Battle for Earth: Journal One (Shockwave Book 1) Read online

  BATTLE FOR EARTH

  Shockwave, Volume 1

  Hammer Trollkin

  Published by Shockwave Publishing Company, 2020.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BATTLE FOR EARTH

  Second edition. June 30, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Shockwave Publishing Company.

  ASIN: B089587LJV

  Written by Hammer Trollkin.

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  BATTLE FOR EARTH (Shockwave, #1)

  PROLOGUE. Journal One.

  BEGINNINGS. | Chapter One.

  INVASION. | Chapter Two.

  COUNTERSTRIKE. | Chapter Three.

  THE MARTIANS. | Chapter Four.

  BY THE DARKSIDE OF THE MOON. MOONSTRUCK. | Chapter Five.

  BY THE DARKSIDE OF THE MOON. THE BIG PICTURE. | Chapter Six.

  BY THE DARKSIDE OF THE MOON. PUSH BACK. | Chapter Seven.

  INTERLUDE. Between the Storms. Viz. Roll.

  JOURNAL AID SECTION.

  TERMS AND DEFINITIONS.

  SHOCKWAVE TEAM EXTREME FORCE MULTIPLIERS (OUR CAPABILITIES). An early rendition.

  OPERATION BUGBLAST. An AI synthesis composition project.

  About the Author

  To my grandchildren, who helped reignite the imagination of my youth. To my wife and children, for encouraging and tolerating an author’s frequent muse.

  PROLOGUE. Journal One.

  The world was in crisis even before the invasion. Humanity was polarized. Nations were crumbling, crushed by immense pressure. Pressure from within, pressure from without; civil wars and the clash of entire civilizations. Then the aliens invaded and changed everything.

  As the new terror entered the world, their evil intentions brought at least one good outcome. We, the people of Earth, are united as never before. Goodness abounds, people helping people. Perhaps humanity has finally chosen the path of righteousness.

  It is possible this dreadful time is the prelude to an epic war between good and evil. I think it is. If you pause for a moment, you can feel it the depth of your soul, like a breeze whispering through the trees. Growing in intensity. There can be no doubt that the force behind the invaders is evil. That is apparent from the actions of our enemy. They are ruthless, without mercy, filled with hate.

  I find myself longing for a war that will not only set us free, but a war to shake the very powers of darkness throughout the heavens.

  There can be no simple path forward. The force behind the invasion has overwhelming technological superiority. But we are an unusual people, practiced in the art of war. Humanity even holds a few technological advantages of our own.

  One such advantage is a special forces team with the squad name, Shockwave. In destroying a DARPA laboratory, the enemy introduced an unintended consequence, a unique team with unusual capabilities. Call them what you will, gifts, abilities, capabilities. Some in the military use the term Shockwave Team Extreme Force Multipliers. Well, someone did use that term in an article at the MilitaryAtTimes site.

  Join Shockwave in this call to action, to take up arms in the ancient conflict between good and evil.

  We are Shockwave, an appropriate name for our team. Shockwave is what we are, more than that, it is what we must become. Our team will make a difference in the conflict. Perhaps you can too.

  ***

  + BEGIN TIMELINE DROP.

  This is a journal. As Keeper of the Journal for Shockwave, I often come across information developed at a future date. The details can be dropped into the Journal where appropriate. In that way, the Journal is a living document.

  END TIMELINE DROP. +

  ***

  *COMMUNAL is a level 10 or higher Artificial Intelligence. They also write in the Journal from time to time. No one can stop them. Communal is still a bit of a mystery, with no certain classification. I think you will like them. I do, most of the time.

  ***

  There is a Journal Aid Section in the back with definitions and a brief section on Shockwave capabilities.

  BEGINNINGS.

  Chapter One.

