"Benny?" Crank just about loses her marbles seeing her guy wandering up the gravel path, rubbing his hands together.
Benny double times his step, sees Thurman playing keep up. "Hey, kid, give me a minute with the mechanic, okay? Run ahead and tell Roy to gather whoever's left on this side for a powwow."
Thurman chops off a resounding salute. "Sir, yes sir!" He marches off to victory.
Benny slows to a stop, watching Thurman go as Crank runs up. Stopping is good, for his leg is throbbing again.
"Vecchio! Your leg! You hurt the same--"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah! Cone here, you!" He takes his gal by the hand and pulls her into the fort's horseshoe enclave, the interior to enter the many barred fates and doors to the gun platforms, communications offices, etc. They dodge those establishments and cross the grassy field for the other side of the horseshoe, the darkened hall leading to the latrines. The smell needs work, it obviously saw battle, but privacy is king here.
"Benny, I--"
Crank loses more than words. The Brown Bear ignores his pains, picking the little lady up off the ground, putting her back to the wall. Wasting no time, he plants one on her. A big, deep, abiding kiss, mouth open, as forceful and manly as it is soothing. Crank stares a second, then softens. She goes limp, boots pointing down, fingers dangling. She allows her mouth to open, lets Benny steal her breath, lick her front teeth. Crank lets in happen for an eternity, and then, her legs wrap about her man. She turns her tongue into a spear, jabbing into Benny, making his gums and face flush with heat. He rocks back as she pushes in.
Inside her big boots, Crank's toes curl up tight. Then...
"Okay, baby. Okay! We gotta stop. I'm..."
He lowers her to the ground. Benny straightens his jacket and hair. "Right right. You're a good Catholic girl. Gotta remember. Those massages were swell, but, I'm not tryin' to shame Signore Musa's pride and joy!" He steps back, hunches over, pushes down pain and the powerful drive within to go all the way.
"Si, marriage before the big one, Big Guy." She zips up her ST jacket to hide the chest she thinks is exposed, and stands with her knees bent in, hair over her bright face. "Heh, least I'm warm now, huh?"
"Yeah, kid. me too. I, uh, thought about you the whole campaign. Was afraid, a lot of times that I wouldn't..."
She places a finger to his lips. "Best not to say it out loud, yeah?" She plants a small kiss on his chin, then brings in the embrace. "I'm so glad you're safe."
"Thanks."
Just as fast, she pulls away, and slaps his chest. "What? you think I didn't notice the leg is still bleeding? Come on, Vecchio! You should have it bandaged up right before you see me!"
Benny flinches. Kid's got a good hard palm. "Are you kidding me right now? We're at death's door every minute, and you play hot and cold? Give a guy a break, Crank! I'm busting my behind up there--"
The lady crosses her arms after brushing back some of her shadowy hair. "Benny..."
"We had Slicks literally on top of us--"
"Benny." The back arches. a foot taps on the ground. Crank pokes out her lips, squints her eyes.
"I missed you. S'that a crime?"
"Yes! It's a crime to not take care of your health first! the guys need you! Salem needs you! I need you! I need you alive and with a brain that works!" She gets to storming off.
"But, what about the kiss?"
"That was amazing, but it's no excuse! March!" She's at full gallop now.
"Crank!"
Going, going...
"Crank!"
Gone.
Shoot! Darn Italian broads! Swell a guy all up one second, pop his balloon the next! "Crank! Hey, Crank, wait! Okay, okay, I'm coming already!"
***
"Yes Kiss her for me, kiss her a hundred times. I love you too." Roy Fuse hangs up the telephone in the communications room. His other hand wipes tears from his eyes. He can't believe it. By God, he's glad it works, his tricking the comms, but it's unbelievable.
Alternating frequencies works. Got through to Seabrook Farms. Solid test run. That's a plus. Company and people are still alive after the attack, no major dilemmas, they said. Wasn't expecting them to put Chiyoko on the phone...
