Fink offered a meek, “Yes, sir,” although he did not think Trevor heard because the Leviathan’s battle cry began; a sound that whined and built like an air raid siren. Fink gasped, “Oh shit, it’s gonna fire. Shit, shit, and it’s not in position yet. It’s not out of the pass all the way.”

Trevor spoke again, still hypnotized by the battle and the insane walking skyscraper.

“You know the difference between us and Voggoth?”

Fink stepped to Stone’s shoulder. The sound of the Leviathan grew louder still as the gigantic creature sucked in air. Fink knew the barn lay beyond the immediate blast zone but not completely out of danger.

Trevor appeared unconcerned. Or, at least, distracted by his thoughts.

“The difference is that when we make our smart bombs and build our jet planes we use words like ‘area of affect’ and ‘yield’ and ‘operational radius.’ All so sterile. So-so detached.”

Fink watched the Leviathan stoop, as if trying to get a better look at the tiny little creatures daring to block its path. As it bent, the massive hole that lived at the top of the giant swung down like the barrel of God’s gun taking aim.

“But Voggoth’s gunsmiths use words like ‘pain’ and ‘terror’ and ‘suffering’. You’ve got to hand it to them, they’ve boiled war to its essence. You have to admire their honesty.”

There came no noise from the blast of wind exhaled by the mighty Leviathan because that wind moved faster than sound. From the top of the loft Fink and Stone watched a storm of dirt and dust blow away tanks, artillery, and pieces of what used to be soldiers.

That supersonic blast of air twisted out of the mountain passage, through the center of the defensive line, and across the jagged land between the battlefield and the command center. The sound caught up to and overtook the slowing gust, reaching their ears in a beastly howl.