  August 5th. Grandad invited me and some of my friends on a tour of the new science laboratory that just opened near Seattle. Journal Note: At the time I didn’t know Grandad worked with DARPA, Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. I just thought he was a brilliant scientist. Well, he is a brilliant scientist but the DARPA work was a secret. Almost no one knew of that. He has worked with other government agencies as well, usually within his area of expertise, Artificial Intelligence (AI) systems. Since last year, Grandad has been semi-retired. Now he works when he wants, still as a government contractor.

  It’s not actually August 5th as I’m writing this. That’s the day we went to the lab and all this started. I’m writing this after the actual start of the invasion. We’ll get caught up soon, I promise. The government wants us to shelter in place, to stay at home. They’re dropping supplies curbside house to house, so we don’t have to go out. At least, that’s what’s happening here in my neighborhood. I hope it’s like that where you are. It’s not safe anywhere out there. Anyway, I have the time now to get this Journal going.

  Hold on one minute. Where are my manners? Before we get into this, I should introduce the team.

  ***

  INTRODUCTIONS

  I’m Viz. Well, my given name is Elizabeth. They named me after Granmom, whom I loved dearly. Still do for that matter. Perhaps there is a kind of grace in her not living to see this terrible invasion. Everyone used to call me Liz. But now you may as well think of me as Viz. I’m seventeen, close to eighteen. And I can turn invisible, totally invisible across the entire electromagnetic spectrum. Viz. Get it? Invisibility is my ... gift.

  I am fond of all things related to science and technology, can’t get enough of it. I also like to write, at least as a hobby. We’ll see how this Journal thing turns out. My school guidance counselor has been pushing engineering. She thinks chemical engineering is a good fit. But I like the notion of journalism. Dad says engineering is the more likely path of the two occupations, to NOT end up living at home in the basement. Point taken.

  So, I’ve been taking the classes that will help me with an engineering degree program. A lot of math. Still, I’m torn between journalism and engineering. My indecision is making the college situation a little tough. It’ll work itself out.

  Or it won’t. Here I am writing about schools and guidance counselors. How stupid is that Viz? It’s meaningless, with what’s going on in the world. Clinging to the past. There are no colleges in my future. Not with the invasion. And now I’ve sprung a leak of pessimism.

  Anyway, I live with my parents, John and Amy, and my sister Mia. We live in Gig Harbor, WA. That’s close to Tacoma, and even Seattle. We live in a nice house; I guess. It has 3 bedrooms and 2 baths. I’m thinking it should have 3 baths. Right Mia? Mia is Para. Or, Para is Mia. This is harder than I thought. We’ll get to her in a minute-

  Or maybe not. The Emergency Alert System is screeching. Something bad is happening. We’re still getting used to all this. Grandad is calling us to the basement. I’ll be back. I hope.

  ***

  + BEGIN TIMELINE DROP.

  NOTE: Los Angeles was hit hard by the invasion. This post helps to capture the horror in those early days of the invasion.

  It’s from an Intelinet report posted by The Daily Grind, titled This Is What Invaded Us! It’s from a political editorial post, but the reporting is accurate.

  The F
irst Los Angeles Rampage.

  Forensic journalists have pieced together scenes of many tragic personal events that occurred during the Los Angeles Rampage. We derived the information in this report from legally obtained street camera footage and a household security system (usage authorized). A family member, who personally survived the rampage, allowed us to review security system footage and granted an interview.

  The young lady had a difficult time with the interview. How could she not? It was clear, the brave soul would never be quite the same, not after all she had been through because of the invasion and rampage. With that, here is the report.

  The street camera shows twenty bugs coming around a corner and rushing down the middle of a narrow neighborhood roadway. There is the sound of a loud crack from a high caliber rifle. A bug falls. An eerie rasping wail comes from the group. The sound is loud and odd, as though it is coming from a hundred throats. It is decidedly mournful. Perhaps this was a close group of comrades.

  Another shot rings out. A bug staggers, then raises a tube and fires. The house at the end of the block erupts in flames. One of the bugs is pointing, evidently giving out commands. The larger group splits off into smaller groups of four and five, each heading toward a house, two houses on one side of the street, two houses on the other side.

