Zorlog's laughter died to silence. He glared at Ryan, his eyes afire. "That was you?"
“Surprise, surprise.”
Ryan was through talking. He pulled the trigger and swept a cacophony of blasts into the group.
Zorlog had somehow sensed what he was going to do. The Xilozak moved in a blur, diving behind a freight unloader, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. A blast caught him in the arm.
A shockwave of superheated air threw Ryan to the ground as the ship behind him fired its cannon. The remaining group of Xilozaks vaporized into a mist of blood and fire, and the air was saturated with the smell of ozone.
Someone grabbed him from behind and yelled. "Let's go!" It was Kanook. Ryan wasted no time sprinting to the ship. The ship was beginning to ascend before they closed the hatch. As they reached the bridge, they were met by a young Signite officer named Dorftal, who saluted them on arrival.
"Bridge is yours, Sir!"
"Kanook, remind me to personally kick the ass of the person who initiated the burner warm-up sequence before I gave the signal. That is, if we get out of this alive."
He glanced at the navigational matrix. Eight ships had lifted off.
"Hard to port, 60 degrees, run her parallel with the surface."
"McClary!"
"Detonating now, Sir!"
The scene behind them turned into a field of fire. Ships toppled, and crashed, second and third waves of explosions thundered, lighting up the night sky.
He knew the bombs wouldn’t destroy every ship. A few would survive. That wasn’t their problem anymore. The Purists fleet would already be locking onto them with their long-range cannons from orbit. They had seconds before they would start pounding them.
"55 degrees, toward the pole, evasive maneuvers," he ordered.
The ship lurched as explosions raked the surface and concussion waves tore through the atmosphere.
A near miss. Judging by the firepower, that came from a cruiser.
"40 seconds before we leave atmosphere," reported Dorftal.
"20.."
Another barrage. The tracing image showed three Purists destroyers were moving in to intercept them.
"Standby for 270 degree roll. We're going to run right down their throats!" yelled Ryan.
"Commander, we’re going to collide!" exclaimed Dorftal.
"Hold course, Dorftal!" Ryan warned him firmly.
Kanook spoke up. "All ships holding formation, Sir."
They had ascended beyond the thermosphere, leaving behind only wisps of atmosphere in the cold of space, and they had shed all drag as they accelerated directly toward the destroyers.
"Drill formation!" ordered Ryan, "Fire at will!"
The eight captured Alliance ships pulled into a revolving circle. The maneuver was referred to as a drill formation for the simple reason, if one viewed it head on, it would look like the end of a turning drill. Such an arrangement allowed the ships to become one virtual gigantic cannon, once they synchronized their firing sequence. No Xi-Empire ship could hold together under that kind of intense power – not even a cruiser.
In short order, the blasts penetrated one of the first Xi-destroyer's hull. The ship exploded, sections cleaving off and into the adjacent ship. The second destroyer suffered a string of explosions and starting falling toward the planet. The third attempted to break trajectory, desperately attempting to avoid the relentless blasts, but it too fell prey. Its shields failed quickly, baring an unprotected hull. In seconds it literally disintegrated.
"Ten destroyers closing in from 9 o’clock," reported Kanook. "And we're heading directly toward the main fleet."
The announcement didn’t worry Ryan. He rubbed his left arm as it felt stiff and sore. He must have hurt it somehow on the surface.
"New heading!" he ordered, "90 degree vector at T-minus 3 seconds. Prep the anti-gravs. Everybody latch down!"
The ship lurched. All eight followed suit precisely. The 10 Xi-destroyers delayed an additional second before they too changed direction. The navigation holographic revealed another group of 20 were breaking from the main fleet, followed by a cruiser.
Ryan glanced over at Dorftal. The young officer was pale, his hands shaking visibly. "Don’t worry, we'll get out of this."
"Relay to all captains: Acroluc at T-minus 5..4..3..2..1."
The ship shook as it jumped.
"We’ve bought some time, but they're still on us," reported Kanook.
