The Battle of Tangine

by Will Crudge

  The energy field on the small entrance hatch of the fighter’s hull was snapped into place before the physical hatch opened. The door cleared out, and Darius leapt into the freshly cut opening.

  The load thud of hundreds of kilos of armor and flesh resonated throughout the polished aluminum chamber as Darius impacted the deck feet-first. He rolled to his feet and made a wild swing with his gravity hammer. He knew the tightly packed array of red-armored men would make easy targets, and by getting in close to them, they’d be highly limited on being able to fire on him without hitting their own.

  The crash of the gravity hammer was devastating. Half a dozen red armored bodies flew through the air like scattered leaves in a wind storm. Several well-timed follow up swings had cut the defender’s numbers in half before the charge of the hammer was depleted. Darius didn’t bother taking the time to reach for his multi-purpose rifle that was fastened to his back, but instead relied on the superior strength and bulk of UAHC battle armor. His balled fisted pounded away at multiple targets in rapid succession, and the surprised defenders had no opportunity to regain the initiative in such close quarters.

  One soldier tried to clasp hands with Darius, while two others tried to grab him from behind. But their attempts would be fruitless.

  Darius simply squeezed his hands, and the interlaced fingers of his enemy were crushed into gruesome slivers of mutilated flesh and steel. The speaker system in the soldier’s helmet betrayed a scream in response to the intense pain.

  One of the two soldiers that were trying to wrestle down the bulkier matte silver armored man reached for a ballistic pistol from his side and brought it up to Darius’ head.

  Multiple shots fired in rapid succession, but didn’t even seem to make the helmet move, let alone penetrate anything. Darius slammed an elbow into the pistol-wielding man, and the loud crack of smashed chest armor filled the room. The blow would have not been fatal, had it not been for the concaved dent that prevented the soldier’s diaphragm from breathing in precious air.

  Darius widened his stance, and then proceeded to flip the last attacker over his shoulder, and the red armored body smashed into the deck plate below. Before the man could regain his faculties, a matte silver elbow crushed the visor of his helmet and drove on through to shatter the skull it protected.

  The Fleet marshal then grabbed his rifle for the first time and scanned for his first target. But before he could take aim, he was side-tackled by two more soldiers. The three men crashed into the bulkhead, and the polished aluminum panel was bent in response to the impact of a near metric ton.

  Darius could see more red suits of armor in his periphery, and he knew his situation was critical to say the least. But he knew what was coming.

  No longer did he take measure of his seemingly dire predicament, did he see the forms of two massive panthers ripping flesh. The two soldiers on top of him were so busy trying to pry his helmet off, that they never saw Shadow and Sheba coming for them.

  Darius felt a massive weight being lifted all at once, and he instantly knew what had happened. His two attackers were yanked clear of him and were now headless.

  “Any others?” Darius asked, as he quickly rose to his feet and retrieved his rifle.

  “All enemies down,” Shadow replied, and then licked the dripping blood off of his snout. Sheba did the same, and then began to scan the piles of dead soldiers for any signs of life.

  Then the sound of a pair of feet impacting the deck caught their attention. Val was gingerly walking towards them with his usual careless smile. The monk reached down and picked up a discarded plasma rifle, and then walked towards the inward bulkhead doorway. Darius noted that the doorway had been breached, but the breaching team had gone outward in relation to the room they were in.

  “I didn’t think you even needed a rifle?” Darius scoffed. “I’ve seen you catch a bullet with your bare hand!”

  Val just turned his head back to Darius and smiled. “I carry one from time to time. It lulls the enemy into a false sense of security.”

  “How can an armed man give them any sense of security?”

  “Because I only carry a weapon to trick them into believing I actually need one,” Val said with a wink. “Coming?”

  Darius smiled within his helmet, and then began to follow Val through the ruined bulkhead door.

  Darius didn’t make it through the door. He stopped dead in his tracks. Shadow and Sheba continue passed him and kept pace with Val. It was as if they knew Darius would only be a moment, but even Darius didn’t know why he stopped.

  He craned his neck around to a larger pile of ruined bodies and began to glare at one corpse in particular. The markings on his or her chest plate indicated some kind of leadership role, he supposed. It wasn’t a typical Crimson rank insignia, but he also knew that these spec ops troops were more paramilitary than they were regular soldiers.

  Something about the energy he felt was familiar about the motionless body, but he couldn’t quite place it. But Darius had a goal. A task to complete. The corpse wasn’t going anywhere, after all. He knew he needed to focus on the living, and then he turned to step through the doorway.

  ***

  Peterson watched the soldier leave the room. For once his lack of neural interface became an asset. Without it, his suit would have no vital signs to report. Even though the superior UAHC armor may or may not be able to read the data’s specific content, it would most certainly pick up on the frequency range of the med system. He supposed that the soldier was confident in his suit’s ability to pick up on any signs of life. Obviously, there was enough ambient temperature among the dead in their insulated suits for body temperatures of the corpses to be any reliable indicator of death,

  Even with today’s medical technology, you don’t survive for over three hundred years by being stupid, Peterson told himself, while he patiently waited for the UAHC Soldier to be well beyond its normal sensor range. Satisfied he was safely beyond scanning range, he began to stir.