He chokes back tears. This war has been so brutal for him. Correction. It's been so fast for him, there hasn't been time to stop and think. Fuse has crisscrossed the United States, taking notes, doing experiments, ducking for cover, for over a year now. No rest. No quarter. No meditation. Special Technologies kept him running, so much so he'd forgotten why he had been angry last year, this year even. But Motherville brought it back, right along with childhood memories. The voice of his wife on the telephone, the tired voice of a younger woman working twelve-hour days six days a week or else, that voice, socks him right in the kisser.
The Tucson mission, October of Forty Three. Out in the desert, taking readings on the crashed plane we later found out was a Slick reconnaissance probe. Heh, the old man who showed it to me and Mechanic Furth drove us in that old Model T Runabout held together by wire and rust. Thing banged like a dozen busted drums. But we hauled it back to the ST research bay, a Quonset hut of all things. It was then that I found out about Chiyoko and Mary Sue. Man, the way Furth said it when he got off the telephone. Cold, a hint of joy. 'Yeah, your wife and daughter were rounded up by the Feds, told to go to Air-ee-zone-uh to sweat or New Jair-zee to work.' I thought, really thought, he was a swell guy, not like the other whites I'd been paired with. But then...'yeah, tough luck bein' a Jap an' all. Guess you might see 'em once we blow your people to Kingdom Come. Don't be too glum.' Bastard even gave me a friendly handshake after. I had considered our friendship alive and well til he killed it. When I worked from home, I had assurances my family would never be relocated because of my position. They waited. They waited until I was sent away--
He realizes he is still holding the telephone by the handle and slams it down. Chi sounded so bad. So...
More tears push out, overriding his futile attempts to calm down. She' s a seamstress for crying out loud, not a day laborer! He's losing it, and he knows it. Fuse shoves his body out of the old chair and heads outside. He sees Crank storming off, Traveler Haskins limping behind her. Glad he got back...my God, they probably have Mary Sue slaving in the field too. She's only nine. Nine!
He pinches his eyes shut, as if pain is a bright light he can deter by looking at the dark. Work. Work has been my salvation. I jumped right back in once you found ST wouldn't let me get them out of the dilemma. Not that I didn't try...
He had. Special Technologies set out a task force to find their expert in frequencies once he went AWOL two days after getting the distressing news. Roy was able to get home to California, but he found an empty house, one turned upside down, neighborhood kids his wife once babysat for busting the windows out with rocks. Not since childhood had the hate come at him so. He grabbed a shovel and chased them around the house. On the the second circuit, the ST Aerosedan pulled into the dirt driveway. Seeing colleagues point guns at him, well, it brought out a new reality. Was he ST's scientist, or captive? Why wouldn't they send his family with him?
"My face is lonesome. It does not feel the security of your rising chest beneath it at night, my love. Our daughter, though, is so strong." Chiyoko's last words on the line before a man instructed her to return to work. Okay, Motherville. Fine, War. That's that, Racism. Fuse slinks back into a corner of the room, and gives into the crushing weight of his sadness.
***
"Ow!"
"Be still, you big baby!" Delvin Parks, son of a nurse, has a load of skills under his belt. Closing up wounds with needle, thread and fire are but one. The pain of the stitch, however, does not go unnoticed. Out of the seven G-505's Fuse sent to Fort Mott, there are three survivors. Add to that La Donna and the planes, and this constitutes the 'camp' the remnants of Salem County's fighting force resides in. The coverings of the trucks have been connected into a circus big top tent. Darkness abounds, save for some light coming from an opening to the south and the golden glow of electric lanterns. You'd think they were in the bowels of Anzio. Then again...
"What did you say? Ow!" Haskins jumps. Crank and Thurman sit him back down.
"Um, Traveler Big Baby. Right?" Parks pauses from the work to smile at Benny. He gets back a face only an enemy could love. Humbled, he returns to the stitch-work.
"Anybody seen Fuse? We need to get this thing started fast. What if Motherville launches another attack while we're resting on our laurels?"
