by Jay Allan
He heard the sound, and the tension in the voice. He understood. The enemy had come close, very close, to wiping his people out entirely. But if the fleet had actually won, if the enemy was defeated, he was sure he could save most of them.
For now, at least. He knew the true victory, the only one that would be permanent, rested on Harmon’s shoulders…and it was, at least, extremely unlikely.
“This is command central…Achilles here. Who am I speaking to, and what is the status?” The destruction of almost every scanning device had rendered the people almost blind. He had bits and pieces of what was going on in the atmosphere, but no real idea who was winning.
“Achilles, I am so glad to reach you. The surface is devastated, and it looks like they had gotten pretty far down with their blasting.” There was a brief silence. “This is Captain Ben Yuri. I honestly don’t know who should be in command here. We’ve got eleven ships left, mostly badly damaged, and I haven’t been able to track down the senior officer yet.” There was a pause, and then, “We are trying to clear Earth-2 orbit, to get a reading on the fight in the outer system…but we won here.”
Achilles found himself nodding, realizing the—victory?—they had apparently won right around the planet was nothing if they hadn’t prevailed in the other fight. And he had nothing left that gave him reports from there. He had no idea what was going on so far out, but for a moment, he quietly gave thanks that his people had managed to prevail as much as he knew they had.
“Very well, Captain…congratulations on your victory.” He wasn’t sure congratulations or victory were appropriate words, but they came out anyway, with a bit of emphasis behind them. “Please…we’re almost blind down here. Fill us in on the outer system fight as soon as possible. We don’t have any idea what is going on out there.”
He had no idea at all…not on the status of the other fight, and not what he was going to do, especially if Max Harmon didn’t succeed, if the Regent only had to build more ships and return.
* * *
Clark was in pain, his ship almost destroyed, at least half his crew dead…but he was still in the fight. Then, he suddenly realized that his side was going to win. Three more enemy vessels went out, one after the other, and that pretty much made things fairly clear.
Despite his condition, and the battered ruins of his fleet, he felt strangely energetic. He knew it wouldn’t last, that the depression for the loss of his fleet, and all the outposts and fortifications that had surrounded the planet would get to him. That the pain from his injuries would take control. But for the moment, he felt something he had almost forgotten…joy.
He knew he still might not survive, that the enemy had a few ships left, and that one more hit could finish him. Hell, he wasn’t sure that the fires and inner explosions he was hearing wouldn’t do that already, without any further enemy action. He had considered abandoning ship, of sending most of his crew to the lifeboats, but, miraculously, his vessel still had a gun left, and he wasn’t prepared to lose even a single firearm. Not until the enemy was completely wiped out.
He had maybe twenty percent of his engines left—that was just a guess, as his monitoring systems were mostly out—and all of that was being put into his evasive maneuvers. He didn’t have the power left to really alter his course, and he knew his ship would find its way out of firing range in about ten minutes. But he doubted the fight would last even that long.
He looked at the small screen in front of him—the larger viewscreen was down—and he saw the enemy forces, even more battered than he was. There were only of their seven ships left, compared to twenty-three on his own side, at least counting the fourteen that remained in Terrance Compton’s command. He cringed as he realized how many ships he’d lost, and even though he understood there were a couple hundred hulks scattered around the battle area, some no doubt with survivors inside, he acknowledged that his force had lost a staggering percentage of his people. He hadn’t even known whether anyone had survived on the planet, or in the section of the force Frette had led after the enemy…until just a moment earlier.
He’d gotten a message, sent by one of Frette’s ships. It had been attempting to contact him for a while, but then the enemy force was reduced further, knocked down to its current handful of ships…and suddenly, the lines of communication were open again. He hadn’t received a complete breakdown of losses, of course, not yet…but he had received two bits of information, one that pleased him, that almost thrilled him. The enemy was destroyed around the planet, completely…and despite the desperate damage done to Earth-2, many—possibly most—of its people survived.
The other report didn’t shock him. In fact, he realized he would have been surprised by anything else. But still, it cut at him deeply. Admiral Frette was dead.
He didn’t have time for a detailed explanation, not yet, but he got enough to realize she had died a hero, a deliberate act, one that had gone a long way to winning the fight in the inner system.
But now, he put those thoughts aside…and focused on finishing his fight. That was all that mattered right then.
* * *
Compton’s ships were at close range now, firing at full speed, even as the enemy was doing the same. The battle had almost reached its end, and Compton realized that his forces were going to win. More so, he realized that his small fleet, his twenty ships, had definitely been the difference between victory and defeat. He felt joy and satisfaction at his decision to return.
Still, he felt sadness along with the satisfaction. He knew precisely how large the fleet had been, and seeing the tattered remains of it cut at him deeply. But for the moment, he focused on the remaining enemy ships, on winning the battle. There would be enough time afterward to think about the cost, and the likely return of the enemy in a few years.
