The two soldiers before him nodded, turning on their heels as the Major slowly lowered himself back into his chair. As the door closed, his shaking hand reached for the metallic mug sitting to his right, the container half full of water. Reaching into his uniform, his hand retrieved a small phial, his thumb flicking the top open and dripping the thick liquid into the mug.
Straightening his frame, he stared across at the wall once more, glimpsing a picture of his presentation of an award to a frontline soldier causing him to smile, one of his fondest moments. Then he reached forward, lifting the mug determinedly and draining the contents.
Within seconds, his lifeless body crumpled to the floor.
Captain Mekeert stood next to Jozefina Kapralova in the front trench facing east, a cold breeze sweeping smoke, dust and snow around them as the soldiers nearby stared out grimly. Muffled explosions from the north startled them, Jozefina turning warily as Mekeert nodded, ‘They have blown the connecting tunnels…it appears we have lost the two northern villages to the enemy…we are alone!’
The Heathrow supervisor grimaced, ‘That does not sound too encouraging, when will they attack again?’
The Captain raised her hand and placed it on Jozefina’s shoulder, ‘Probably soon…maybe a few hours. They will move up and shell us first…subdue and kill as many as possible before they move in for the kill…’
Jozefina shuddered, ‘Not much longer then…’ She shook her head in disbelief, ‘I persuaded my boss to let me come here…he said I was mad and I am beginning to agree with him now! Still too late now…’ She winced as the distant shrieks filled the air, occasional cracks of sniper fire breaking the uneasy descending silence as they stood staring out.
A shout startled them, both reaching for field glasses in curiosity as another nearer shout filled the air, ‘Something is out there…the smoke is clearing!’
Both raised their binoculars, staring into the viewers as they manually adjusted the zoom, the billowing shroud obscuring their vision as the soldiers either side strained to see into the swirling mass. Mekeert sighed, shaking her head as she lowered the binoculars dismissively, her voice a harsh whisper, ‘They are just without mercy…’
Jozefina shrugged, her voice a whisper, ‘I cannot see any…there is too much smoke.’ Then she drew breath, her eyes closing to block out reality as she slowly lowered the field glasses, her chest heaving as tears welled in her eyes, her hands falling to her sides.
Two hundred metres from the village defences the Morgons had placed an ominous warning to the encircled allies, the assault rifles pushed into the torn ground at regular intervals and extending all around the buildings, visible from the north, east, south and west as the soldiers stared outwards.
Atop the blood soaked rifles were the decapitated heads of the fallen victims, their dead eyes all facing the defenders…hundreds of contorted lifeless faces taunting and placed to ultimately demoralise the last survivors.
Chapter Twenty: Return to Alexion One
David Bland stared ahead through the cockpit viewers, the blast shields deployed by the pilot as they approached the Zaxon B star system. The darkness seemed all enveloping, his eyes straining as he glimpsed the distance flashes across space, the planet coming fully into view. Angry cloud systems swirled across the surface, the outer orbiting rock and debris wave seeming to almost sparkle in the freezing dark space temperature.
The pilot indicated to his viewer in disgruntlement, ‘Miserable planet…it is now the winter season…it will snow for months and become freezing cold.’ He glanced across at the airport manager, grimacing briefly, ‘Your friends are on the planet? They will need winter clothing and extra rations if they are out in the open...if not, they had better stay near others at night, the snow tigers get very bold in the winter!’
David nodded slowly, his lips curling grimly in despondency, ‘How long before we get back to the space station?’
The pilot indicated ahead to the flashes, ‘We should be able to see it soon…maybe a couple of your hours if the Morgons are around it…we will have to seek a gap in the fighting to get through. I am not sure if our Fahimian escort will be keen to engage them…it may get a little exciting!’ He grinned in anticipation, glancing across at David and glimpsing the uncomfortable expression, his voice becoming relaxed as he giggled, ‘That should be no problem to a marine officer of your experience…’
David ignored the retort, rotating the viewer and staring intently at the bright stars on either side, the deep space seeming to emphasise their beauty, his voice strained with emotion, ‘Let’s just ensure we get these laser rifles onto the space station…I think that must take priority now, even over our lives…they could make the difference!’
