The Fall of the City of Steel

Invasion

When James awoke, he saw two figures, both dressed in combat armor and wearing soldier's helmets. Each carried a submachine gun.

Frightened, James scrambled to his feet, only to stop sheepishly upon recognizing the two as Emilia and Tony.

James looked at the sky. Night was falling.

"Is it time?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"It's time," Emilia confirmed. "Here, take this."

She held forth a holster with a pistol.

"Oh god," James breathed. "You want me to carry a handgun, too?"

"Humor us here," Tony asked. "It won't get in your way or weigh you down."

"And we'll feel better knowing you can at least protect yourself if you have to."

"Man, I hope I don't have to," James whimpered, reluctantly taking the weapon.

After exchanging a silent nod with Emilia and Tony, he then followed the two back to village.

There, the brave fighting men and women of the village stood, arrayed according to Acridoidea's plan. On the outer rim, one warrior crouched behind each metal barricade, except in the direction of the iron mine, from which the invaders were expected. There, two warriors hid behind each barrier, whispering comforts to one another. Deeper in, past the farms, lay the trench. A measly four feet wide, this emplacement was dug just shallow enough to permit the warriors inside to fire their bows. The village's shorter fighters had for this reason been relegated to the outskirts. Within the trenches, warriors debated their chances of survival, while others stared distantly at their growingly enigmatic leader, who crouched in the middle of the trench next to a radio. Still more stared up at Rico's tank, unrecognizably encased in traditional wooden architecture, and wondered at its abilities. All the rest simply peeked up from the trench, staring unblinkingly into the forest.

Inside the huts, the weak or untrained would sit and wait. The braver of these gathered together the children and distributed the foreigners' strange armor amongst them, then guarded them. The rest would cower in the corners, or dare a peek out one of the windows, or deliver messages between warriors and their loved ones in the huts.

The Pershing, the most mobile of the tribe's fighting assets, rested on the less defended side of the village, ready to meet an assault from the other side or to reinforce the front lines within a minute's notice. Her crew, once safely settled in, waited in the grim silence that suddenly seemed to envelope the entire village. As the darkness deepened, speech fell to hushed whispers. Fresh, unseasoned meat- food provided by the tribe- sat heavily in the stomachs of the city-born crew members. Once more, Acridoidea demanded a check-in from her radio-equipped five-woman scout team haunting the forest beyond the village.

"Lycalopex," she called, "What do you see?"

"Nothing, Acridoidea, I keep telling you," the scout leader replied, trying to remain patient. "We'll call you if we find anything wrong."

Unsatisfied, Acridoidea set about a fresh round of check-ins.

"Rico," she asked, "Everything normal?"

"Yes, ma'am," Rico dutifully responded.

Had Acridoidea paid more attention, she would have noticed in his voice the telltale, stiff-lipped drawl of one attempting to speak with a cigarette in his mouth.

"Struthionidae?" she called next. "Is everyone settled in?"

"I think so," answered Struthionidae, who stood by the helicopter, guarding Buthoidea, Jerry, Waldo and Dr. Piasecki. "Buthoidea?" she asked, "Are you okay?"