  But then a new sensation hit him like a ton of bricks. Someone is coming. Someone… It’s him! Peterson froze once more. A new set of feet plunged onto the decking surface in the room, and it was immediately followed by a larger sounding thud. The tell-tale sound of claws grazing the aluminum deck betrayed the presence of a Zodiac. A wolf, Peterson supposed.

  It is him, after all. He dared not rotate his helmet to get a clear view of the War Master and his mount. Instead, he let patience win the day, and managed to wait until the pair crossed into his natural range of vision.

  Peterson fought the urge to grab a weapon and fire on the man that crippled his brother, but he thought better of it. A prudent warrior would choose his battlefield. He knew that the mighty wolf would kill him within seconds after taking action against the war Master. He needed to vanquish his foe at some point, but not this day. His brother needed him, and he was no good to his brother if he was dead. Besides, he figured, he’d need to get the Zodiac out of the equation if he expected to be a match for the War Master.

  His own brother had been taken by surprise when he was vanquished. But it wouldn’t happen again. Person knew how strong and deadly his brother was. They were nearly equal in strength and skill, after all. But neither of them could have ever guessed that the eldest of the all the known War Masters within the galaxy be so powerful. Perhaps it was less strength, but more so cunning that did his brother in. He didn’t know the specifics, but he knew who had been the one to break his brother’s back.

  After several moments, the footfalls of the War Master and his wolf could no longer be heard. Peterson pried himself from the tangle of ruined armor and tattered flesh, and then quickly left the room. I’m coming, brother.

  Swatting Flies

  Location: UAHC Sloop Foehammer, CIC, Tangine Interstellar Port

  Date Time: Post Interstellar 08/04/4201 1843HRS UAHC Standard Zulu

  System: Sol System, Mid Region

  James came into the CIC in a rush. He sunk into th
e oversized command seat and started to bring up the various displays he felt he needed to track the battle. “What’s the status of those fighters?”

  “Swatted them like flies,” Steve replied. “But we’re critically low on ammo.”

  “Can we hold off another wave of fighters at least?” James asked.

  “Not a chance, Pirate McPirate-Face,” Steve remarked. “We can maybe take out two or three before we’ll be forced to throw rocks.”

  “Well, that means they’d better hurry!” James shook his head.

  “You see it too, don’t you? Looks like those light cruisers about fifty clicks out, are getting into position to launch another squadron or twelve,” Steve said. The icons of eight light cruisers converging on matching vectors and velocities dominated the screen.

  “Captain Ives?” James called out on the voice net.

  “I’m here, Pirate McPirate-Face.” She sent a wink icon to the command console display.

  “Uh, OK. So, what’s your ammo status aboard the Aegis?”

  “Bone dry. We have a dozen projectiles left on our five-inch rail, and our final defense beams are running on fifteen percent charge.” She replied.

  “Don’t your defense beams run off your main reactor though?” James asked.

  “Yes…. And no,” she replied. “We’ve taken damage to some of our main conduits, and the charging system is severed from the main power grid. It will require about a week in dry dock to repair.” She sent a frowny face to the display.

  James didn’t know what Ives looked like, but he was starting to have a series of warm feelings whenever the lady captain spoke. She was a mixture of stone cold military and free spirit. He couldn’t help but admire her resolve. He supposed, on more than one occasion, that she may use humor as a defense mechanism while under pressure. But then he realized that she was just strong-willed and highly comfortable in her own skin.

  That made James desire her even more. But then he shook his head. He didn’t understand why he was even wasting his mental and emotional energy on her. He was facing down death, and the shining center of humanity was staring down imminent enslavement.

  He may have been a pirate. A low-life brigand. But he grew up in the shadow of the Crimson Alliance and had no love for them. The Crimson elites liked to blame the UAHC for their own poverty but he knew it was a lie. The Crimson Alliance had institutionalized the notion of blaming others for their own failures.

  James frowned. He wanted the UAHC to survive. It was a beacon of hope. He lived in so much poverty and violence as a child that he saw the wonders of what it meant to live free in UAHC controlled space. As a pirate, he’d seen their standards of living, and even gotten a glimpse on how they lived on more than one occasion. James didn’t buy into the chronic envy that dominated Crimson politics. He knew that the Alliance was built on a foundation of fear and self-denial.

  He now had the chance to live free for the first time in his life. He went from being a street kid eating garbage to survive to being the indentured captive of a pirate crew.

  Now James had the opportunity to decide how to live. He smiled despite himself and forced back a chuckle. It was his decision to take action and fight. He could just as easily have retreated back into his cell when he managed to get the missiles loaded. But he decided to be more than a selfish pirate. He decided for himself to break through his own mental shackles and be free to choose his own fate. Death may be imminent, but he had the choice to die fighting on his own accord and fight he would.

  “Looks like the Crimson are launching their fighters.” Steve broke the silence.

  “Captain?” James asked.

  “Yes, my favorite pirate?” she replied.