"Who's got the rear, Kanook?"
"Captain Wark, Sir."
"Ask him why he hasn't spread some missiles around."
"Captain Wark acknowledges the question, Sir."
Ryan studied the navigation holograph. At this point, they were pretty evenly matched. They couldn't catch him unless he slowed, or they got off a lucky shot, or they pushed their ships beyond limits…
But that would be atypical. No, they would be playing it safe. After all, they had their main fleet behind them. They would maintain pursuit and wait for the reinforcements.
"Ryan!"
It was Aviore relaying over the vaskpar. He checked the tracing image for the Dancing Queen.
"McClary, where the bloody hell is she?"
The Scott made some quick adjustments to deepen the scans. They could make out the fuzzy image of the Dancing Queen, just out of range. He flipped on the vaskpar communication relay in his helmet.
"Aviore, you’re getting too close. Stay out of range.”
“Helm, is everything ready?"
"Yes. We are moving into position. Approaching intercept target on T-minus 2 minutes and counting," reported Kanook.
The fleet of the Galactic Alliance loomed into view as the scene played out on the tracing image. The pursuing Xilozak destroyers saw them a second later. They veered away, breaking course. But a trail of multiple faint images shot past the newly captured Alliance ships. One could have mistaken it as mere tracing noise, but Ryan knew better. These were alliance ships, specially designed to deflect tracing scanners.
The Nuboks made their shots count, anticipating the enemies' evasive maneuvers. Some hit their mark with only one shot, effectively crippling their targets. In minutes they had accomplished their purpose. The Xi-Empire captains, desperately adjusting course, were ushered into a number of oncoming Galactic Alliance fleet destroyers, which were ready to pounce.
Cannons flashed deadly plasma in an exchange of white light. The Xilozak captains were panicking now, attempting to scatter in multiple directions, to avoid the intense barrage of cannon fire by an arm of the fleet. One by one, they fell prey to the devastating wall of destruction. All but three remained intact, although severely crippled.
Ryan checked the tracing image for an incoming second wave. They had time, if they moved fast.
He ordered the ships boarded. They had less than five minutes to disable any remaining crew and put the vessels in tow. The boarding parties didn’t let him down.
The fleet jumped to acroluc and disappeared with a minute to spare.
The incoming Purist ships caught the briefest of a tracing image before the Alliance fleet disappeared altogether. Realizing the futility of pursuit, they refocused their attention to rescuing survivors within the maze of pulverized, burning derelicts.
Zorlog stood on the bridge of his gigantic cruiser, shaking with an unprecedented rage. He swore, under his breath, that he would kill this Earthman, if it was the last thing he ever did.
* * *
14. Everything Has a Cost
T he Galactic Alliance pushed along the full perimeter of the Xi-Empire's guarded domain. Base after base, planet after planet, seized and secured. With each conquest, they gained more recruits and acquired more weapons, more ships. The refit docks on Xeronia and the Signite bases were full, with engineers and trades working tirelessly to keep up.
Regardless of their growth Ryan knew the fleet did not, as yet, have the resources to face a full-force Xi-Empire attack, so they kept well away from the hot spots where the civi
l war was at its fiercest.
The Nuboks had proven to be excellent spies. Their special Xeronian manufactured stealth ships infiltrated all the way to Xilo undetected. Reports came in daily, divulging information on key Xi-Empire activity. Tsaurau led the task force with the thorough discipline of a seasoned general. Little escaped their intelligence net.
Ryan’s tactics and strategies were being refined the hard way, during battle. He learned from his mistakes, not finding it easy to endure failure. Time and time again they were outmatched, either in firepower or circumstance. In one desperate move or another, he managed to pull them through, sometimes with heavy losses, sometimes not, but never were they beaten.
He was a machine. He sensed a part of him was fading away, but he couldn’t identify what it was, or how to stop it. His perception of time turned fluid, a constant state of semi-wakefulness, jammed with hours immersed within the tactics of war, revising plans, making decisions, and inconsolable hours of insomnia. He was obsessed with an uncontrollable need to soak in every morsel of information. Maybe it was fear that drove him. To be on the very edge of loss of everything they had built.