  One group is moving toward the front door of a bright yellow house with brown trim, a pleasant two-story ranch home. There is a decorator flower box below a sitting-nook window. A light breeze has set a pair of chimes in motion. It is a beautiful sound, not at all suited to the rampage about to take place. Inside is a husband and a father, attempting to save his family. He is frantic.

  John finally got his wife situated. He came in the back door, moving quickly through the kitchen, into the living room. It hadn’t been easy, but he had convinced his wife, Mary, to go out the back door and get into the crawl space beneath the house. It was a deep crawl space that had been cleaned up and made into a storage area. John asked Mary, he pleaded with her, to turn off the flashlight as soon as she was settled. And to stay quiet. He had called for his daughter. He wanted them both down in the crawl space. His daughter, Miranda, had not responded.

  With Mary situated, John could focus his attention on hiding Miranda. There were sounds outside. The bugs were coming. He started upstairs to find his daughter. No time to get her to the crawl space. The attic was accessed through a hatch in the ceiling of Miranda’s closet. There she was, finally coming down the stairs. He took her by the wrist and half dragged her back upstairs. They were running out of time.

  John ran to his bedroom and grabbed the old duck gun he had laid on the bed, an old 12-gauge Mossberg. Too bad it had the plug in, the gun could hold only three shells at a time. No time to pull the plug. He gathered some extra double-aught buckshot and stuffed the shells into a pocket. John thought he heard a noise on the front porch.

  He started yelling again at Miranda, she must get into the attic. Her mom was already safe in the crawl space. He would come for them after he handled these bugs. The front door crashed open. Miranda did as she was told.

  John hurried down the stairs to the living room. Bugs. He fired and pumped. One of the bugs took a direct hit to the face and collapsed, dead before it hit the floor. John fired again, pumped, fired again, pumped. Too much adrenalin. He was shaky. The bugs were moving. No more shells. No time to reload.

  The nearest bug sprang at him, wrapping him up with four legs. John screamed and tried to wrestle with the bug. The bug was so strong. He stung John several times and used his serrated hind claws to finish it. The screaming stopped.

  Two bugs cocked their heads, listening. There was a muffled sound. Sobbing. Under the floor. They tore at the wood flooring with serrated claws; the plywood underlay; the insulation; sheetrock. Two bugs squeezed through the floor joists and dropped into the crawl space. Mary screamed in terror and dropped the flashlight as she saw the bug heads swivel toward her. She started to crab-crawl backwards toward the access door.

  The bugs’ eyes had a terrifying reddish cast to them as they followed her movement. The two bugs looked at each other as though they were unsure of their next move. As they shared that moment of consideration, a drop of blood from their fallen comrade spattered on one of their heads. They both pumped their heads up and down and sprang at Mary. She screamed. Her screaming mingled with the screams coming from the other houses.

  Miranda stayed in the attic, curled up in a ball, until morning, unable to sleep. She hoped she would never have to sleep again. If she did, the night terrors would come. As the morning light crept in through the attic window Miranda cried one more time, then dropped down into her closet and slowly crept downstairs. She was quiet, listening for any sound.

  Miranda checked on her dad. That had to be him. Gruesome. She ran to the kitchen sink, sick. Deep breaths came next, an attempt at composure. There was a hole in the living room floor, below was the crawl space. She had to know for certain. Miranda eased through the hole. The sobbing came again as she curled up into a ball. Her world was over.

  Exhaustion eventually took hold, and she slept. It was a fitful sleep. She had always been a brave and strong girl. That was evident from the way she handled herself on that horrible day, along with her composure during the interview. She quickly packed a bag and left the house. She moved quietly, so quietly. A neighbor had said the downtown core area was intact, the bugs had left that area alone. It would be the safest place. No bugs. No people to attract the bugs. Miranda left. She was only sixteen. Only sixteen.

