Out of the hole poured twenty armed men dressed all in black armor with helmets that shone three lights of white, green and purple. The glass on the front that allowed them to see was reflective, hiding the faces of the men behind it.
Once they were in the corridor, half the men went one direction and the rest went the other. Benjamin heard them walking by and started pounding on the door. For a moment, it seemed like no one would answer his desperate calls. Two of the men in black returned and stuck something outside the door. The object made a whining sound that became steadily higher pitched. At first, Ben couldn’t figure out what it was. Realizing it was an explosive, he ducked as far out of the way as he could.
It took a second or two for the smoke to clear, and the two soldiers made their way through the doorway. Benjamin was waiting for them. With two quick flicks through the air, both men found one of the metal chair legs stuck through their throats.
One of the men dropped instantly, and the other raised a rifle. Without a second thought, Benjamin treated him to one of the last chair legs, leaving him to die. Before leaving the room, he covered himself with the breastplate of one of the fallen soldiers. There was no doubt that if he were to face more men, it was highly unlikely that his luck would hold. He needed all the protection he could get. When he tried to use the helmet, he saw a screen that said ‘Unauthorized user’. It wouldn’t allow him to see through the visor. After multiple failed attempts, he discarded it and gathered the weapons off the two dead Confederate soldiers. With two rifles, a number of hand grenades and two pistols, Benjamin exited through the damaged door.
Ben felt an indescribable sensation that somehow told him that if he could make it to the command bridge, he might have a real chance at helping turn the tide of battle. He resisted the thought, but it transformed until it convinced him that it was the only way to survive. From the sound of it, the station was being pounded badly. Its poorly trained crewmen would have difficulty figuring out what to do.
Ben didn’t understand how he knew what to do. To the best of his knowledge, he never performed any sort of military duties. He had absolutely no reason to understand what he was doing. All this lead to another thought. As he headed toward the command bridge, he didn’t feel lost, didn’t have to look at any sort of maps, and pretty much knew exactly where he was. It all seemed a little whimsical and was almost definitely impossible, but he was going to take if for the moment and examine it later.
Every step led him closer to his goal. Along the way he saw the intermittent dead body left by the Confederate foot soldiers. Such loss was wasteful in his opinion. He knew the men should have been more prepared for an occurrence such as this. Unable to contain his anxiety, Benjamin broke into a hushed run, ducking down ever so slightly as he went along his way. Although he was wary of the Confederate soldiers, he knew that he also ran the risk of being shot by his own people, as he wore the enemy’s armor. Unfortunately, it seemed that everyone along the way was already dead.
A group of six enemy soldiers could be seen down at the far end of the corridor. They were a good distance away, but Benjamin bent down on one knee and raised his short rifle. With six, well-aimed beams of light, the men dropped.
Such was his journey to the elevator. Every dozen yards or so, he encountered the enemy. Their numbers dwindled, and he took them down with very little effort. It was as though they didn’t expect much resistance and were taken back by a man that not only resisted, but had the aptitude to do so and do it well. The farther he went, the less force he saw, and he began to run into allies. He faced the fear he had from the beginning and he was shot at. However, he was able to persuade the men that he was in fact not an enemy soldier. Three men saw how well he fought. Leaderless, they adopted him as their commanding officer. They fought alongside him and led him to an elevator. Once safely inside, they rode up.
As the elevator climbed, things were frightening. Every few seconds the whole thing would shake violently. After several minutes, much longer than it would have normally taken the elevator to climb the shaft, the men were dropped off outside the doors to the bridge. Benjamin entered the oblong room and looked around in horror.
Nothing worked properly. Every Confederate tactic to disrupt and confuse the Order’s operations worked, and did so beautifully. Benjamin was furious at the lack of coordination.
“Who’s in charge here?” he asked the young woman working a console to his right.
“Sykes,” she said.
