Planet Genocide I (Galaxies Collide Book 3) (9 page)

Empty cars filled the intersection, the drivers and their passengers now fleeing to the north as Davis’s eyes widened, biting his lower lip, ‘Sergeant! We need to stop them getting into the subway system…we will never contain them otherwise…’

The middle aged sergeant spun round, his expression aghast as a police helicopter swept overhead, ‘It’s probably too late…it’s the army’s problem now! We just evacuate as many as we can…let’s hope they can hold them!’

The sounds of automatic fire swept across the intersection, shouts from the soldiers as they turned to look in the direction of Brooklyn Bridge, an army officer indicating to them frantically, ‘The forward units are engaging on the bridge…the enemy must be coming across…’ He spun round to face his twenty plus men, ‘Get ready…they will be here soon!’

The black armoured figures advanced, cutting down all the people that were too slow to run or offer any resistance. Two taxi drivers had driven directly toward a unit of Morgon soldiers, their yellow cabs crushing four armoured figures against the river wall. Dragged from their seats, the brave men were hacked to pieces, the blood sweeping along with rainwater and gurgling into the drains.

A group of seven male youths, cornered in an alley, had attempted to charge four of the aggressors, their bodies pushed back as they kicked and punched frantically until finally they stood defeated, gasping and bruised with their backs to a wall. Tears had filled their eyes as the tall armoured soldiers stood over them, their eyes glowing in relish as a commander approached, his armoured fist clamping round the nearest boy’s throat as he pleaded in fear, lifting the youngster from the ground, his legs shaking as his eyes bulged with the pressure. A cackle came from the helmet as the youth slowly died, the light fading from his eyes as a sickening crack echoed across the enclosed narrow walls. The three other armoured soldiers drew long blades from their back armour and advanced on the other teenagers, the screams of terror cut short as limbs and torsos were hacked to bloodied pulp.

Several people just stayed in their cars, mesmerised and inactive in their terror as the black armoured bodies moved around their vehicles. One by one the side windows were smashed, glass crunching under armoured boots as the elderly and young alike were dragged from the vehicles and slaughtered, shrieks of relish and victory filling the air as the blood drenched armour advanced to the north.

Beneath the city streets, the water levels were beginning to rise in the storm drains, two maintenance workers hurrying to complete the reinforcement of a bowed tunnel wall. As the slurry rose around their boots, the middle aged men worked feverishly to secure angled supports against the damaged brick and cement, their breathing laboured as they glanced warily round into the darkened tunnels.

One nodded to the other in the light of their helmet lights, ‘We’d best head south to get out…the water is rising fast…lets finish off here and get to the next exit point.’

His long term moustached colleague grinned from experience, used to his friend’s worrying, ‘It is just water…we have probably another twenty minutes before it gets too high…’ He slapped his crewmate’s shoulder, grinning widely, ‘Come on then…let’s get you back to that feisty young Latin wife of yours…’ He shook his head shrugging, ‘How you have the energy to work after each night with her…I have no idea buddy!’

They trudged through the deepening water, heading south for the river and following the twisting tunnels, their fluorescent jackets glowing through the darkness as the helmet bulbs cast shadows and extended images of their bodies across the walls and water.

Then the two figures froze, one man turning to the other in confusion, ‘You hear that? Is that gunfire?’

The moustached man stared ahead to the next corner, his ears straining, ‘Cops are chasing someone down?’ He grinned again reassuringly, hearing muffled screams, ‘They have probably got him judging by the reaction…the next exit to the street is just around the next turning, I will look out first…’

The sludge water splashed against the side walls as they progressed to the bend, their hands extended on either side to steady footing. Turning the corner, the light from grille at the end was dull, their pupils contracting initially as they raised their hands over their eyes to stare. A muscular silhouette stood near the exit, the tall figure slightly lowered as the light from the end to the storm drain behind glistened against the wet body armour.

The two men stared, red piercing eyes sweeping across their figures as a hand rose, the sharp blades glistening in the weak light. The figure was over seven feet tall, the two overweight men turning sharply in the tunnel and wading away, their chests heaving as the realisation of danger filled their minds…the black armoured frame striding boldly forward against the current, the double sword blades sparking across the tunnel walls.

