one had ever told them not to say anything if they got captured. And we've also been able to tap into the aliens' communication network, thanks to the transponder you set up. It seems that all their officers are connected, some sort of cranial implant.
"On the bigger picture, it looks as if they're having some second thoughts. They've stopped trying to expand into Los Angeles, mainly they're just staying in their beachhead, with occasional patrols. Meanwhile, we've been building up our own forces. So you probably know what that means."
Nantz nodded. "Yes," he said. "I know."
END