Benjamin saw the man with the graying hair standing on a beam that crossed the pit in the center of the room. “Are you William Sykes?” he asked.
Sykes was lost in his own little world and the power behind the man questioning him snapped him out of it instantly. “Yes, what is it to you, crewman?”
“Stand down.”
“Excuse me?” he replied. Such insolence had never been directed at him. After all, he was the head of the council. As far as the Order was concerned, he was in charge of everything. To be told by a crewman he had never seen before to surrender control was absurd and insulting.
Without second thought, Benjamin said, “Sir, I need you to step down. I know what to do.”
Thoroughly confused, Sykes stared awkwardly at the man. “And I suppose you’ve had lots of experience leading ships into battle as a crewman? You’re not even an officer.”
“Look all around you. You’re ships and your men are in trouble. I can fix this. Give me that chance.”
Sykes was crushed when he realized that what the man said was true. As arrogant as he could be at times, he couldn’t deny that the people didn’t have much of a reason to follow him. After all, he did order the attack on the cargo ship in the first place that brought the Confederacy right to them. Even after they arrived, Sykes should have had a plan ready to fight them, but he did nothing. When push came to shove and the battle was underway, he didn’t know what to do. All around him in other parts of the ship, men were dying. It seemed like every few seconds the comm. officer would say something about a fighter being destroyed. Without another word of dispute, he walked off the platform. He stepped down into the pit taking over a neglected console, allowing Benjamin to take charge. If nothing else, if they survived, he could ultimately blame Benjamin for the failure. Even though such deceit and politics bothered him, he wouldn’t refuse it.
Benjamin stepped into the center position of the platform and put his hands behind his back. “Tactical, what’s the situation?”
“Sir, we’re facing a Confederate battle group. On our side, we have a badly crippled destroyer, a carrier, and the station. Our fighters are deployed, but they’re not much use. Other than that, we’re sitting ducks. If they feel threatened and call reinforcements, we’re gone, that’s all there is to it.”
Ben contemplated everything for a moment before asking, “Comm., do we have any word yet on the rest of the fleet?”
“Sir, we have confirmation that they have received our signal and are on the way. ETA is six minutes.”
“Understood,” he said as he typed something into the small screen attached to the chair at his side. “Tell them to arrive at those coordinates exactly and move in. Make sure they know what order to arrive in.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a hint of curiosity. The coordinates he gave wouldn’t put them at a point where they could immediately help. She sent off the message with a little prayer that the man that took over control of the bridge knew what he was doing. Sykes was a good enough man in her eyes, but it was clear he was lost.
Sitting down, Benjamin worked furiously on the console attached to his chair. “Tactical, order all anti-fighter turrets to open fire on the frigates. A fighter can’t do us much harm, but maybe we can at least prove to be a nuisance to the frigates. Order all but two squadrons of fighters to the farthest destroyer, and target all shielding rods. Have bombers follow in and destroy communications towers both long and short range.”
Even though the shielding would protect the ve
ssel against physical objects such as bombs and missiles, Benjamin knew that it couldn’t block energy-based weapons. If he had the rest of the fleet, he could knock out the shields with the heavy turrets. In this case, he had to rely on fighters. If the destroyer saw the other vessels arrive, it would call reinforcements. Benjamin knew of the arrogance of the Confederate officers and he hoped to prey on that.
The rest of the fighters were ordered to protect the crippled destroyer. As much as the station needed the support, Benjamin couldn’t just sit by and watch the destruction of such a large vessel.
The fighters made a b-line for the destroyer, and began stinging it with beams of light that barely made a mark. The captain of the vessel laughed, knowing that even if they didn’t have their shields up, the fighters couldn’t even make a mark on the hull with their limited weapons. With the destruction of the first shielding rod, the captain realized the error in his judgment. The fighters weren’t taking his ship on as a whole. They weren’t even trying to take down the whole of the shielding. Instead, they targeted the shielding that protected key points, namely the one protecting the communication towers.