The pilot nodded grimly, his eyes narrowing as the distant space station came into view, tiny flashes across the structure and surrounding space alarming him, ‘It seems you may be right…Alexion One is under direct attack. We will need to contact them on approach, ensure they do not fire on the Fahimians…’ He glanced downwards at the notes next to his assault rifle on the central console, ‘I got their translator to provide their unit codes and engine pulse arrays, that should allow them to fly very close if I can get the codes transmitted.’
David’s eyes widened in acknowledgement, ‘Ok…what are those things…and what can I do?’
The pilot grinned again, ‘My apologies…flyer talk…the unit codes are like your plane ‘transponders’, they are emitted from a small device on each Fahimian fighter and can be used for recognition purposes, but only in conjunction with the frequency of the engine pulse which will change periodically. The fighter and any recognising craft will then communicate to ensure no ‘friendly fire’ incidents…there is also a failsafe contingency should the code and frequency fall into the wrong hands, both craft having to recognise the other.’ He glanced at the airport manager once more, ‘There is little you can do to help…once we get within range I will break radio silence very briefly and transit the codes…hopefully the Morgons will not realise what we are doing until it is too late!’
David Bland nodded, ‘Interesting stuff...’ He gradually moved the viewer to examine one of the Fahimian fighters, over thirty craft now escorting them with eight in front and twelve to either side. He smiled faintly to himself as he realised the sleek craft were relatively sized to match their people, much smaller than the Trevakian equivalent as he had seen in the loading bay on Alexion one. David considered the Fahimians seemed quite a flamboyant race, the extravagance of their uniforms matched by the decorative nature of their fighter craft design. The small ships seemed very nimble, choosing a synchronized moment for one ship from each side of the escort to ‘flip’ over the top and one below the transport, both craft twisting and turning in space as if performing a ritual dance, the pilots testing the manoeuvrability of their controls.
The Fahimian space fighters were a crimson red, long thin craft that the pilot would virtually lay horizontally within, the cockpit tailored lavishly for ultimate comfort in heavily padded plastics and resins. The main controls were placed on either side of the flyer, both sparkling silver grips not only controlling the flight, but thrusters and power to other parts of the small vessel, the right grip providing access to the long missile and laser guns situated under the hull and an energy boost to the engines.
All Fahimian fighters from their last vessel were equipped as standard with five missiles under either short aerodynamic wing, the potent laser guns rechargeable and not requiring the static surge of the Morgon and Trevakian vessels, thus proving not only more powerful, but also very efficient.
Externally, each small crafts crimson armoured exterior was adorned with individual markings of the pilot, with every Fahimian having to choose the animal that most represented their individual fighting characteristics. Duplications were then personalised by the colour rankings of seniority of service or flying achievements, all decorations added to the gold and silver plating that ran the length of the vessels
sides.
David grinned widely as the fighters ‘flipped’ once more, a vessel from the right twisting over above the transport craft with one from the left manoeuvring underneath. The pilot shook his head next to David, his enthusiasm for the tactic dwindling, ‘Do they have to keep doing that?’
The airport manager giggled softly as the pilot tutted and leant forward to adjust some of the sensor consoles, the transport craft now picking up weak signals from the vast space station ahead. As they approached the large orbiting station, David pointed towards the many flashes around the upper levels, laser blasts sweeping out from Alexion Ones remaining guns in support of the few remaining Trevakian vessels engaging the Morgon fighters.