Benny huffs. Kid's right, as usual. "We'll wait. Hey, Thurm, turn on one of Fuse's fancy aluminum radios and let's hear what's going on with the war."
They look at him like he's lost his marbles.
"What? We gotta keep informed, right?"
Crank fidgets. "If we were getting help, it would have come by now."
"We need to be sure. Slicks traveled south, and what pilots we have left followed. Is Cape May intact? Have we heard back from the ship on the other side of Pea Patch? A half-brained Naval admiral would send the fleet our way, what with Germany and Japan supposedly dead in the water. Are they?"
Heads hang.
"We know we're not alone anymore. We can't give up now."
Parks finishes the stitch, sets up some quality bandaging and reattaches the metal leg brace, adjusting it to bear more weight. "That should make walkin' better. Should, anyway."
Crank watches as Benny gives it a go. He stands and moves with ease, much to his surprise. The spring adjustment is perfect. It's as if there's no pain. Almost.
"You do good work, Delvin!" anybody pitching in on mechanics makes Miss Musa beam.
"Jack-of-all-trades, master of none," Parks does some beaming of his own.
Thurman moves for the radio, and turns the dial til it gives a reassuring click. Let the games begin.
***
"MOTHERVILLE IS FREE--"
ZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
"MOTHERVILLE GROWS FOREVER--"
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTT
"Eins- Eins- Funf- Eins--"
ZZZZZZZZTTT
She has them all, it seems. Then, speaking amidst the sounds of hardworking typewriters:
"...reports coming in from the eastern coast of the United States are grim, but not fatalistic. I, Henry Charlton Beck, have returned to the studio here in what remains of Trenton after an extensive journey across the breadth of southern New Jersey. From the burning Victorian manors of Cape May to the smoldering piers and train yards of Paulsboro, I was there. This will be a brief first hand account of our efforts in the war against the robots. Public knowledge has it that the military might of our Army has been sent into the state. However, the bulk of our brave men are so far spread around the globe that, though considerable effort is being made on the part of President Roosevelt to recall them, the numbers available for the most recent battles have been less than desired. As such, the robotic queen known as Motherville has succeeded in absconding many radio stations. it is estimated she has taken over seventy-four percent of our airwaves from Philadelphia to Annapolis. Many years ago, I wrote a book on the forgotten towns of southern New Jersey and, having spoken with many natives there, can attest to the veracity of their resolve. We must note that, despite the dual strokes of excitement and doubt, the beautiful marshes and people of Down Hersey will endure, and remain.
However, small forces in a new brand of fighter aircraft have liberated the city of Wilmington. Cape May, having been burned to the ground mostly, lives to fight another day. Casualties are estimated at one hundred American dead, and another two thousand or more injured.
Police in Jersey City fought a titanic battle against the so-called Slicks in the warehouse district. A search of the many warehouses after the struggle uncovered a laboratory of sorts. The battle was legendary, the air smothered by the toxic fires of explosives and diesel fuel. Scientists under the control of Motherville had in their possession hundreds of women, each under various states of consciousness, some attached by the brain to bizarre devices straight out of science fiction. A few women were dead, their bodies piled up in freezers, but all of them had a common origin. each lady was a worker at the Republic factory in Farmingdale, including many from other companies as far north as Canada. The police suffered greatly for the vaunted prize, but their efforts prove the resilience of the American character, that we shall not go quietly when faced with unbelievable adversity.
I can confirm that the air war over Cape May is over, that our pilots won the day, but at the cost of their own lives. Their remarkable airplanes went down, but took the enemy--
"Turn it off."
They gawk at Benny. Crank snaps. "But you said--!"
"Just for a minute. Seems you and me, Parks, plus Wilkes, are members in a very small club now. We need a, uh, moment of silence."
They take it. On the chin and to the heart. Crank sobs and leans on her guy. Parks offers a prayer. Thurman salutes the radio. Jake enters the tent to witness the memorial and is quick to remove his helmet.
Minutes fade away.
"Turn it back on. Let's see what we have to work with."