Overlooking Arromanches-les-Bains on the Normandy coastline in France, Kurt Hausser moved his binoculars across the town below, staring though the darkening trees on the steep slope at the foot of the cliff before him. The lights of several bistros and cafes twinkled through the darkening sky, several patrons stepping from the main doors to glance around nervously and investigate the commotion, the wailing siren distracting them from enticing menus and the venue music.

Blue police lights flashed across the streets before the museum, the Gendarme van turning in the carpark as several black dressed policemen and women spoke with the concerned residents and tourists. Panning the binoculars out towards the wide seafront, Kurt moved to the right to see past the trees, their branches swaying slightly in the evening breeze as a police helicopter circled overhead.

The German smiled to himself as he saw the lone figure walking along the deserted beach, his eyes widening as he saw the three dogs running near their master, the tails furiously wagging as the man walked slowly away from the town. He sighed, shaking his head and smiling dismissively at the lone figure’s tenacity or stupidity, ‘Dummkopf!

Panning the binoculars back, he moved them to look down the central street, the main coastal road from east to west. Three or four sets of headlights were driving slowly along the thoroughfare, the drivers staring out warily at the police officers stood on the pavements as many of the cafe customers began to slip back inside to their meals or bottles of wine.

He lowered the glasses slightly as his wife’s worried voice echoed across the motor homes towards him, ‘Kurt, kommen sie!’ The muffled sounds of the vehicle engines drowning her out as the motorhomes were being moved closer to each other.

Raising the binoculars again, he stared back over the town, adjusting the zoom, considering the alarm was nothing, perhaps a manhunt in the local area as he jumped slightly, a police car sweeping past on the road next to the car park, its siren wailing.

Mitch’s voice was nearer, the American walking slowly back towards him, a bottle of beer in either hand, ‘Herr Hausser…I have brought you a Budweiser…’ He grinned, ‘We have ‘circled the wagons’…come have a hotdog.’ The man stepped carefully in the darkness, hearing the dogs beginning to bark behind and tutting, ‘Have we seen anything yet?’

Kurt turned slightly to look at the silhouette approaching, ‘Nothing…it must be a manhunt or local alert…most people have gone back into the cafes now.’

Mitch swigged from one of the bottles as the German raised the binoculars again, his voice almost a forced whisper, ‘Just one more look my friend, then we have a beer…sorry, I think I am too jumpy…’

The American shook his head, ‘No problem my friend…we all need to be careful these days…’ He drew near the German, extending the Budweiser towards him, ‘Here have a drink and we can discuss the units that were in Normandy…I understand your grandfather was here…’

Mitch strained his eyes as he saw the German twist the zoom once more, moving the glasses over towards the beach, Kurt speaking sideways to him, ‘My grandfather was originally in the 76
th
Infantry Division, apparently stationed away from the coast, but on D-Day he brought supplies up just before the invasion…I do not know if it was here or further…’ He adjusted the zoom on the binoculars once more, staring out over the dark water as waves crashed innocently against the beach.

The American nodded thoughtfully, ‘Interesting…my grandfather was in 101
st
Airborne during the war. Did yours fight anywhere else?’

Kurt glanced round briefly, then raised the glasses back to his eyes, ‘He was on the Russian Front and at Stalingrad…’ His voice tailed off as he stared through the binoculars once more, his body tensing and stepping forward.

Mitch’s eyes widened in surprise, impressed by the mention of Stalingrad. The German strained his eyes, seeing the dogs in the distance against the light sand barking furiously, the lone figure seeming to stare briefly towards the water, then turn to run. He drew breath, the American leaning forward and staring out in response as Kurt watched the figure scramble with urgency up the beach, the dogs barking and circling around the man, seeming to urge their master on.

Holding his breath, Kurt moved the glasses slowly back to the right, his eyes straining in the fading light. Mitch cursed the barking dogs from the car park, their owners muffled swearing and scolding going unheeded as the animals seemed to bark even louder and more furiously.

Then the German drew breath sharply, his hands furiously twisting the zoom as he stared out onto the light beach. A lone black figure ran up onto the sand, the silhouette seeming tall and inhuman as it dropped to a crouch, the body bulked with armour as Kurt stared open mouthed. Then more and more figures ran from the waves, their assault rifles and weapons drawn from their backs as they approached their commander, his arm rising and pointing towards the town.

