Extinction: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel (Hell on Earth Book 3) by Iain Rob Wright

Author:Iain Rob Wright
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: SalGad Publishing Group
Published: 2017-06-28T06:00:00+00:00

18

GENERAL WICKSTAFF

The ground shook. Middle of the night, but Wickstaff was already fully dressed and only half asleep. She stood outside the command block, demanding to know what was happening. The floodlights glared, illuminating bodies rushing back and forth like headless ants. Despite the several thousand soldiers under her command, Wickstaff knew most by name, which was why she quickly reached out and grabbed the nearest corporal. “Tell me what’s happening, Dee.”

“They’re coming,” the man said, looking everywhere but at her. “Christ, it’s actually happening. They’re out there. The demons—”

Beneath their feet, the ground shook.

Wickstaff cupped the back of the corporal's neck and pulled him close. “Calm down, Dee. Let’s not shit our knickers just yet. We have plans in place, remember? Head to the drill square and ring that bloody bell. You need me to tell you the signal?”

He gawped at her, eyes twitching.

“Dee! Do you know the bloody signal or not?”

The corporal snapped back to reality and nodded frantically. “Seven peals followed by a five second pause, then another three peals.”

“Good, lad. Now go!”

The corporal raced off to ring the muster bell. The brass relic was ceremonial more than anything, but in the absence of reliable electricity, it had become the agreed upon alarm. Its pealing would let all of Portsmouth know full battle-stations were in effect, and the enemy was at the gates. Luckily, those gates had been forged from iron, as had several of the barricades blocking the main roads. One benefit of digging-in at an old naval port was the abundance of iron. The city's many museums played home to iron anchors, antique ship fixtures, and even the huge iron frames from a pair of 19th century warships. Men had gathered the scrap at a collection of choke-points at the city’s widest roads and thoroughfares, where the enemy could be funnelled into narrowed kill zones—spaces between rows of taller buildings where soldiers could fire down from both sides of the street. Several areas were also earmarked for bombardment from the warships in the docks. Once the bulk of the enemy forces inevitably passed into the city, she would call in the artillery to rain down death.

She was prepared for this.

She had this under control.

There was no other way.

A jeep skidded outside the command block and one of Wickstaff's lieutenants leant over and threw open the passenger door. Her chauffeur had arrived. Wickstaff nodded and got in. Her driver sped her over to the large sentry tower on the edge of the naval base. Fortifications extended another half-mile out into the city, but from this tower, she would be able to see what was coming their way. The guard tower's roof had been pulled down and replaced with a rickety platform accessed by a stepladder. It gave the tower another fifteen-feet of height compared to the original structure and allowed a sentry to see right to the outskirts of Portsmouth.

Wickstaff nodded to a group of soldiers assembled at the bottom of the tower and then started her way up the ladder.

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