Fuse's voice startles the group. No one heard him enter. "Mourning will have to wait, I think. We've a grave task before us. Traveler Haskins?"
Benny looks back, considers the words, and nods. "Yeah. yeah, he's right. We bury the dead after the battle's over. One more to go. Welcome to the festivities, Fuse."
Parks seems shocked. "Let's hope so." He goes off to scrub his hands as Thurman retakes the dial.
Crank rolls around to offer Fuse a weak smile. "Are you alright? You look like you've been..."
"I'm fine, Mechanic. Shall we listen?"
"GROW , GROW, GROW, MILKMAN COME GROW WITH ME--"
ZZZZZTT
"--JEALOUSY BECAUSE MY GROWTH OUTPERFORMS YOUR FRAGILE RACE--"
ZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTT
"...wir sterben! Das Schiff abgeben! Hi--"
ZZZTTTT
"BECOME ONE--"
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
"Convoy of jeeps and assorted vehicles by the hundreds are pulling artillery, making their way to secure Wilmington whe-z-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
"SUCCUMB."
ZZZZZZZZT
"SUCCUMB!"
ZZZZZZZTT
"...and this message will be repeated every hour on the hour. Vice President Truman, speaking from a secure location, had this announcement moments ago: 'My fellow Americans, in this hour of excessive duress, when even the well rationed households of the common man is besieged by hostile forces, we must not forget that we are the last standing force able to oppose these assaults from artificial forces. I have spoken with President Roosevelt via telephone, and he has received a guarantee of fighter aircraft from the Soviet Union, a boon from our Stalinist ally. As I speak, the durable MiG fighters are, this very moment, keeping the skies of our West Coast safe and sound. We believe the robots to be soundly defeated there, but caution must be exercised. While some may shrug with disdain at the fingers of Communism casting shadows over our land, we must not forget that they too have suffered greatly, aided us against the German war machine, and have their own epic encounters to tell about the beast called Motherville.' I have full hope that the United States will SUCCUMB TO ME, MILKMAN/HASKINS. WHY ARE YOU SILENT?"
Benny hits the radio with a wrench. "Shutup. Shutup already!"
Fuse moves to the radio and shuts it off as the wrench method proves ineffective. "Gentlemen, and lady, I apologize for the delay. We all have our personal crosses to bear." He takes a few seconds to lean on the machine before facing them. "Apparently we can only glean so much from local broadcasts, but enough is enough. Let's get to planning this thing out." He gulps. Chiyoko is on his mind, not Motherville. Calm down. Feel the quiet.
Benny hops like a bunny, further testing the brace. Satisfied, he gives Parks a jovial shove. "Yeah. Let's."
***
"Trap. Whole thing's one big trap." Arms locked over chest, Benny leans back on the truck.
Fuse sees every head nod to the sentiment. "Is there any other way to proceed other than springing the trap? If so, I'm unaware of it."
Everyone surrounds a circular tire playing table, command central. On it, a map of the river and Pea Patch Island, with the coasts of southwestern Jersey and northeastern Delaware. It's a harried object, burned at the edges, ripped in the center. But if it ain't broke, heck, even when it is...
"She has given us one point of entry," Crank butts in before Benny can fume. "Here." She places a petite finger on the spot, right around the bend of the fort, the next road over. "Finn's Point Cemetery. According to Benny, the road Motherville constructed hits ground there. We can't all fly in. We can't blow up the bands around the island. Unless we convert the vehicles into boats, the road is it."
Thurman groans. Goldman sits down, defeated. Parks hides his mouth under his hand, to keep the group from seeing him bite his lips. Benny starts pacing.
"One way in, a setup for sure."
"Well, we're more than willing to initiate the invasion on our end," Roscoe Turner comes through loud and clear. The Fuse ingenuity again pays off. "Motherville hasn't sealed up the entryway from the dock yet. But the bands are widening, growing, like serpents. And, we can hear something, screaming earlier, a machine moving, probably a weapon of some kind. Whatever we do, we'd best do it fast."