He watched as his ship fired, as all his vessels did…and one by one, the remaining few enemy ships were hit. They fought back as well, firing wildly with whatever they had left, and they cost him two more of his ships. But the enemy was down now to three vessels still firing, and perhaps three or four minutes later, the last of them was destroyed, in a massive explosion.
Compton looked on, his eyes scouring the screen, searching for any other enemy vessels. But there were none. He’d gotten notification that the planet, too, was secured, and while the entire occupied surface had been utterly destroyed, many—perhaps most—of the population was alive, if not unhurt.
He leaned back and let out a sigh, and then he turned toward his tactical officer. He’d expected to see relief, at least some sign of it. But there was something else. A few seconds later, the image on the screen disappeared, the now-cleared battlefield replaced with something else.
“Sir…there appears to be another enemy vessel…and two of ours. The enemy seems to be trying to escape, and the two ships are pursuing it.”
He looked at the screen, and he agreed. He had no idea what two ships they were, where they had come from. They lacked the automatic ID systems of fleet warships, and it took a few more seconds to ID them.
“Sir…they’re from Linshire.”
Compton heard the words, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. Linshire was attacked months ago, and by all accounts, destroyed. How could anyone have escaped, and where had they been for all this time? But he knew better than to argue. If his tactical officer said they were from Linshire, then they were from Linshire.
He looked out at them, wondering if they had any chance…or if the enemy ship would destroy them. Or if it would just get away. He realized he was looking at the last battle of the great fight, the final enemy warship present…and it was fleeing, trying to escape. Then, suddenly, he understood.
“All ships…proceed at full power to the transit point. There’s one enemy ship left…” And it’s got the leader in it, the top artificial intelligence present, I’d bet anything on that.
He knew it wasn’t the Regent—the Regent wasn’t portable—but he figured it was close…and even though he realized h
is ships would never get there in time, he had to try.
But he realized, the only hope was the two old ships, clearly battered…but still armed. He closed his eyes for a moment, and he wished them the best.
* * *
Gosnard was sweating profusely. He had been the elected leader of his planet, and that had ultimately led to months of commanding ground combat. But he was not a veteran of space combat, not even close. He had ordered his two ships to close with the enemy vessel, but he was far from sure he would win. His ships hadn’t been hit yet, but neither had they made a successful shot. And the enemy ship, while still slow, still at a disadvantage, was speeding up. His advantage was slipping away, and he knew he had to win the fight soon…or he would be destroyed.
Or just left behind. Any doubt about the ship’s purpose, or that it contained some kind of command unit, was gone. It was obvious from his scanners, that his side had won, that they had beaten back the enemy…barely. He had no idea what kind of force the enemy had started with—he came in at the very end of the fight—but he assumed it was large, very large. He did have some thoughts of how big the human fleet was, and if the ships he could pick up were all that remained…well, he didn’t want to think of that.
He did everything he could to center his mind, to focus on the enemy ship…and nothing else. He had to destroy it, somehow. He was almost sure it was the enemy command unit, and he just couldn’t let that escape. His people weren’t part of the defense force, they weren’t even from Earth-2…but they were human beings, and they had the same enemy. The Regent’s forces.
He watched, and he looked over at his friend, handling the gunnery, doing all he could to hit the enemy. The ship was evading however, and however focused and determined Til was, he was a novice. But he kept at it, firing as quickly as possible. He hadn’t hit yet, nor had the other ship, but they had scored a few near misses. Gosnard knew he’d hit eventually, given enough time. He just didn’t know if that would be before they were destroyed…or before the enemy vessel escaped. It was accelerating as rapidly as possible, in the direction of the transit point. It was fighting with them, shooting as well as it could…but its intention to escape was clear.
He gasped for air, his fatigue, tension…all that had built up for months…beginning to throw themselves at his control. He had known he was returning to Earth-2 with a scant number of people, that most of those he had ruled, most of those who had elected him were dead. And he was sure the enemy was coming to Earth-2 as well…though he had hoped to get there first. Arriving in the middle of the fight was something he hadn’t considered…not really.
“Keep closing…get as close as possible!” He realized that closing increased the chances of the enemy hitting him as much as it did him scoring on them. But this had to end. It had to end now.
“We’re closing, sir.” Til’s voice was mostly hard, but even his friend was showing some signs of fatigue, of concern.
Gosnard closed his eyes, just for a few seconds…but that’s when it happened. One of the shots scored a hit, the first of the exchange. He opened his eyes and looked over toward Til’s station.
“A hit…and a good one! It was the other ship, not us.” There was a bit of disappointment in Til’s voice, but just a little bit. Gosnard didn’t really care which of his ships hit the enemy, but he understood his friend’s desire. “It looks like we’ve knocked out some of their engine power…maybe twenty percent.”
Gosnard felt as though he was smiling, though outside his expression was mostly unchanged. He knew one hit from his two ships wasn’t going to take out the enemy…but it was a start.
He watched as the data came in, the damage estimates…and then his ship shook hard, and half the lights and equipment on the bridge winked out.
