by GARY DARBY
Two glowing, red-hot spots marked the impact points on the Prowler’s stern. Dason’s mouth tightened as a massive explosion ripped through the warship’s aft section.
In a slow, ponderous motion, the deck-gray ship pulled its blunt nose up and away from the planet. Billowing black smoke poured out of its aft section as it headed back up into space and away from its targets far below on the surface.
“Nice job, lieutenant,” Dason commended Alena.
She brought up her trigger finger and pretended to blow smoke off its tip. “Wasn’t the head of my academy class at the laser range for nothing, you know.”
“Great,” Dason returned. “Now, let’s see about those other Prowlers.”
He didn’t need the scope to find the two Faction ships. They were nearing the surface with what seemed to be a swarm of angry hornets attacking them from every quarter.
“The Zephyrs haven’t slowed them,” Alena stated. “It won’t be long before they’re right on top of those transports.”
“Hold on,” Dason called out and sent the Zephyr in a screaming dive through the atmosphere right at the two marauding Faction warships.
One of the Prowlers broke away from its companion and headed in a tight turn over the mountain range. “Dason,” Alena gasped, “it’s headed right at the transport grouping that we helped. That’s its target.”
“Not if I can help it,” Dason answered with a deep scowl and pushed the Zephyr into an even steeper dive. Down through the darkness the ship spiraled, carving through dark, fluffy clouds as easily as a laser beam slicing through a field of black tulips.
Three of the attacking Zephyrs broke off and sped toward the same Faction ship, trying to outrace it and put themselves between it and the hapless transport.
“Is the cannon charged?” Dason ground between clenched teeth.
“Full up,” Alena answered. “Give me a clear shot and I’ll nail’em.”
He glanced over at Alena and tight-lipped directed, “No dancing around this time, we don’t have time. It’s straight in or nothing.”
Alena met his frank expression with her own. “I’ve never been much for dancing myself. Take her in, sir; I’ll get the shot off.”
“Right,” Dason answered and brought the Zephyr’s nose around straight at the lumbering destroyer. A lightning storm of laser beams seemed to erupt from the warship’s bristling armament, passing mere centimeters on each side of the Zephyr.
Dason ignored the volley after volley of scarlet and orange beams, keeping the Zephyr pointed straight and true, trying to coax even more speed from the little ship.
Alena sat hunched over the weapon’s console, watching her target array, ready to fire at just the right instant.
Dason bit down hard on his lower lip, tasting blood as the distance closed between the two ships. At this speed, he wasn’t sure that even if they survived the destroyer’s fusillade of laser beams that he could pull them up in time.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dason caught the flash of a speeding ship. Another Zephyr accelerated at the enemy ship from another direction, hurtling low and flat against the ground.
Recognizing the new and closer threat, the Prowler’s weapons turned and began firing nonstop at the bulletlike vessel.
“Almost there,” Alena cried out, “stand by!”
Dason couldn’t take his eyes off the other Zephyr. Like him, it wasn’t slowing, wasn’t twisting or turning, wasn’t trying to evade the fusillade of laser fire that seemed to surround the small craft.
Somehow, the Zephyr pilot, in an unbelievable feat of pilot skill and courage, flipped the ship over, fired his main engine, and came to a dead stop sitting exactly between the onrushing warcraft and the helpless transports.
A broadside of red-hot lasers reached out, touched the brave ship in an eerie, ruddy glow and then in a thunderous blast, the Zephyr exploded.
Dason could only stare, knowing that no one and nothing had survived, and that he had just witnessed the selfless death of courageous and valiant Star Scouts who had knowingly sacrificed themselves to save their comrades.
Chapter Thirty
Star date: 2443.116
The Battle of Sarpens Two
Dason’s guttural “No!” was matched by Alena’s “Now!” as the ion cannon’s sun-hot plasma spewed out in a long stream that played against the Prowler’s stern.
A moment later, a second, and then a third ion stream from the pack of attacking Zephyrs joined Alena’s shot.