Benny looks up at the tent top. "Wilkes in the tank robot ought to be a good first wave, especially if you and Gray provide cover fire from the ship. Hit hard, hit fast, don't stop moving. So few of us left, but it's arguably only her and some weapon. I guess..."
Fuse and Crank exchange glances, then, "But?"
"But what?" Benny kicks the tire. "I don't have any buts for you! This is nuts! We're it! us against the world, or a thing that comes from another world and has its resources at her disposal. We go in, we bomb, we shoot, we make like berserkers, we probably die. But maybe, a big, uncertain maybe, if the wind blows right, we kill her too."
Fuse observes Crank. The men begin to pace.
"We'll get out there and play ranger, Traveler Haskins. You have repairs to make. We'll light up the land while you get things done, buy time. Agreed?" Turner sounds solid. Good. He's the only cat in this whole mess who does.
Fuse nods. Crank keeps getting the feeling he isn't all here, but doesn't risk asking nosy questions. "Roy? Sound good to you?"
He's starting at the ground. "Uh-huh."
"Yeah. Clock's ticking. Salem County is falling apart. Can't begin to imagine what folks are going through." Benny gets out a hearty sigh.
Goldman does too, in sync. "Ones that didn't get outta town, you mean. With all due respect, sir, I'm not in ST and I lack rank, but I opt for waiting."
Benny eyes him. "Right." The Brown Bear sees faces in turmoil. My God, they're looking at me for hope. "But, we can't wait." Pause. Watch. Still putting faith in me. Me! Okay then..."As a matter of fact, we don't wait. That's not us. We're movers and shakers, go-getters. She's dumb enough to give us an open door, then I say we blow up the entire room."
Crank starts the switch, her cute pie walk of deep thought across the tent. Guys watch her. Benny feels the air is too thick to gripe about it. "Benny, you really mean it? I mean, you give us your all, but you doubt, well often." She loves her big lug, but she picks up on the indecisive exhaust he's spewing, despite the tough guy act.
"Oh baby, I mean it and then some!" He flexes. "When did Americans ever come up short on hitting back at the bad guy? We like the moral high ground, right? Don't pick a fight, but if one finds you, you make sure to finish it, yeah?" He points at Thurman, who gives a thumbs up. "Well, in those fights we bloodied whole countries. Never batted an eye. Millions dead. So what? They started it. Now, what do we have? We've got a killer machine. Yeah. Let it sink in." He waits, hands on his, like a football coach after chewing out his losing team. "Why get soft now? We came into this hard as steel. I say we go out like diamond. Every scrap of ordnance goes first. Wilkes storms the beach. Then, me and Parks do a flyover before joining Wilkes. We hit this weapon thing. Pow! Crank, if you can drive to the core of Motherville, hit her with that per-share novel what's it under the hood of La Donna--"
"Per-dimensional aperture? It makes sense once you told me about Doctor Zafra's research."
"Yeah, yeah, that thing. It seems to be something she didn't want, right? She ejected it here."
Fuse cuts in. He's snapping to it. "But, reports said she tried to get it back."
Benny closes in, so Fuse steps back. "Right, but what if it wasn't because she needed it, but because she didn't want us having it? If it makes scrambled eggs out of time, what could it do to her?"
Crank and Fuse look at each other. Crank stops her walk. Fuse scratches his head. "Heh. All our focus has been on frequencies and direct action, not the why's and how's of a side item. Miss Musa?"
Hands up in the air, Crank surrenders. "Okay, I've thought about how it might help us later, but not against Motherville. I, um, overshot the mark."
Benny punches the side of a truck and grins like a madman. "Hah! Score one for the common man! So what do you say? All for one?"
There's a moment if lag. You know the one. When you ask an important question, and the seconds it takes to get an answer elongate into eons? Yeah, that's where Benny is, tapping his foot, watching centuries tick off.
They crowd him, hands lifted and brought together.
"All for one!" It is the cry that has mattered most thus far. They find resolve in the words, solace in brotherhood. Crank gleams looking at her guy. Benny gleams too, for he actually has found the fire. He wanted the next war. He got it and spent it crying. Not anymore.
