A Show of Force

by Ryk Brown

  “Unknown,” the senior controller replied. “We have no contacts in the… Wait!”

  Senior Commander looked up at the central overhead view screen, the one that had revealed the fate of the Jar-Alatt only seconds ago. Now it displayed one of the Pylius fleet’s cruisers, the Ontareen. It was turning hard as at least a half dozen red-orange balls of energy slammed into its starboard side, tearing it apart. Another ship, one that he did not recognize, passed quickly from left to right in the foreground. “What was that? A ship? Tracking!”

  The view screen to the right switched images, revealing the aft end of the unknown ship as it flew past the doomed cruiser. Before he could get a good look at the enemy vessel, it disappeared in a flash of blue-white light. “What the…”

  The command platform shook violently, knocking the standing senior commander off his feet.

  “Impact!” the other senior controller exclaimed. “Number four arm!”

  “We’re losing the arm!” the first senior controller added.

  Senior Commander Levinar struggled to get back on his feet, as the entire platform was rocked by a series of secondary explosions. Several view screens fell from the overhead ring, smashing into both controllers and consoles. The shaking sent one of his senior controllers tumbling over the rail, falling to the deck below. Alarms filled the air, drowning out the voices of his men as they tried in vain to understand and report the events… to make sense out of the sudden and complete chaos that threatened to overwhelm them. Sparks flew in all directions, and the smoke began to billow up from below.

  As Senior Commander Levinar tried to return to his command chair, the platform again shook, this time sliding sharply to one side, moving out from under the senior commander’s feet. He felt a sharp pain in his back as he slammed into the railing behind him. He toppled over the railing, but instead of falling to the deck below, he suddenly felt himself floating, tumbling head over feet, the sound of tearing metal and exploding electronics filling his ears. As he tumbled, he caught sight of an overhead bulkhead tearing away. Then another impact. His head. His vision blackened, and just before he lost consciousness, he felt a tremendous wave of heat engulf him.

  The cockpit shook as it sped away from the Ton-Wanori.

  “We’re not going to make it!” the voice of a fellow pilot cried out over the fighter’s communications system.

  “Maintain full power!” the pilot ordered the others in his squadron as they attempted to outrun the spreading wave of burning gases, debris and radiation. That wave had been their home only moments ago, and now it was chasing them across space, trying to kill them.

  “I’m hit…” another voice cried out as its transmission was cut short.

  The pilot remained pushed back in his seat as his fighter continued to accelerate straight toward the planet Pylius below. He dared not turn away for fear that any change in course would allow the spreading wave to catch him and tear his tiny ship apart. Only a minute ago, he and his men had been responding to an action alert, expecting to jet off into space and engage whomever had been foolish enough to attack a Jung battle group. Now they were running for their lives.

  A wall of burning gases threatened to engulf his ship from either side as it made a mad dash for safety. Large chunks of debris went flying past him, traveling at far greater velocities than he was able to achieve in such short order. He could feel his ship straining to accelerate. His systems danced about, flickering and offering wildly erratic readings as the radiation wreaked havoc with his ship’s electronics. All manner of thoughts ran through the pilot’s mind. An attack? A super-weapon of some sort? No, nothing like that could take out a battle platform. Not like this. It had to be a catastrophic failure of all of the platform’s antimatter reactors… if that was even possible.

  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the Jung fighter managed to get clear of the explosion. His flight instruments began to settle down and give him accurate readings. He was heading directly toward Pylius. “All ships, pull up!”

  “But the debris!”

  “Pull up!” the pilot repeated as he pitched up to avoid burning up in a straight-in interface with the planet’s atmosphere. His engines roared as he brought his ship level with the planet’s horizon. Fragments of the battle platform, both big and small, went streaking past him on either side, taking on an eerie orange glow as they dove into the thickening atmosphere below and eventually burned up altogether.

  “How many got out?” the pilot queried over the communications systems. “Sound off!”

  “Two seven two!” a voice replied.

  “One five eight!” another chimed in.

  “One one zero.”

  “Two two five.”

  “Contacts!” another voice interrupted. “Two ships! Enemy fighters, I think! On my tail! Four kilometers out! They came out of no…” The transmission suddenly went dead.

  “Who was that?” the pilot asked.

  “I think it was Merrill in two four two!” another voice replied. “He was behind me a…” The response also went dead.

  “I’ve got them too!” another pilot announced. “Position three five point… Wait! They’re gone! What the hell?”

  “This has got to be an attack of some sort!” the pilot declared. “All fighters join up on me at position three five point two seven five; alpha two one seven.”

  “Contacts!” a voice the pilot recognized as the pilot of Two two five. “Dead ahead, five kilometers. Position three seven point two two five; alpha two two zero!”

  The pilot pitched his ship further up and banked to his right. “I’m turning in now!” he announced. “Anyone near me join up!”

  “They’re fi…” the pilot of two two five tried to report.

  “Damn it!” the pilot yelled in frustration. “Who are these guys?”