  “Favorite pirate? How many of us do you know?” James almost lost track of why he even started the exchange in the first place. The fact the he was her favorite anything caught him off guard.

  “Just you, dear.”

  James blushed. “Well, I guess you’re my favorite cutter captain then.”

  “Oh, will you two just get a room, for crap’s sake!” Steve interrupted.

  “If I’m still breathing in the next twenty-four hours, I may just pay for it myself!” Ives retorted.

  “Wow, I’ve been out smart-assed for once. Well played, captain! Well played indeed,” Steve said with a tone of admiration and a hint of conceit.

  “Well – what I was going to suggest, was for the Aegis to reposition here…” James sent a proposed positioning image to her HUD. The display showed a diagram of how the two vessel’s final defense beams could have interlocking fields of fire, while still being at a great enough distance from one another to allow the beams ranges to have minimal penetration of each ship’s energy shields.

  “Wow! Did you come up with this?” Ives replied.

  “Yeah, um… It’s something I’ve learned from being a space-faring thug. We pirates don’t have much to work with most of the time, so we invest a lot of time and energy into maximizing what we do have.” James responded.

  “I admit I’m impressed!”

  “Th- thanks.” James could barely get the words out. He didn’t expect her to be so taken with his proposal let alone pay him a compliment. He didn’t even remember the last time anyone had given him any praise at all. Perhaps never, he supposed.

  “Maneuvering now. I should be in position within the next five minutes. We should expect our company to arrive in seven,” she said, and then the link was cut.

  “Smooth, dude. Smooth,” Steve said.

  “Oh, come on. I’m just trying to keep us alive is all,” James retorted.

  “I think you’re not used to praise, dick! I was being sincere. I’m mostly a sarcastic ass, granted. But I do have the capacity to give credit where credit is due!” Steve lectured.

  “Oh… Sorry.” James said, and then his posture seemed to shrink down into the seat. He felt embarrassed. He had a lot to learn about being around kind people or AI’s for that matter.

  ***

  David was barely conscious. Some anonymous bodily fluid kept dripping into left eye, while his right eye was swollen shut. His internal HUD in his optical implants were his only reliable gateway to the outside world. He could hear muffled voices behind full faced helmets but couldn’t make out any words. He knew the Crimson soldiers were communicating on their own voice net, and that their external speakers weren’t online.

  With a strained effort, he lifted his forearm to wipe his one good eyes clear, and then blinked until his natural vision cleared. His arm seemed to weigh a ton since his powered armor had failed. Must have taken a critical hit on my power distribution.

  The first thing he saw was a pair of spec ops commandos with their weapons trained on him. Apparently his arm movement didn’t go unnoticed. He labored to rotate his hand and displayed his open palm as a signal of compliance but didn’t let his face show any fear. He didn’t feel fear, after all. Not in the traditional sense. The chemicals in his brain might try and trigger a Soldier’s fight-or-flight reflex to impending danger, but decades of intense training and combat experience allowed the consummate professionals to channel the sensations.

  “He’s no threat. Stand down.” An audible voice ranged out from a set of helmet speakers. Another commando stepped into David’s view, and this one looked slightly different. David recognized the body language of a leader immediately. The man’s insignia was scrapped away from, what David supposed was, some kind of superficial combat damage to his red armor.

  “Where are my people?” David asked authoritatively. He knew they had to be close by. He had covered the retreat of the group of marines that he was fighting along-side and had later linked up with Kelley and Jefe. His two shipmates had followed their orders to clear an egress path back to the extraction point, but they wouldn’t board any craft until their captain was secured. David admired their loyalty. He would have done the same thing. But before they could board the last shuttle, they were cut off from the EVAC point by a Crimson countera
ttack. That was the last thing David could remember.

  “They’re here with you, captain.” The Crimson leader replied calmly. The man had no malice in his voice, but instead seemed to be emotionally indifferent to the fact that he was addressing an enemy combatant.

  David craned his head around and scanned the room. His one eye became obscured by more bodily fluid as the angle of his head changed. But this time, David could confirm that the seemingly random fluid was in fact blood. He struggled to wipe his eye once more and felt some solace in the fact that it didn’t require as much effort this time. His eye blinked until he could see clearly once again, and then he saw the unconscious forms of his two surviving shipmates.

  He could tell from his internal HUD that their vitals were weak, but stable. Satisfied, he turned his head back to the man in charge. “Take off your helmet,” David demanded.

  The Crimson leader tilted his head for a moment, but to David’s surprise, he complied. The helmet disassembled itself in a split second, and the metallic plates of the helmet’s components retreated into the leader’s shoulder plates.

  But David was shocked to see that the leader’s face wasn’t that of a man’s at all. She was actually a stunning woman with short cropped ginger hair, and delicate freckles that highlighted her pale skin. Her bright blue eyes were striking and seemed to peer deeply into David with a sense of self-confidence that almost gave the seasoned Soldier a feeling of respect for the woman.

  “Elizabeth,” she said as a matter of fact. “Senior Special Agent Elizabeth Hill, to be more precise.” Her voice was strong, but conspicuously feminine. A stark contrast to the male sounding voice that her speakers let on.