"We go in and rip her a new one. For Skinny, for Bobby, for Larry, the whole robot fighter group, Salem, the whole wide world. When we get there, I'll go in with Milkman, distract this broad long enough for Crank to ship her behind to the Dawn of Time." He sees his dead Great War buddies in the background, happy. "Like the guys and I yelled in the last war...'allons-y'!"
"Allons-y!"
***
She stands. In her Romanesque beauty, she stands. A gargoyle has fallen from its perch, some curved shingles with it, yet she stands. Her vaunted, gaunt cracked windows with the semicircle tops, a tingling white powder blows over her fat gray blocks of stone, but the Salem Free Public Library holds its own. Built like a bank, mistaken for a church for its proximity to Friends Cemetery, she stands. Salem endures.
In the cemetery, appearing dead in winter, the mighty branches of the Salem Oak reach out from the bulk of an impervious trunk. Centuries old, they say founder John Fenwick broke bread with the Lenape under the boughs of her great shade in 1675. Flanked by headstones great and small, the dead going back to the early days of colonization, she stands. Not one branch is split. Not a chip of bark fallen. Salem endures.
The Harley Servi-Car police motorcycle putt-putts down Broadway. John Crowe takes it casual. He had to see for himself. Is there anything left of Salem after the blight? He had to, not just as a policeman doing his duty, but as a Salemite. The library's presence, the immutable stance of the town's great Oak give him hope. Hope brings a tear to his eye, one that falls onto the shotgun balanced ever so gently on his lap as he drives.
As the motorcycle is caked white and his toes hum from it, he comes to the central intersection in town: Broadway and Market. There's the courthouse, second oldest in America. The old girl had been rebuilt and reconstructed a lot over two centuries. Looks like she'll need another facelift. A column has collapsed. Windows blown out. The brick wall facing market Street is blown in from a crashed Slick. But, folks are inside, hiding out. Some come to the hole on hearing an engine.
"Slicks! We ain't done fightin'!"
John comes to a halt and hops off. "Hold on now! It's me, Officer Crowe! Streets are clear, near as I can tell!" He approaches, shotgun pointed down somewhat. Townsfolk peek out.
"What's the story, John? Them robots still around?"
"Word is they headed south and got shot up but good. Motherville took over Pea Patch Island. That's the last battle to come, I hear. Y'all alright?"
"We're fine. Couple of us creep over to the bank now and again, check on the rest. Wall took a hit, but we just got some scratches. This survived though." They move back and bend over, and come up with a copper plaque:
TO KEEP IN PERPETUAL REMEMBRANCE THE
NAME OF
JOHN FENWICK
1618-1683
MAJOR IN THE ARMY OF OLIVER CROMWELL
PROPRIETOR OF THE SALEM TENTH
FOUNDER OF SALEM, NEW JERSEY, 1675
WEST JERSEY, 1681
THIS TABLET IS ERECTED BY THE SOCIETY
OF COLONIAL WARS
IN THE STATE OF NEW JERSEY, 1925
Just about brings old John to his knees. He reaches into the hole in the wall and insists on taking it. It's a heavy load, a strain on the back, but hope makes him a superman. "Thanks a million...we stayed and we survived. The history is here. The land is here." An Indian bloodline makes him glad ancient Salem County thrives, her rivers and creeks will birth fish, trees will host osprey and bald eagle come the springtime. Grass will grow. The sun will shine. Hell came and went. That means...
"We will go on."
***
Along the bank of the Delaware River, next to the grayish brown hills of Fort Mott, makeshift torches are welding, chop chop! Wrenches are pressed into hard service. All hands on deck! Milkman and her fighter plane partner need fixing. La Donna gets a front end redo. Labor. Sweat. Grease. Diesel. Grit. Crank. Torque. Burn. Refit!
From the prototype X ship, please note the following memorandum:
"Attention, Motherville. We are hopping mad and coming your way..."