Splitting the War Table image into three parts, Billy settled down to watch the final end of the Bardomil invasion. To the left of the image, the Bardomil M-Cruisers and fighters had just realised the danger they now faced and were making full speed back to their Imperial Fighter Carrier positions. From the image, Billy knew that they would never make it. The Eagle contingent from Colossus was heading on an intercept course that would cut them off from the temporary safety of their Carriers. On the centre part of the image, the Eagles from the New Thexxia were forming into their squadrons to attack the last of the Imperial Fighter Carriers. To the right of the image, the huge Eagle formations were lining up on the flanks of the supply and troop transport convoy.
“WATO,” Billy asked, “how long until our Eagles intercept their fighters?”
“Four minutes and fifty seconds, sir,” the WATO responded.
“Thank you,” Billy responded and turned to Lokkrien, “you, stay out of sight.”
He indicated for Lokkrien to stand opposite him at the War Table, “Comms, I want to speak to the Bardomil Commander.”
“Sir,” a Communications Officer replied.
“Marrhus, I want to know everything about this person,” Billy instructed nodding to the keypad on the table edge next to Lokkrien.
“Sir, we have established contact with the enemy,” the Communications Officer announced as Lokkrien nodded his understanding and lifted the keypad.
On the War Table, the three-dimensional projected image of General Grattus Darrien loomed over Billy Caudwell.
“I am First Admiral Caudwell of the Universal Alliance Fleet, please identify yourself, sir,” Billy began the conversation.
“I am General Grattus Darrien of the Bardomil Imperial Forces, what do you want?” the figure blustered angrily.
“I am requesting an immediate cease fire and the unconditional surrender of all your forces,” Billy said calmly to the towering image above him.
The text below the image from Lokkrien’s keypad sprang up ‘Darrien, he’s a good Officer, a good soldier’.”
“What is your answer, General?” Billy asked calmly.
“Admiral Caudwell, you already know what my answer is,” the image replied, “a Bardomil can never surrender.”
“General,” Billy continued, “the last of your combat capability is about to be wiped out and when that happens I will then turn my fighters loose on your undefended troop and supply convoy.”
“Then you must do what you must do First Admiral,” Darrien responded crisply.
“Make no mistake, General, your transports will not escape, the only question is will you see over seven million of your people slaughtered for nothing?” Billy pressed home the assault.
“I have already seen my beautiful Fleets annihilated,” Darrien responded, “let them all find their own heroic deaths for the Empire, whether you kill them now or later it matters not, they will still be dead.”
“Bardomil propaganda says we kill prisoners,” Lokkrien’s text appeared below the image.
“General Darrien, despite what your Empress tells you, the Alliance does not kill prisoners,” Billy responded.
“I would like to believe you Admiral Caudwell,” Darrien replied, “but your reputation and that of your Thexxian allies precedes you.”
“General,” Billy continued, “we are both professionals, we kill when we have to and when we are ordered to, that is the code we both live by. I have no reason to kill any more of your people; you are defeated and you cannot escape.”
“Then we must die because it is our duty to do so,” Darrien said matter-of-factly.
“General, enough blood has been shed today,” Billy responded, “your people have fought with courage and honour and any further loss of life would be pointless.”
“And, they have one last final debt of honour to pay to our Empress,” Darrien answered.
“Give me strength,” Billy muttered softly between gritted teeth, “you have done all that is expected of you as soldiers and more, you owe no debt to anyone except yourselves,” he said aloud.
“Sir,” the WATO interrupted, “Eagles are within range of the enemy M-Cruisers.”
“Tell them to hold their fire,” Billy ordered, “and to shadow their withdrawal.”
“Why do you not attack?” a confused Darrien asked.
“Don’t you get it yet, General?” Billy snapped angrily, slamming his fist onto the edge of the War Table, “we don’t kill unless we have to, but if you are unwilling to surrender then that is exactly what we will have to do!”
“A very clever ruse, First Admiral,” Darrien smiled, “and, once we are in your power, how long before your Thexxians butcher us all?”
“Admiral Chulling knows this one,” the text from Lokkrien read below the image.
“Do you know our Admiral Chulling, General?” Billy sighed trying to control his anger.
“Yes, he is a gallant warrior, but he is also a Thexxian,” Darrien replied, “however, I see no point in furthering this conversation…”
“Will you at least listen to his words, General?” Billy sighed in desperation.
For a moment Darrien paused to consider the offer.
“I will hear his words, First Admiral,” Darrien consented.
As Billy made a beckoning gesture to the Communications Officer, the War Table image split into two equal portions. On the left, the three-dimensional image of Turthus Chulling appeared next to Grattus Darrien.
“Well, old friend of many battles, we finally meet,” Chulling introduced himself.
“Admiral Chulling,” Darrien acknowledged his adversary.
“Admiral Chulling, would you please inform General Darrien that we do not harm prisoners of war.”
“The First Admiral speaks the truth…” Chulling began.
“I have no reason to believe that you would not simply kill us when we were unarmed…” Darrien interrupted.
“That’s enough!” Billy barked and stepped away from the War Table, “stupid, pig-headed Bardomil idiot! Kill them all! Slaughter the whole lot of them!” Billy raged waving his hands with dismissive anger.