As soon as the shield was removed from the area, four boxy bombers came in, flying as low to the ship as possible. Flying so close, it was difficult to fire at them from the turrets without hitting another part of the ship. Fighters were dispatched to handle them, but it was too late.
Everything on the Confederate side of the battle went into frenzied disarray. The destroyers, no long hearing orders from the flagship, were forced to make their own decisions. Even though they still had communication amongst each other, the opinions of the captains of the ships were widely varying. Without a tower capable of transmitting a signal for help from their location, they were lost and on their own. One captain suggested that they abandon the mission while the others insisted they stay and fight. Even with the same resolve in the fight, the other captains had different tactics they felt they should use. Without a superior officer to sort things out, they were lost in their own struggle for power.
Without orders, the Confederate fighters ran rampant and broke formation from confusion. Several squadrons were better coordinated than others and actually staged a decent defense against the Order’s assault, but it was too little too late. One by one, the fighters were destroyed.
On the flagship, the heavy turrets were aimed at the crippled destroyer. Their blasts ripped through space toward it hoping to deliver a final blow. The sheer force rattled the bones of every man left alive onboard and disabled the artificial gravity. Normally there would have been an attempt to stabilize, but everyone seemed to accept the fact that they were about to die.
From behind, the Confederate flagship picked up the approach of the Order’s battleship. It was too far off to be seen, but it was certainly going to be heard. Coming directly from behind, the Order’s ship sent off a volley of three missiles. Without enough time to maneuver, the Confederate ship realized all too late that the enemy fighters had disabled its rear shielding for a reason. Their engines absorbed the hit and erupted in a nuclear ball of flame.
The Order’s battleship continued to move in and fired heavy volleys upon the destroyers of the Confederacy. When the Confederacy tried to move, they were met by another battleship and two fresh destroyers.
Benjamin couldn’t help but smile, totally pleased with himself. This was what he was meant for, this was what he was born to do, and this was how he would create his legacy.
He maintained his smile as he looked down at the communications officer, “Comm., please transmit in all frequencies.”
“Transmitting sir.”
“All Confederate vessels, we are the Order. You are to surrender your vessels and abandon your posts immediately. Resist and we will respond with deadly force. End transmission.”
Sykes looked up in disbelief. There was no way an unknown could have performed so well. It just wasn’t possible.
Sure of his abilities after such a massive victory, Benjamin winked his green eye at William. “The helm’s all yours sir.” As he stepped off the beam, he saw Lieutenant Frost enter the room with his rifle raised and aimed straight at Benjamin’s head. Benjamin raised his arms, totally undaunted.
Frost was furious, and he ran forward throwing the man before him to the ground. “What did I tell you? I ordered you to stay in your quarters no matter what.”
Sykes was taken back, but felt he had to use the situation. “Lieutenant Frost, whatever this man may have done, we owe him a bit of gratitude. After all, it was because of his handling of the battle that we won.” His face shone with a serene peace that was instantly shattered.
“What have we won? Do you have any idea how many people are dead? On the destroyer alone, we lost five hundred men. In the halls, there are easily another thousand. Most of them were unarmed, but this is a victory?”
Sykes glared at the man. “Frost, you of all people should understand that war is nothing more than an extension of politics. When negotiations fail or are not possible, physical conflict is the only answer. Death is an unfortunate and natural part of that. Now release that man, he is to be commended, not imprisoned.”
Coming November 2014!
Dreamscape Saga Part 2: Colonial Uprising
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Copyright Information
Dreamscape Saga, Part 1, Project Falcon © 2013, D. L. Sorrells
Cover art © 2013, Darren Geers
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or redistributed without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
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Space Corps and all affiliated symbols and ship designs are trademark of D. L. Sorrells. Unauthorized use is prohibited.
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real people or events are coincidental.
Dreamscape Saga Part 1: Project Falcon Page 6