  “They just appeared out of nowhere, in flashes of blue-white light!” one of the other pilots reported.

  Another pilot screamed in agony as his ship was torn apart.

  The pilot finished his turn and looked about. He could see several explosions in the distance, as well as several flashes of blue-white light, but they were too far away. He wasn’t picking up any enemy contacts on his screen, but there was something else wrong. He also wasn’t picking up the Jar-Alatt, which should have been in orbit only a few hundred kilometers away.

  His threat sensors suddenly lit up, warning him of two enemy contacts directly behind him. They too had come out of nowhere. One moment his screen had been clear, the next there had been two bandits directly behind him and closing fast.

  The fighter shook violently as weapons fire tore through its hull. Warning lights began illuminating all over his console. Something exploded deep within his ship, far behind him, causing the ship to yaw to starboard in a sharp, jarring motion. His helmet slammed into the side of the canopy, his arms flailing. Another explosion; this time in his port wing as one of his propellant tanks ignited. He instinctively reached down with both hands, grabbing the ejection levers on either side of his seat and pulling them up sharply and in unison. Explosive charges went off all around his canopy, sending the bubble shooting up and back, away from the ship as it continued its slow, lateral spin. There was a deep rumble in his seat. Smoke and flames shot up all around him. He shot upward, out of the cockpit and into open space as the fighter broke apart. As he looked down upon his exploding fighter, two unfamiliar ships, like flying wings, passed under him at considerable speed, disappearing in flashes of blue-white light seconds later.

  The boosters on his ejection seat burned for nearly a minute, its automated attitude thrusters steering him in a direction away from the planet in order to give him as much time as possible before the planet’s gravity claimed his life. Eventually, its limited propellant supply was consumed and it shut down, leaving him floating in orbit above Pylius. He was in a slow, rotation around the seat’s vertical axis. As he came around, he saw the remains of both the Ton-Wanori and the Jar-Alatt. He also saw more bl
ue-white flashes of light, some small, some bigger, and one considerably larger still, as they entered the battle and then promptly departed. He could see more distant explosions over the planet, ones so large they had to be either frigate or even cruisers. The Jung fleet, his fleet, was being taken apart with ease. It seemed unfathomable. In fact, had he not witnessed it himself, he would not believe it possible.

  Who are they?

  General Larotte’s eyes danced from screen to screen as he assessed the tactical situation. Unknown attackers clad in flat black body armor were attacking his garrison from all sides. It was a hopeless cause, of that he was sure, as there was no way that fifty men, no matter how skilled, could penetrate his defenses.

  What intrigued him was their tactics. The attackers were carefully positioned, staying behind cover as much as possible, only exposing themselves long enough to take shots at his men on the walls and in the towers. And each shot they took found its mark… perfectly. It was a losing tactic, as he had more than a thousand men within his walls. Were they trying to draw his men out into the open? Had they rigged some type of trap that would destroy his men by the hundreds once they stepped beyond the garrison’s walls? Thus far, not a single kill had been reported by his forces, yet he had lost only fifteen of his own men to the enemy.

  “Have you had any luck raising the Ton-Wanori?” the general asked his communications officer.

  “Negative, General. I have not been able to raise anyone. Not ships in orbit, not the air-defense towers, not the air base at Galinda.”

  “Have our communications been taken out?”

  “No, sir. I show all systems as operational. I can even verify the main towers at Faraday are still operating. No one is answering.”

  The general turned his attention back to the view screens, as the meaningless exchange of weapons fire continued. “I’ve seen war games with greater losses than this!” he exclaimed.

  Out of the corner of his eye, on one of the screens to his left, the general noticed something. He turned his attention to the left-most screen. “There,” he said, pointing to the screen. “Magnify that feed. Where is that?”

  “Tower five, General.”

  “Pan to the right, slowly,” the general ordered.

  On the view screen he could see inhabitants of the neighborhood that surrounded the garrison evacuating the immediate area. “They’re evacuating the locals!” he realized. He turned back to the communications officer. “You say you get no response from our ships in orbit?”

  “It’s as if they are not there,” the communications officer replied.

  “That’s because they are not!” he realized.

  “How is that possible?” the communications officer wondered, looking perplexed.

  “Order all forces not currently engaged with the enemy to report to the underground bunkers, immediately!” the general ordered.

  The communications officer did not waste time responding, but rather carried out the general’s orders without delay. “Attention! Attention! Orderly retreat to the bunkers! Take cover and prepare for bombardment!”

  The ground started to vibrate beneath the general’s feet. “Oh, God,” he exclaimed as the intensity of the vibration increased. He looked at the view screens again, as a hailstorm of rail gun rounds began to pummel the garrison. Buildings exploded in clouds of dust and debris as the kinetic energy of the supersonic rounds blasted them wide open. Vehicles exploded. Bodies and body parts were strewn in all directions. Then the power went out and the command center was plunged into darkness. The general turned to head for the exit, but it was too late, as the ceiling came down on top of them in a deafening roar.