He would not fail. He would not feel the sting of a whip, or the heat of a brand again. One day soon the civil war would end, and the Xi-Empire would awaken. Then they would face the full force of the enemy that day. Maybe, despite everything they’ve done, they would be no more.
And so they pushed on. Others accepted Ryan’s driving pace on blind faith, trusting him wholeheartedly, rarely questioning him. He delegated as much to his generals as he did upon himself. He had seen them bear the burden of their decisions with the very lives of their troops. Most proved capable, and others - well not everyone can live up to expectations. As Supreme Commander, he dealt with these problems quickly, without remorse. More than once he demoted a general and promoted a replacement. His decisions were sometimes difficult to make, as his sources of information were often limited to another officer's report or his own gut instinct. That, more often than not, seemed to work the best. Indeed, his three Showmish generals proved extremely capable. Wharsoff, YushTar, and Whushob outpaced the others, attacking and securing a large portion of the fringe area in an amazingly short time.
Their success began to cost them more than they could afford. Thousands upon thousands of freed slaves were arriving in a steady stream at the Galactic Alliance bases of Xeronia, Signus, and Grak. The bases were stressed beyond their maximum capability. Taldig worked desperately to keep all three bases producing soldiers but the task was insurmountable given the other complications. Food stores were practically exhausted, life supported systems taxed past their design limits, and medical supplies were critically low. The cries for help were becoming desperate, especially on the Signite ice colony of Gairf.
Ryan ignored the suffering, knowing full well what was occurring. He continued to push himself, as if some mad insanity had taken over, and expected everyone around him to match his pace. And they did - most of them anyway, aliens and humans alike. None of them would stop.
Aviore had complained to Wharsoff, asking why they didn’t push back, but his response explained it best. “They would have plenty of time to rest when they were dead.”
Ignoring their nonchalant attitude, she decided to try and intervene. She could tell something was wrong, but she had no idea what to do. So many times she had found him working like a zombie, utterly exhausted, or collapsed in his captain’s chair with everyone moving about in hushed tones.
Aviore knew that she too had been absorbed within the rebellion, coordinating a never-ending training and re-training of troops, learning of weapons, navigation, and technologies contrary to her interest of real desire. After all, they were at war, and everyone had to make sacrifices.
That was his favorite damn line. He threw it in her face every time she tried to talk with him. What could she do? He was so bull-headed.
Taldig provided her an idea, and surprisingly, Ryan agreed to her suggestion without argument. And so, they were off to Gairf and some well-earned rest. The trip provided Ryan and Aviore a much needed chance to break from their relentless cycles. It gave them both time to reflect, and reconnect. But they knew this would not last. Their time together was a precious as it was fleeting.
“We’re almost there,” Ryan announced from the pilot’s chair. He initiated multiple system diagnostics on the navigation sub-systems to ensure everything was within calibration.
“I know, and I’ve been holding off on talking about this…” announced Aviore as she navigated up the stairs.
He turned around to focus his attention on her. “Talking about what, exactly?”
“The pace you’ve been working at. I’m worried about you.” She moved in close, easing down onto his lap.
“I’m OK. This was a good idea. You recharge me.” He smiled, intoxicated with her scent, lost to her softness.
“Oh, is that all?” She kissed him, giggling slightly. “Maybe we should re-examine this effect I have on you.”
* * *
Gairf base was strategically located on a small planetoid, well hidden, buried deep within the center of a glacier and surrounded by mountains. The Signites had employed a number of tactics to keep it a secret, but the most effective was the choice of the planet itself. It was a cold dark world, with frequent ice storms, blinding winds of snow and ice, which at times, could exceed 400 kmh.
The ride down was rough. Ryan was hands-off, his co-pilot at the controls. Aviore bit down on her lip nervously as the ship descended. It was the first time she had ever attempted a landing in such conditions. The swirling, battering winds knocked the ship about, raising alarms and forcing continuous attitude corrections.
