It was not an army that arrived at the gates of New Hobart, but two small creatures. Unarmed but more dangerous than a thousand troops, the Little Men had arrived to bring down the walls of humanity’s last stronghold in the Tasman Wastes.
Charlie stood in Fred Bentleigh’s office, its wide window offering an excellent view of the stronghold’s front. From here, the mayor of New Hobart would be able to strategise and offer guidance to those in the heat of battle.
“Do you give us a chance?” Charlie asked.
Fred sat at his desk, sifting through a dozen reports. “500 against 2? I don’t like our odds, but anything is possible. We’ve got strike forces set up and ready to move from two locations; Brighton and Cambridge. Once the battle starts, they’ll move in and attempt to flank the enemy.”
“Are they at the old mobile mechanic based in Brighton?” asked Charlie. “That’s a good vantage point. Clever move.”
Nodding, Fred said, “I thought it would work well. We’ve got a lot of abandoned buildings out there, so why not make the most of them? It’s not like anybody needs tyre repairs near Brighton anyway, given we don’t have many cars anymore.”
“So, we put up our best fight here and hope the flanking forces can catch them off guard. All we need is a couple of lucky hits and we’ll take these guys down. Have we got archers?”
Fred tapped one of his reports. “Three dozen troops on top of the wall, ready to fire a barrage on them. Do you think we need more?”
“Get a couple dozen more up there, at least,” said Charlie. “The more arrows we have firing at them, the better our chances of getting lucky and ending this early.”
Ending this battle early was perhaps their only chance of getting out of this alive. She’d seen what the Little Men could do, not once but twice now. As Fred went back to making arrangements, Charlie couldn’t help but feel that she’d doomed them all.