Any questions?”

“Just get our people there safe!” a man yelled as the others who would remain behind locked and loaded their weapons.

“You need not worry about that,” Alicia said, firming her own pistols into holsters which attached to her thigh. “I'm a bit pissed off, and when I get pissed off...”

“When she gets pissed off, Ancients tend to die!” Calypso proclaimed as the group cheered loudly.

Moments later the caravan began heading out. A stagecoach, two horse mounted warriors and a string of older supply trucks tagging along behind, each filled with the women and children of New Kinneston.

 

“Hold the line!” a Resistance soldier yelled, dozens of his own entrenched at the edge of Washington City. The Division of Ancients had tried to sack the city in one fell swoop. Of course, the mortar fire intended to crumble major landmarks was instead knocked down by the protective shroud of Guardian Angel.

The Resistance Soldiers each shouldered single-shot rifles trimmed with both bronze and wooden grain. They had lived every single day since the invasion inside of Guardian Angel, so they knew its limitations. Rolling nearly a dozen black powder cannons onto the street which was closest to the Ancient encampment, the soldiers of Washington City began to ring out booming death.

“It pains me that we can travel the entire solar system within hours, but cannot take a city held by Humans. Humans!” the Ancient Templar yelled.

“My Templar, we have lost all communication with the Butchers who remained in New Kinneston.” one of the Ancients stated.

“Keep trying, just as we will keep trying to take this disease of a city.” the Templar said loudly.

“At once!” the Ancient replied with obedience.

“Form a ground assault team. When ready, have those who remain here lay down an ongoing stream of covering fire.” the Templar demanded, barely pushing the words from his body before an explosion rang true only feet away. A cannon shot that had decimated the area and injured the demon in command.

“My Templar, are you...” one of the Ancients asked as several soldiers rushed to his aid.

“My body will heal!” the Templar screamed, laying on the ground with gaping cuts across his stomach and shrapnel embedded into his upper back, exposing glimpses of transparent bones. “Just do as you were told. Get those cannons off of us or we will be beaten!”

“At once.” the Ancient replied.

As the Templar lay there, the sunlight adding to an already painful situation, he began to wonder if their race had overstepped.

To the Ancient race, Humans were cattle who possessed the ability to reason. They could be used for tasks that otherwise hindered the Ancient race. But, just since the first minutes of Invasion Day, the Templar had seen so many of his own species perish. And though he dared not speak of it, an act that would be considered treason, he did wonder if the cost was worth paying.

The Ancients had planned to hit Earth strong on the first day and within a week own everything, and everyone, associated with the planet. It was to become a small planet that they could inhabit and manage, just as a farm. But the Templar knew the same thing that all Ancients knew deep down, though none would ever admit to it. They waited too long.

They knew Humans would advance, it was the natural progression of things. But, they had anticipated us to remain a peaceful race, one that would present little retaliation. Instead, they arrived to discover the grit of Human war. Humanity had been killing itself for centuries. Religion, politics, gold; all of it had led to Humans becoming more seasoned as warriors.

They had not arrived to find the weak cattle who were left here during the Egyptian ages, but rather, a race of warriors who were quick to unify when put to the test, coming together to face the doom of a star-born enemy.

And as the Templar watched those around him falling to their deaths, each body hitting the crusted ground of an extra-terrestrial planet, he realized that he had seen enough. Looking down to the wounds which had exposed his transparent bones only minutes before, he could see most of it repaired through the genetic skin grafting that allowed their race to heal so quickly.

“Enough!” the Templar demanded, standing to his feet just as his ground assault team was about to charge the city. His Division of soldiers was in shambles, cannon fire combined with that of the Human Torque Guns to blame.

“We will fall back to New Kinneston, find our Butchers and wait for reinforcements!” the Templar yelled.

Falling back from battle would look bad on his record of war. However, he had decided that should the Ancient Council call him out on it, he would cross examine them with a war they were losing badly. At least the war against Washington City.

And though his body was growing stronger by the minute, self-healing the wounds recently inflicted, it wasn't nearly strong enough for the wounds to come.

Nearly a dozen molten slugs passed through the alien's sternum and stomach, as they did on several other Ancient soldiers. All fired from a Torque Gun that was mounted to a rooftop on the edge of Washington City.

 

“It's a hit, keep it coming!” Lieutenant Forsberg yelled to his men, one of the soldiers holding the gun still while the other fired through the iron sights.

It was a large gun, nearly the size of a anti-aircraft placement. A large, revolving chamber that fired as though it were a Gatling gun, though it was fed by a thick plastic hose of steam. The Humans had developed the technology less than a year before, the steam allowing one hell of a torque-filled punch in each shot while not falling susceptible to the rules of Guardian Angel overhead.

And, just as they had done with every previous attempt to sack Washington City, the Ancients fell back; scrambling into the hills that surrounded such a beautiful place to live.

“Hold!” Lieutenant Forsberg yelled, halting the gunfire by his side of the battle. “Conserve your ammunition, they are out of range.