The transport pilot nodded, his voice becoming adrenalin charged as he glanced up and tapped an upper console, ‘I am sending the codes now…only twice. We will bank hard right and approach the station from the lower rear, engage boosters as we rise quickly and head straight into the lower loading bay…it will be bumpy…’ Then he drew breath, his arm pointing upwards towards the top of the vast station, ‘There is not as much fire from the upper guns as usual…that does not bode well…’
The console below beeped, the pilot distracted and flicking his fingers across the panel once more, the small electronic screen flickering, ‘I have transmitted the manoeuvre to the Fahimian fighters…’ He strained his eyes as the console glowed, a small message appearing quickly, ‘…they will bank away once we are on ascent…they cannot risk an engagement!’ He shook his head in frustration, ‘That’s disappointing, they must see how short of fighters we are…’
David nodded grimly, his tone thoughtful, ‘Perhaps they have no choice…they only have one ship left, they can’t risk their survival…’
The grim faced pilot nodded reluctantly in agreement, flicking his hand across several screens, his voice a hiss, ‘We will commence the drop shortly…fasten yourself in and deploy your visor…if one of the Morgons sees us, it will be quite a chase!’
The airport manager nodded pensively, adjusting the restraints on either side of him uncomfortably, the pilot continuing, ‘To activate your visor, simply tap the side of your helmet…’ He grinned, his gloved hand tapping his own helmet, the visor sweeping down suddenly, ‘Keep your eyes on the fighters above…not the Fahimians…I want as much notice as possible if one or more peel off and head in our direction!’ He tapped the forward console once more, the transport accelerating dramatically as he grasped the controls before him, pushing them forward, David’s eyes widening as the craft shot forward through space.
The airport manager glanced across the viewing screens, seeing the brightly coloured fighters twist and turn in space in unison before sweeping down with the transport craft. As the planet’s surface began to fill the viewers, David stared at the swirling thick cloud formations below, his jaw tensing as he only imagined the poor weather beneath, the snow falling thickly onto the inhospitable mountains, dwellings and brush land.
The engines roared as the transport levelled out violently, bouncing off the upper external atmosphere, the pilot shouting demandingly, ‘Move the viewers upwards…I need warning if the enemy fighters are breaking off!’
David shook his head, shaking his thoughts from the almost mesmerising sight below, the vast cloud formations surging and turning as he moved the external viewers, ‘I-I am sorry…I got distracted…’ He stared at two of the screens, the lower part of the vast space station seeming to almost fill the third viewing angle.
Small dots shot across the darkness above, the backdrop of stars sparkling as the hulls of fighters twisted and banked, the silver Trevakian vessels glinting as the lights of the space station reflected off their hulls. Flashes of laser fire swept across space, Morgon craft chasing their prey back and forth around the upper levels of the space station with Trevakian fighter pilots desperately attempting to defend the upper levels of Alexion One, trying to cut off reinforcements from the Morgon shock troops fighting on the upper levels. The last few fighters had now adopted the desperate tactic of trying to draw a superior enemy onto the few remaining high powered guns of the space station, the defending pilots knowing full well that the fighting on the upper decks may at any time break through into the artillery batteries and cut their firepower permanently.
David gasped as the craft shook, atmospheric pressure screeching against the hull as the pilot yanked at the controls, the small vessel bouncing violently before soaring upwards, gathering speed as power to the engines was increased. The cockpit consoles flickered as the pilot increased power further, the engines roaring and transport accelerating to maximum velocity as the Trevakian grinned in relish, enjoying the adrenalin rush that surged through his chest.
The airport manager closed his eyes briefly, grasping the sides of his seat tightly, his terror rising as the vessel buffeted and bounced, the interior lights flickering once more as the craft shot upwards, Alexion One beginning to fill the viewers as the pilot shouted hoarsely, ‘Keep an eye on those fighters!’ He glanced down at the console before him, ‘The Fahimians are leaving us!’
David stared through clenched eyes, his hands adjusting the viewers from side to side as the craft shook, seeing the scorched outer hull of Alexion One above, space debris and fragments of destroyed defensive droids floating across the darkness ahead. The Fahimian fighters banked sharply away to either side, the glows from their engines becoming dimmer to lower the chance of detection as the pilots deployed countermeasures, David staring in awe as the sleek craft seemed to virtually disappear as they abruptly turned about and flew away at high speed.