The Prowler’s rear detonated, sending the craft bucking upward as if a mighty fist had punched it from below. It yawed to one side and began side slipping away from the vulnerable transports.
“Pull up, Dason!” Alena screamed.
Without thinking, Dason punched the controls, lifting the Zephyr’s nose at the very last second before they plowed into the ground. The little craft rose through the sky and Dason flipped it on its side to watch the wounded Prowler in its death throes.
The ship seemed to stagger through the night sky in a valiant effort to raise itself from impending doom, but it was too late.
It heeled over nose first, a flaming arrow that dove bow first into a towering granite mountain. An eruption of fire, flame, and gas marked the ship’s fiery end.
Dason took one last satisfied look at the flaming debris before he rolled the ship away and headed toward where they had left the third Faction ship. A minute later, they flew over a smoking crater, all that was left of the last attacker.
Dason surveyed the blackened hole and muttered, “I don’t know who got it, but they have my undying thanks.”
“Me, too,” Alena mumbled and turned to her sensor board. “We’re dead in the water,” she reported, “no weapons whatsoever. I used up the entire ion pack on that last attack. We got nothing.”
Just then, Rosberg’s voice boomed over the communicator, “All transports! Initiate boost-out!”
He paused before saying, “And good luck to you all.”
A few seconds later, he ordered, “All Zephyrs, make for the Dauntless, the admiral’s flagship. She’s ordered a general retreat, and we’re going to hitch a ride.”
Minutes later, Dason had the Zephyr speeding away from the planet. He glanced over at Alena and asked, “Do we have the Dauntless on scope, yet?”
Alena gave a quick nod in response. “Their transponder just came up. Come to course one-zero-zero, down two; five thousand kilometers out. She’s moving pretty fast, so you’re going to have to push it to catch her.”
“Can do, ma’am,” Dason answered and applied full thrust to his main engine.
A few minutes later, Alena brought her head up and pointed. “She’s dead ahead.”
“I see her,” Dason returned and flipped on his transmitter.
“Dauntless,” he intoned, “this is Team Thorne, one Zephyr inbound, six souls aboard, requesting permission to dock.”
“Permission granted, Team Thorne,” a voice from the bridge of the Vanguard class warship replied. “Use starboard side bay, one Zephyr ahead of you, at your eleven o’clock.”
“Roger, Dauntless,” Dason answered, “and thank you.”
Dason watched as the scouter ahead of them entered the bay. He then aligned his craft with the open hangar bay and slid the Zephyr inside to a soft landing to one side of the large compartment.
“Let’s shut her down,” Dason instructed. After a few seconds, the engine wound down to a mere whisper of its former full-throated roar.
Over the communicator came a female voice. “Starboard hangar bay doors closed, pressurizing.”
A short time later the same voice declared, “Full atmosphere, you’re clear to disembark.”
With a slight tilt of his head, Dason motioned for Alena to follow him out of the pilot’s pod. Stepping into the small troop bay, he eyed his team and asked, “Everyone okay?”
“Yeah,” Sami piped up with a puzzled expression. “But would you mind giving us a hint of where we are?”
“We’re aboard the Dauntless,” Dason answered, “Admiral Stannick’s flagship. The general ordered us aboard.”
“What about the transports?” TJ asked in an apprehensive voice. “Did they get away?”
“I don’t know,” Dason answered truthfully. “I know they all got off-planet, but I have no idea what happened after that. Admiral Stannick ordered a retreat; that’s all I can tell you.”
Nase stood up and pointed toward the sylcron windows. Dason turned to see a small contingent of Star Scouts troop out of the other Zephyr. “Maybe we should join them and find out for ourselves,” Nase suggested.
Dason gestured toward the airlock. “Let’s go.”
Dason’s team filed behind him as he marched them toward a group of scouts who gathered around General Rosberg.
As they strode up, Rosberg returned Dason’s salute with a nod and greeting. “Good to see you and your team, Lieutenant Thorne. Heck of a job you and they did today. One for the books.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dason answered. He murmured low, “I was wondering—”
“They’re both okay,” Rosberg quickly responded. “They landed in the port bay. They’ll be along momentarily, I’m sure.”