He had been hit…and he hastened to discover how seriously, to try and figure out how functional his ship still was.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Inside the Regent’s Fortification
Alpha-Omega 12 III
Earth Two Date 04.12.63
“Let’s go…faster!” Harmon spoke the words, even though he knew he had been among the slowest in the group. But they hadn’t gotten far, not as far as they needed to, and he felt an urge, a need to push on as quickly as they could.
They had come through devastated areas, sections blasted by the Regent’s nukes, but they had managed to make their way through…though he thought it best not to consider radiation and the like. It was possible, even probable, that he would lose at least some of his people to that, but of course that assumed that any of them made it…and found a ship capable of lifting off.
Still, he felt a rush, an enthusiasm, not so much for him, but for his people, the few he had left. He had even found a few of the injured still alive—miraculously—on the journey back, though again, he didn’t think too much about radiation poisoning. They all might die from that, in a week, or a few days, but he tried not to think farther ahead than a few minutes. Not now.
His entire group was almost out. They’d been running for about 40 minutes, plus the five they had wasted, which meant the clock on the bombs was down to about fifteen minutes. He had tried to contact the ships, unsuccessfully, though he told himself the problem was jamming, and not that none of the vessels had survived. There was heavy jamming, at least. The Regent, unable to negotiate with the humans, had undoubtedly poured everything it could against them.
He stumbled, though he wasn’t sure if it was his previous injuries or radiation sickness developing, but he regained control—barely—and hustled on, doing everything he could to move as quickly as possible. He tried once or twice to calculate the odds, the chances that some of his people actually would escape the planet, but he stopped himself. The odds were, he had only fifteen minutes to live…and for fifteen minutes he could push himself. He might not be able to avoid death, but he would keep trying, until the last second. If he couldn’t make it home, if he couldn’t see Mariko and Achilles again…at least he would keep moving until the end. Until he died.
He looked around, realizing that his sensation, his recollection of the area wasn’t what it was on the way in. The immense damage done by the nuclear blasts, meant he wasn’t even sure he was going in the right direction. He believed he was, and the fact that they found some of the injured that they had left behind told him they had to be heading in approximately the right direction. But fifteen minutes wasn’t much…and they didn’t have that long to find one of the ships. Even rushed, ignoring every safety check, and anything else not absolutely vital, it would take five minutes to launch a ship…and that left less than ten minutes to find one.
If there even was one left. He had ordered the ships to stay, to remain where they were until the party returned, but he knew there was a chance they had left already. If they had survived the nuclear explosions, they could easily have assumed their landing parties did not. Harmon figured there was at least a fifty percent chance they were all walking dead, that their escape efforts were pointless. But he kept moving anyway…somehow.
He was determined, if nothing else, to die as a warrior, as a soldier of Earth. He continued to move, his legs going as fast as they could. He was panting, out of breath…but he kept moving anyway.
Then he stopped. He recognized where they were. He was sure, almost sure, at least. They were just inside the complex, no more than a few minutes from where the ships were waiting…or at least where they had landed.
Except right in front of him was a pile of smashed rock…and no exit.
He recognized immediately the fact that the Regent’s bombs might actually destroy them all, that the shaking they had produced had brought down some of the ceiling. But he was close to certain that he was right, that just beyond the debris was outside…and the ships.
“Here!” He tried to shout again, but what came out was barely audible. “The exit is covered by rock…quick, let’s clear it away.” Even as he said it, the response came back, from deep in his mind, that there was
n’t time. He had been fortunate that the bombs hadn’t exploded yet, that the Regent hadn’t had any mobile units close enough to try to disable it. He wondered whether the bombs the Regent had detonated, its attempts to destroy his people, had taken out its few remaining bots. That was an interesting thought, the idea that it was the Regent’s actions as much as his own that would destroy it. Not that a bot should have been able to do anything. The bombs were set to immediately detonate if anything came within a meter of them. He wasn’t positive the enemy didn’t have some way around that, but he was pretty sure.
He edged toward the rocks, feeling as though he should move some, but in the end, just directing the others. He was the oldest by far, and he was badly battered. He realized most of his companions were in better shape than he was, and three at most could fit to move the stones.
He watched as his people climbed up, as they began to clear away the rocks and other debris. It seemed like it took a long while, but his third quick glance at his timer told him it had been less than two minutes…and there was light coming through. It was just a speck for the first few seconds, but as those digging saw it, they moved even quicker than they had been. They pulled away rocks, and the tiny spot of light grew, until it was large enough for them to get through.
Harmon glanced at the timer…there were just over ten minutes left. That wasn’t much time, but it was all they had. “Quick…get through. We’re almost out of time!” He gestured wildly for his people to go, making it clear he would be the last one through. When there were only two left besides him, he turned and looked back at the ruins of the underground complex. And he wondered…would the Regent really be destroyed in ten minutes?
And would any of his people escape?
He turned and realized that everyone else was through, and he sucked in a deep breath, feeling pain all through his body. He fought the urge not to go, to give up, to await death. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if he was alone, but he didn’t know what his people would do, how much time they would waste on him…and he knew he owed them whatever chance they had, however small.