One remaining fighter swept past on the right side, the small craft twisting in space before spinning and turning away at high velocity, the pilot next to David grinning incredulously as the craft shook once more, ‘…a final salute…they seem an interesting race…’
The airport manager nodded, his teeth gritting in fear as the transport craft swept upwards, bucking violently from side to side in response to the pilot’s actions, avoiding the debris and broken droids as they sped towards the space station above.
The craft continued buffeting and jolting, David pushing his helmet back into the co-pilots chair and turning his head slightly in anguish, the fighter battle continuing far above as the faint green lights of the distant transporter bay shield roamed into view. As the lights got bigger, the pilot grasped the controls tighter, shouting above the screeches and grinding, the engines roaring once more, ‘Brace for landing…we are coming in fast!’ He jerked the controls violently, the transporter flipping onto its back as shooting away from Alexion One then twisted in space, turning and heading directly towards the transporter bay. David’s eyes widened in terror as the transport bay seemed to open dramatically before them, his body thrust forward as the craft slowed dramatically, the pilot applying the speed brakes heavily.
Sweeping through the bright lights, the shield shivered behind, more power surging through the protective force field as the transporter bounced on the shining bay floor, sparks flying as the craft slewed sideways, the engines reversing thrust to kill the speed, David grunting as his body jolted violently against the restraining straps.
As the small craft slid to a halt, the pilot exhaled heavily, sweat dripping from his features as David grinned in relief, ‘Well that went ok…a bit bumpy, but we are here safely…thanks to you!’
The pilot nodded, coughing as he switched off a number of the transports monitoring systems and the engines, steam engulfing the outside of the craft as the hull warmed once more, ‘Well…if we ever get into a customer service environment…you can impress me with your skill!’
David Bland grimaced, irritated by the Trevakian’s sarcasm, the blast screens extending downwards slowly as he blinked in the bright lights of the loading area. Several brightly clad bay crew members stood staring at the craft, a blue uniformed officer striding across the shining floor towards them, the airport manager pointing, ‘Do you think he will make us pay for the floor
? He doesn’t look too happy…’
The pilot grinned, glancing at David in surprise at him finding the comment amusing as the manager continued, ‘I think that once we show them the cargo, we may get our own parking space…and it will be next to the lifts!’ The Trevakian chuckled in response, flicking his hands across the console to open the rear doors and unbuckling his belt to rise.
Indicating to David, he slapped his shoulder and slipped back between the seats into the cargo container behind, ‘Come on, let’s give this officer the surprise of his life! I imagine we will be joined by some high rankers then!’
David Bland rose from his seat, following the Trevakian pilot and straightening his uniform as he removed his helmet, rubbing his hand across his scalp to free his matted hair. Moving around the stacked boxes of Fahimian rifles, he grinned sheepishly in anticipation as his boots stepped onto the declined rear ramp, the pilot stood at the foot on the landing bay floor.
Drawing next to the Trevakian, David stiffened as the officer approached, his demeanour seeming unforgiving as he shouted menacingly, ‘Where have you been? This craft identification has been missing for days…there is no record of any transport runs!’
The pilot’s boots cracked together, his fist rising to his chest abruptly as David copied the action, the officer grimacing as he saluted back, ‘Well...provide a brief report…where have you been?’
David stepped forward sheepishly, his voice lowered, ‘I…I tricked this pilot onto flying me to the surface…in attempts to save my crew…erm, staff from earth. It is my responsibility…’ He hesitated, the station officer indicating for him to continue impatiently, ‘W-we were chased by enemy craft and flew…’
The pilot interrupted officially, his voice rising in excitement, ‘Sir…it is important we report our cargo to a senior officer immediately. We are carrying supplies provided as gifts from the Fahimian Republic…we have the schematics for these weapons and we believe they are superior to the ones our ground forces currently possess!’
Zaxon B: The Final Struggle (Galaxies Collide Book 4) Page 20