With that he turned, followed by the remaining scouts into a nearby corridor. Dason was well down the passageway when he spotted two smiling faces waiting for him near the passageway juncture.
He waved and pushed his way through the small crowd until he could reach out and wrap his arms around his father in a bear hug.
He held him tight for a second before he pulled back and gave him a stern look. “Dad, what were you thinking? Leaving sickbay like that? You’re not Superman, you know.”
“Well,” Deklon drawled, “don’t be too sure about that.”
He winked at Shanon who stood nearby. “Don’t you know that all fathers are supermen? They just don’t wear the cape all the time.”
Dason kept the stern expression for just a second before he broke down and laughed. “If you say so,” he answered and reached over to shake Jadar’s hand. “Good to see you, too, Uncle Jadar.”
Jadar smiled in reply. “You’re a man grown, Dason, why don’t you drop the ‘uncle’ bit. Just call me . . . Captain Marrel.”
The three Marrel men held a solemn pose for all of a second before they burst out laughing. Dason turned with a big smile to reach out and bring Shanon into the group.
“Dad, Jadar,” he shyly remarked, “You remember Scout Hsu . . . Shanon Hsu.”
“Of course,” Deklon replied and gave her a broad smile. “How could I forget the lady that brings such happiness to my son?”
Shanon bit down on her lower lip as she smiled at Dason. A small, ruddy tinge marked both of her cheeks.
Just then, Brant Renn came around the corner. “Sorry to break up the homecoming, folks, but the general wants all of us in Admiral Stannick’s ready room.”
Deklon gave him a quick nod. “On our way, lieutenant.”
A minute later, the last of the scouts filed into the large compartment; all were quiet and expectant, hoping that Rosberg had good news for them.
At one side stood Admiral Stannick and General Rosberg, murmuring low, both with worried and intense expressions.
Rosberg took a moment to count heads before he stepped forward. “I know it’s been a long day for all of us but I’m afraid it’s not quite over yet.”
With sad eyes, he went on, “Today was a bittersweet day.”
Pausing, he let his head drop for just a moment, before saying, “On the one hand, we managed to prevent the total loss of our Star Scouts on the planet, but it came at a high price. A number of our comrades died before we could get them on board the transports.”
Gazing around the room, his mouth worked for an instant, before he swallowed and said, “I’m also sorry to report that we lost Colonel Tuul and Lieutenant Staley during the battle.
“Colonel Tuul placed his Zephyr in the line of fire in a courageous act that prevented the destruction of several troop transports, but in so doing, he and Lieutenant Staley lost their lives.”
In the profound silence that followed the general’s announcement, Alena and Dason exchanged knowing and sad looks. They hadn’t known before who had flown the Zephyr in that last desperate attempt to prevent the Prowler from destroying the transports.
They only knew that whoever they were, had made the ultimate sacrifice, giving their lives so that others might live.
Rosberg continued, “We’ve lost our own, and we will remember them at the proper time and place.”
He gestured toward Admiral Stannick, who took a step forward to stand next to the general. “We managed to hurt the Faction pretty bad,” she began, “in three separate encounters, but we sustained substantial damage ourselves.
“We lost about half of the ships that I brought with me,” she reported grimly.
Her mouth turned down in a dark scowl, and her voice trembled in deep anger. “The Faction gave no quarter. The Faction Marauders destroyed our ships that were apparently too damaged to continue fighting. There were no survivors.”
A rumble, similar to the deep, throaty growl of a grizzly bear rose in the room. To show no mercy to those who couldn’t fight or who surrendered was the hallmark of the lowest form of human life, and there was no forgiving those who committed such an unspeakable crime.
“In addition to those brave ships and crews, we lost Captain Federov and the IntrepidX. I can say that she went down the way that her crew wanted, fighting to the last, and taking more than her share of the enemy with her.”