Kurt gasped as hundreds of tall black armoured figures now struggled from the breaking surf, Mitch leaning forward with curiosity as the German whispered solemnly with dread, ‘Mein Gott…das ist de Ende!’

Morgon regular troops in their black armour advanced forward towards Arromanches-les-Bains, some onto the main east-west road, the rest along the beachfront. Kurt staring in morbid fascination as the figures approached the village, the helicopter changing direction suddenly, sweeping forward as the pilot glimpsed the shadows against the sand.

The flames ignited and swept upwards as the chopper banked sharply, two missiles closing on their target as the pilot fought his stick, the helicopter soaring upwards and banking once more as the engine roared, the first missile exploding on the tail as the vessel spun round, smoke billowing from the engine. The second smacked into the cabin, the flash spreading across the sky the burning remains fell from the sky into the trees below.

Screams came from the carpark, flames and dark smoke billowing through the woods as shadows flickered between the tree trunks. Mitch turned, grabbing Kurt’s shoulders as they lunged back towards the parked vehicles, his voice a shrill shout, ‘Time to go my friend!’

The black armoured figures advanced down the road, two Gendarmes at the edge of the village crouched down behind their police car and raised their automatic pistols, another grasping the sub machine guns from the trunk. The two police officers shouted a warning, their eyes wide with horror at the sheer number of figures emerged from the hedgerows and started advancing towards them. There was no response as they opened fire, the pistol bullets ricocheting off the approaching armour as their eyes widened further in rising terror. Bursts of machine gun fire followed, the Morgon soldiers shuddering as the bullets bounced off the heavy resin body protection, their large weapons rising as one of the French policemen shouted frantically in alarm, ‘Allez!’

As the police officers turned to run, armoured piercing bullets sprayed their vehicle, the tyres exploding as the car sank downwards. The engine block exploded, the bonnet rising into the air in flames as the officers were thrown forward, their bodies bouncing heavily against the tarmac. Flames tore through the vehicle as the fuel exploded, the police officers scrambling away, the Morgon troops reaching the burning car.

The Gendarmes sprinted along the street, one glancing round in terror as the black infantry raised their assault rifles, his warning scream cut short as the numerous flashes filled the darkness. The large calibre bullets burst through chests and groins as bones shattered against the high velocity rounds, blood and matter splattering against the tarmac as the policemen fell, dead before their bodies hit the road.

Screams filled the French coastal village, sporadic gunfire breaking out as the Morgons cut down any people that emerged onto the streets or ran. Restaurant and café windows shattered inwards as the armoured infantry broke into the brightly lit establishments, two bladed swords slashing down on the diners and staff alike. The soldiers fell on the tourists and residents, wine bottles and plates clattering across the floors as people attempted to escape, running in terror from the razor sharp blades that swept from side to side.

High calibre bullets cut through the tourists and residents that ran into the street, car tyres screeching as a few lucky people made it to their vehicles, the drivers accelerating eastwards from the town, their cars climbing the winding road through the trees towards the viewing car park above.

The majority of the armoured infantry marched into the town, their alloy boots clanking against the tarmac as they advanced into side streets to clear the village of life. Further camouflaged armoured grenadiers moved to assume defensive positions on the rises at the outskirts of the buildings as more and more reinforcements rose from the waves.

Walkers began to deploy on the beach, mechanical legs extending from underneath the hulls as the spherical armoured bodies were dragged from the surf. Further heavy equipment and metal boxes were carried or dragged forward, most destined for the town ahead as tracked carriers bounced over the sand, the water pouring from their rear protective shields.

The tyres of the motor homes screeched across the carpark, pebbles and dirt thrown into the air as the wheels gained grip and sped forward. Awnings and plastic chairs were swept to the side, crashing against vehicle sides as barbecues were overturned, the burning charcoal spilling across the carpark. The large vehicles swerved out onto the road, heading east towards the next town and the intersection heading south away from the coast.

Ahead of them, the lights of the small town of Asnelles twinkled across the night, a foreboding darkness already occupied by Morgon grenadiers.