He watched her calmly, probably with more confidence in her than she expressed. He was ready to help, but knowing enough not to interfere - she hated that.
"The winds are too strong," she exclaimed, an edginess tearing into her voice.
"Just watch your tactical, Gem has the approach vector lined up in red – see? Take a moment and try to pull up the visual image through the vaskpar. If you sway off course, just edge it back."
He attempted to provide her some level of comfort with his advice. But that only worked so well.
"I know. I know. I have this.”
"5000 meters and T-minus 2 minutes," reported Gem, through their vaskpars.
"Better slow it down a bit."
“I got it!”
Her jaw clenched tight as the Dancing Queen shot through the small opening between the mountains heading straight for the base entrance. If not for their equipment, the entrance would have been all but invisible within the wall of snow.
Ryan opened a channel. "Dancing Queen on final approach, will reach the main marker in 45 seconds. We're running blind through a nasty bit right now."
A Signite controller responded, his face marred with boredom from too many arrivals. "Confirmed. Please decelerate to 160 before you pass the minimum depth marker and standby for parking maneuvers."
True to his word, the depth marker whizzed by underneath them, a small synchronization beacon buried meters under ice and snow. Warning signals burst over the channel.
The com monitor flashed on. The flat face of the controller had suddenly sprung to life. "You are coming in too fast. Please decelerate immediately!"
Ryan glanced over to Aviore.
"I am, dammit," she said quickly, her voice inflecting irritation. The Dancing Queen ground to a near halt, just in time to allow them to coast gently through the dark hole in the ice. Within seconds they were hovering over the main landing bay area. A flagman signaled them to move to the starboard side. With a few gentle nudges, the ship slid into position and settled down onto the bay floor.
Aviore took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turned beaming a wide smile of pride.
"Good work, I'll make a pilot out of you yet!" He laughed.
“See, like I said, no problem.”
Leaving the com
paratively quiet arrival bay, they stepped out to a scene of organized chaos. The base was bulging with people of all shapes, sizes, and races. Unlike the Xeronian base, the main loading bay was laden with heavy scents of multiple life-forms, so much it was almost overpowering. Ryan and Aviore pushed into the mass, dodging through the bodies, at the same time being careful to watch for and step out of the way of massive cargo unloaders as they whizzed by.
General Lortay was in the midst of all the chaos, pushing through the crowd toward them. Ryan gave him a wave. "General!" he yelled in Signite.
The crowd flowed around them, making it difficult to close the distance, but they managed.
"Good to see you two again," he announced loudly, giving a firm handshake to Ryan, and a warm hug to Aviore.
"Let's get to a quieter place, shall we?" They moved out of the busy bay and into a small side office. The noise dampened to a background vibration as the door slid shut.
“This is the cargo bay supervisor’s room,” Lortay stated, “Should do for a time.” He proceeded to pour hot drinks from a resident brewing pot.
"I haven't had a cup of this in years," Aviore proclaimed.
Ryan just appreciated the pure scent. It seemed to cut through the aftertaste of the crowded bay. He drank it down, allowing it to wash his senses. "This tastes somewhat like green tea. What is it?" asked Ryan.
Lortay looked at Aviore for clarification. "I believe I know what you mean,” she confirmed. “It's close - comes from a leaf of a certain tree on Signus."
Lortay cleared his throat, indicating he was through with the small talk. "We have a few things to discuss. Have a seat," he offered. They sat down on two cushioned chairs, in front of a white floating desk.
"I can see you're fairly crowded in here, General."
"Yes, as you can see, we're full. There's simply no more room. People are sleeping in the landing bays now. Our systems are breaking down. Air handlers are down in this section, have been for three days."
"I thought you had transports ready?"
"Sure I do, for almost two weeks now, as a matter-of-fact. Problem is, no one wants to leave, they all want to stay and fight!"
A Bellicose Dance Page 49