A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #234

A Year Underfoot

 

June 26th, 2034

Nearly one year since the invasion. One year in and I’m still here. I’m still alive. Not many can say that.

Not anymore.

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A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #233

A Year Underfoot

 

June 25th, 2034

We kicked over a beehive, that’s as best as I can describe it. We kicked over a beehive. One minute we were swooping down out of the hills, one hundred strong, full of fight and fury, and the next, it was every man for himself, running for our lives.

Once the power grid was hit, all bets were off. The Fuzzies woke up. Either we’d spurned them into action, or the hibernation – the festivities – the observance, whatever it was keeping them locked away, was over. And here we were, presenting ourselves to a blood hungry and revitalized enemy looking to get back in the game. Our timing couldn’t have been worse.

But, how were we to know?

Thousands of troopers poured from the base like angry wasps from a disturbed hive and the skies filled with warbirds too thick and too numerous to detail. It looked as if every ship they could muster hung in the air over the base and the snap and crackle of Threak blasters filled the night and sealed our fate.

The attack was over before it had even begun. There was no way I could breach the base, not a chance.

I cut west across the Interstate and ran for a stand of trees bordering a small dry creek bed and followed it for a few hundred yards before it rose up and disappeared into a clump of Manzanita bushes grown wild over its banks. From this point on the small creek ran beneath a dirt farm road for a mere twenty feet and emerged on the other side in an equally obscure manner. Rather than risk making a break for it across open fields, I chose to hunker down inside the narrow pipe and wait it out, – a routine that’s become all too familiar.

Two days and a half of a dozen close calls later, I slipped out of the creek bed and headed west. I didn’t stop moving until I’d dug myself deep into the brush on the Pacific side of the Coastal Range and let the events of the past few days wash over me. I’d escaped the Fuzzies by the skin of my teeth once again, but this time around I feel differently about surviving the close call. Rather than being elated, I feel as if the luck the Universe has graciously extended to me over the past year has finally been exhausted and that my next skirmish with the Threak may be my last.

If that’s the case, then I d better make it count.

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A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #232

A Year Underfoot

 

June 24th, 2034

We attack at midnight. That’s the call. Two squads of forty will strike the power grid while another crew of twenty will attack the south gates. Once the grid goes down, I’m slipping onto the base and my mission begins.

I’ve got a lot to go over, so I’m going to have to leave it here.

I’ll catch you on the flip side.

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A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #231

A Year Underfoot

 

June 21st, 2034

I woke up before sunrise to the sound of a single gunshot ringing across the hills. I sprang to my feet, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I did so, and as I gathered my wits about me, the unmistakable rapid-fire report of automatic weapons shattered the still of the predawn hour. Short bursts, followed by long bursts, followed by short bursts, – and then every manner in between echoed far and wide across the lonely landscape. A real hay maker was taking place somewhere to the south, but exactly where, I couldn’t put my finger on it. All I knew for sure, it was automatic weapon fire, and only automatic weapon fire, not a Threak blaster to be heard amongst the cacophony.

My heart sank, – are people fighting people?

Please, God, no.

I secured my area and turned my attention to the south. I stowed the supplies I d gathered up over the past few days and struck camp to investigate.

By the time I left camp it was silent. Twenty minutes had passed since the last of the gun play had rattled my nerves and as I was about to turn tail and head back to camp I heard voices coming over the next rise.

People!

One by one, they stepped out of the darkness and strode into view. I recognized them straight off, it was the kids from No Mans Land, – still alive and well, and armed to the teeth.

I called out to them and they called back, and after we’d spent a few minutes catching up they told me what they were doing so far north.

They’d come to attack the air base.

I listened as they began to lay out their plan and I took it all in, all the while wondering how to dovetail my plans with theirs. When Saunders, the leader of the bunch, described how they were targeting the power core, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest. If they succeeded in taking the power core, I was in. No two ways about it.

After I d chipped in my two cents about the layout of the air base, I let them in on what I had in store.

I told them everything, from the earliest visions, – down to my plans for the mothership.

Their support was immediate.

I couldn’t be more grateful. I now had my diversion.

I m really going to get a shot at the mothership.

I really am.

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A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #230

A Year Underfoot

 

June 20th, 2034

A lone fighter craft lifted off of the tarmac early this morning and shot off to the west, – one warbird, – not the customary three, – just the one. One single fighter. Quite out of character for this bunch. Strange.

As for the rest of the base, crickets.

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A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #229

A Year Underfoot

 

June 19th, 2034

Day three. Total lock down. Not an alien in sight.

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A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #228

A Year Underfoot

 

June 18h, 2034

Thirty one hours later, and nothing but crickets.

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