  END TIMELINE DROP. +

  ***

  And I’m back. Like I said, we’re all still getting used to this. The event that triggered the Alert was nowhere near us. There are so many terrible things happening all over, with the monsters rampaging, provoking terror. I’m going to get back to journaling. It helps to take my mind off ... all of this.

  I am the Keeper of the Record, authoring the Journal of a special operations unit. As crazy as it sounds to me right now, we are in training to become a unique spec-ops team. One of my tasks is to maintain an accurate account of the invasion and a timeline of events. At this point we don’t know who will read the Journal. I’ll aim for an interesting account of the facts. Don’t worry, I’m a good shot.

  Mom and dad work a lot. Well, they used to. Now they shelter in place at home. Because of work schedules we spent quite a bit of time with Grandad while growing up. He lives around the corner, shortcut over the backyard fence, and through the animal habitat greenway. The other part of the “we” spending time with Grandad is my sister Mia. And, then, there are the twins.

  Mia is about to turn seventeen. Yeah, we are close in age, less than a year apart. Poor mom. Mia is rather precocious, as even she would admit. “Hi, I’m Mia and I’m rather precocious. Get over it.” Not exactly like that, but you get it.

  What’s are you jabbering about Mia? The ‘get over it’ part sounds more like me? Yeah, well, get over it. Who’s writing this thing, you or me? Oh, quit worrying, I’ll be sure to write some nice things about you.

  Mia is glamorous with long golden hair always perfectly arranged. Hmmm. Really, she is a lot of fun. We get along famously most of the time. There is the normal sibling rivalry I suppose. I am the older sister so of course I’m usually right. Eleven extra months of wisdom. Well now, let’s be honest when writing in the Journal. The truth is Mia is very mature for her age.

  There, how did that sound Mia?

  Of late, Mia is interested in biology. I think she will be some kind of doctor. She loves animals too. Maybe a vet? Hasn’t made up her mind; a lot of interests. Mia goes to the same high school as me. She will be going into 11th grade, I will be entering 12th. There I go again. We won’t be going to school in the fall, not with the invasion. Yeah...

  Mia has uncompromising boundaries which she is always happy to extend to others. Interestingly, that usually works itself out in a good way. She is the sort that will step in between a bully and the person
being bullied. And if she gets in trouble helping someone else, as might have happened in the 3rd grade, several times in middle school, and ... well, you get it. Getting in trouble for a good cause doesn’t bother her at all. She will do what she thinks is right no matter the consequences. Mia has always been strong, but now she is somewhere a few notches above super strong.

  Her “gift” is the ability to become super dense. Not dense like dumb. Well, sometimes.

  Just kidding Mia. Oh, don’t get all huffy, they know I mean dense like heavy and concentrated. Graviton and Higgs boson stuff.

  Mia, with the help of her nanites (some call them nanobots), controls the Higgs field. Well, control is probably too strong of a word. She does utilize the field to some extent. She is also able to interact with and use gluon field energy fluctuations.

  The Higgs and gluon field forces are directly related to gravity and mass. I know, it’s enough to give you a headache, right? And I like science stuff! Anyway, her capability suggests DARPA was working on anti-gravity or something along that line. You’ll see what I mean soon enough.

  Mia doesn’t look any different even when she is dense. That’s because Volume = Mass / Density. We keep dancing awfully close to technical stuff. Apologies. This isn’t a science or technical journal. What all this means is, Mia can become pretty much indestructible and very strong.

  I’m very nice to her when she inverts. That’s what we call it when she becomes dense. She inverts, causing an increase in mass and strength. We had a hard time deciding on her operative name, her team name. Grandad thought we should call her Paradox. Para for short. He says Mia, with her gift, is like the old paradox of what would happen if an unstoppable force met an immovable object. Mia is the unstoppable force AND the immovable object.

  Mia didn’t like the name Paradox, or even Para. Not at first. She sat there looking at Grandad with her face scrunched up. “Really, Grandfather? Para?”