With one hand, she gestured toward Rosberg. “Towards the last when it was obvious that we couldn’t hold them off, General Rosberg and I agreed on a risky gambit, one that we weren’t sure would work.
“We ordered a retreat in the hope that the Faction would want to destroy my warships worse than they did the transports.
“I’m glad to report that it appears that at last report, all of the transports made it to n-space and the Faction are tailing us.”
The low bass rumbling of anger that had rippled through the small crowd changed to smiles and even a few laughs of relief.
Dason, for one, felt his own anger subside, though he was heartbroken to hear of the loss of so many, and especially of the Intrepid, which had carried Dason and the scouts on their search for his uncle.
Rosberg interrupted Dason’s gloomy thoughts. “You may be wondering about the destination of those transports. Well, I can tell you now.
“They’re headed to Earth with a small contingent of Admiral Stannick’s warships. They’re going to blast their way through the interdiction screen and open a hole for the transports all the way to Terra.
“There are enough fit scouts that along with the walking wounded, we’re going to take back the Imperium capital.
“And with the help of some of our scouts who managed to hide from Peller’s goons on Terra, we’re going to take back Cheyenne Mountain, too.”
Shouts of elation erupted loud and long enough that Rosberg had to motion for quiet before he could continue. “You might also be wondering where we’re headed.”
He nodded toward Stannick, who touched a small console nearby to bring up a holo-image. Dason’s eyebrows went up at the view. It showed the greens, blues, and browns of the Alpha Prime planet.
“A recon drone took this image two days ago,” Stannick explained, “and transmitted it to Peller’s fleet headquarters on Earth. I got it from . . . Well, let’s just say I still have a few friends on the inside.”
She shifted the image to a long-distance shot of the planet. Hundreds upon hundreds of Mongan warships encircled the globe, a rotating galaxy of hulking ships with the planet in the exact center of their slow procession.
At Dason’s side, Shanon couldn’t help the tiny gasp that escaped her lips. “That has to be more ships than the entire star fleets of the Imperium combined.”
Stannick must have heard her for she turned in Shano
n’s direction. “And you would be right, scout. Over five times more to be more exact. They’re packed in there tighter than atoms in a dwarf star.”
She gave a little shake of her head. “Well, maybe not quite that dense but you get the idea.”
“You’re trying to lure the Faction fleet into a fight with the Mongans,” Alena guessed. “Bad guys fighting bad guys.”
Stannick nodded and glanced over at Rosberg. “Something like that, but that’s only part of the plan.”
She gave the group a drawn smile. “During the Sarpens battle, the Faction got a little sloppy in their transmissions between ships, and my signals intelligence team picked up several interesting tidbits.”
She glanced around the room and her eyes lighted up. “It would appear that none other than his royal ‘Highness’, the Grand Poobah himself directed the Faction side of the battle.
“And what’s more, he’s ordered his fleet to break off their attack and come after us. And he’s coming along for the ride, too.”
“Ma’am,” Deklon questioned in a rush, “pardon the interruption, but are you telling us that Adiak Peller is in one of those ships trailing us?”
“I certainly am,” Stannick replied. “In fact, we know which ship he’s on, the War Thunder, the newest and badest dreadnought on the block.
“We also know he’s not taking any chances, he’s surrounded himself with about ten other first-line Marauders.”
She grimly faced the group. “Much as I hate to see any of my former fleet destroyed, at this point I’d be more than willing to let a dozen or more of those Mongan warships take on the War Thunder and blow her to smithereens and Peller along with it.”
“Who wouldn’t!” Sami blurted out, and then sheepishly muttered, “Sorry, I just liked the idea of Peller being reduced to nothing more than a few molecules of cosmic gas.”
“We get it, scout,” Rosberg replied in a dry voice and turned to Stannick. “Speaking of gas.”
She nodded and gestured again toward the image, changing it to show the Helix Nebula. “As the drone passed through the nebula, it registered an anomaly that we’ve never seen before on the sensors. Enormous amounts of Kolomite, but in a condensed gaseous form.”