  A vehicle full of Jung pilots screeched to a stop along the flight line at the air base outside of Galinda. Enemy fighters streaked overhead, appearing and disappearing behind blue-white flashes of light, remaining visible only long enough to deliver their weapons onto the hundreds of fighters on the tarmac. The pilots jumped from the vehicle even before it stopped, hitting the ground in a run toward their waiting ships.

  Two flashes of light appeared low over the horizon at the far end of the line of fighters. Trails of smoke announced their weapons release, and seconds later, the fighters at the far end of the line exploded, one after another. The enemy attackers opened up with their nose turrets, strafing the row of fighters as they passed overhead, destroying even more of them before they too disappeared in flashes of light.

  Three of the Jung fighters managed to pull away without damage and roll out onto the open tarmac. Once clear of the line, they fired their lift thrusters and began to rise off the ground.

  Enemy combat shuttles appeared all about the base as their flashes of light faded. The falling shuttles quickly stabilized into hovers less than four to five meters above the ground, remaining just long enough for six-man teams of black-clad soldiers to jump from their open doorways to the tarmac below. The soldiers hit the ground, running and firing with great precision. Shoulder-mounted mini-lasers found their targets with ease, burning down Jung troops attempting to repel the invaders with their invisible beams of intense energy.

  The enemy combat shuttles, their passengers now on the ground, were free to maneuver. Each one spun around in choreographed fashion, immediately bringing their guns onto points of interest. Defense ground emplacements were targeted first, followed by armed vehicles and any soldiers foolish enough to attempt to fire on the shuttles.

  The three Jung fighters had already climbed and begun their turn to engage several of the combat shuttles that were now peppering their fellow Jung on the surface. Just as they brought their noses onto a group of shuttles, bolts of plasma energy tore through all three fighters, breaking them apart into fiery sections that tumbled to the ground and exploded, destroying more assets in the process. As the third fighter hit the ground and came apart, two of the enemy fighters streaked overhead, pitched up, and disappeared in flashes of light.

  “Galinda has fallen,” the warden’s assistant reported. “It just came over the global command channel. Every major city reports contact with military forces wearing black armor. They say they are like none they have ever seen, rivaling our own Quintouri.”

  The warden looked at his assistant. “And the garrison?”

  “It has been completely obliterated,” his assistant replied. “From orbit, no less.”

  “Then our space forces must have been overpowered as well,” the warden concluded.

  “How can that be?” his assistant asked in disbelief.

  “I do not know.”

  The assistant looked about, feeling helpless. “What are we to do? The prisoners are already restless, the bombings, the alarms… they know something is happening, something big. If any of them should manage to get free…”

  “That will not happen,” the warden insisted. “They are locked down tight, are they not?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Then that is where they will stay,” the warden insisted.

  “Tower four is under attack!” a voice cried over the communications panel.

  “Tower two is under attack!”

  A distant explosion shook the room. The warden stumbled for a moment, then ran to the windows. On the far wall, across the compound below, a cloud of dust and smoke wafted upward slowly in the still night air. Guards rushed toward the dust cloud, weapons at the ready.

  Red-orange bolts of energy leapt out of the dust cloud by the dozens, striking the guards down. In only an instant, what had been ten defenders was now zero. Out of the smoke and dust came soldiers clad in flat-black combat armor, their faces covered by reflective face shields. The enemy troops charged confidently forward, firing only as needed. They moved with grace, speed, and precision, spreading out across the compound as they headed for the various entrances into the main buildings.

  “They are here,” the warden gasped. He spun around to face his assistant. “Disable the system. Remove all power. Those prisoners must remain in custody!”

&nb
sp; “Yes, sir!” his assistant replied. He repeated the warden’s instructions over his headset, just as the lights went dark.

  “I meant the cell controls, not the entire complex!” the warden barked.

  “It was not us,” his assistant replied. “They must have cut the power!”

  “Call for an evac shuttle!” the warden demanded. “We have to get out of here!”

  “How?” his assistant asked. “We have no power.”

  “A portable then,” the warden insisted. “We will take a portable and go on the roof. A shuttle can pick us off the…”

  “The portables do not have sufficient range,” his assistant told him. “Even if they did, I doubt there are any shuttles available.”

  “Damn it! We have to try!”

  Commander Telles stood in the mobile command post located on the recently captured air base outside of the Pylian city of Galinda, watching the various feeds from the dozens of Ghatazhak teams currently assaulting targets of concern all over the planet.

  “Aurora flight ops reports they now control all Pylian airspace,” Master Sergeant Jahal reported.

  Commander Telles pointed at one of the view screens on the wall. “Is that…”

  “Kellen?” the master sergeant replied. “Why yes, I believe it is.”

  “What is he doing?”

  Master Sergeant Jahal cocked his head to one side as he examined the view screen. “I’m not sure,” he replied, glancing down at his data pad. “His team was tasked with taking control of the Jung prison outside of Laminar.”

  “Audio,” the commander ordered.

  “There is no need,” Lieutenant Kellen’s voice said over the speakers in the mobile command center. “Open the cells… all of them.”