“Sir, I must protest!” Chulling interjected.
“No, Chulling, kill them all!” Billy ranted, pacing up and down the edge of the War Table.
“Sir, I will not be party to cold-blooded murder!” Chulling protested once more.
“You’ll do as you’re told, Chulling, you mutinous dog!” Billy threatened.
“No, sir,” Chulling snapped, “I will not kill defenceless people!”
“You’ll do what you’re told or it’ll be a court-martial!” Billy snarled.
“Then court-martial me, SIR!” Chulling bridled, angrily shouting out the last honorific.
“WAIT!” Darrien shouted holding his head in his hands with confusion.
In the War Room, the oppressive silence felt like a heavy stifling cloak as the air positively crackled with tension.
“Wait!” the confused Darrien called out once again, “why would you risk your career and your life for an enemy?” he asked Chulling.
“Because we Thexxians also have our honour, and our honour says we do not kill a defenceless enemy, especially those who have shown bravery in battle,” Chulling said.
“But…” Darrien mumbled, still with his hands pressed to his temples, unable to comprehend the situation.
“It is not our way, General Darrien, just as I know it is not your way,” Chulling answered, “you are not General Glabbrus or Methrien the Butcher.”
For long seconds that felt like an eternity, Billy kept his mouth shut despite wishing to intervene. The Bardomil General was suffering his own particular hell of mental agony, and Billy knew that he would have to find his own answers.
“Do I have your word that my people will not be harmed, Admiral Chulling?” Darrien sighed.
“You have my word of honour,” Chulling replied.
“And, what happens to us if we do surrender to y
ou?” Darrien asked Billy.
“We have several abandoned Garmaurian cities, with the best facilities in the universe, where you would be held in internment,” Billy replied calmly.
“What of our families?” Darrien asked.
“We will make it known that you all died heroically in battle,” Billy assured, “the Empress will have no reason to harm your families.”
“I must think on this,” Darrien nodded slowly, contemplating the situation.
“Then you have ten minutes to consider,” Billy said calmly, and the image of Darrien cut out.
When the image had disappeared, Billy swung into action.
“Chulling, that was brilliant,” he praised the Second Admiral who had ‘stood up’ to his commander on behalf of a defeated enemy.
“Happy to help, sir,” Chulling smiled and his image disappeared.
“Marrhus,” Billy turned to Lokkrien, “get Briefing Room One ready in case he decides to surrender; I want him over here on our turf. I don’t want him being the foolishly stupid, honourable Bardomil and killing himself; he’s too valuable,” Billy ordered.
“Sir,” the Communications Officer interrupted, “General Darrien.”
A moment later, the image of General Darrien appeared over the War Table again. Looking crestfallen and dismayed he sighed and then spoke.
“First Admiral,” he began formally, “I have just issued the order for all of my people to capitulate to your forces.”
“Very well, General, that is a wise and courageous choice that has saved many lives,” Billy replied with equal formality, “I shall send a transport over to bring you here for the formal surrender in one hour. By our laws we can only accept the surrender from you personally,” Billy lied as part of the strategy to prevent this brave soldier from killing himself.
“It shall be done,” Darrien said sadly as the image cut out.
When the image had disappeared, the War Room of the Colossus burst into a loud cheer followed by great jubilation. Throughout the Alliance Fleet, the celebrations would continue for many hours.
“Congratulations, sir,” Lokkrien emerged from the other side of the War Table and held out his hand.
“Why thank you, Second Admiral,” Billy smiled shaking the offered hand as the War Room staff continued to cheer and celebrate.
“Chulling, you mutinous dog,” Lokkrien smiled as he continued to shake Billy’s hand, “I’m surprised Darrien didn’t see through that one.”
“Yes,” Billy said slowly breaking the grip and scratching the back of his head.
“I did kind of over-egg that one, didn’t I?” Billy smiled and then laughed softly.
Chapter 37
The Imperial Palace, Bardan
The Bardomil Empress, Lullina, sat with a face like a thunderstorm, perched on the edge of her onyx throne with her hands tightly clutching the uprights of the arms. It was the darkest part of the night on Bardan and the clear, orange glow of the solitary moon cast long shadows across the floor of the Imperial Throne Room. The black-uniformed Imperial Bodyguards stood nervously at their posts as their Empress muttered and scowled angrily to herself. Many of the black-clad guards had seen the Empress’ monumental foul tempers, but none of them had ever seen her as angry as this.
The reports of setbacks from the Praxos frontier had been filtering back to the Imperial Palace throughout the day. As the news had become increasingly gloomy, the Empress’ mood had similarly darkened. The sound of heavy military boots on the polished floors of the Throne Room announced the arrival of Bodyguard Captain Sudrus with the latest news from the frontier.
Stopping before the raised throne, Captain Sudrus bowed.
“Well?” the Empress asked with the icy anger that could mean instant execution for anyone who displeased her in even the slightest manner.
“If it please, Your Majesty,” the otherwise favoured champion of the Empress spoke nervously.
“We take it that the news is bad?” she said with an air of calm anger.
“The news is bad, Your Majesty,” Sudrus replied steeling himself for the ordeal that would follow.
“How bad?” the Empress snarled coldly.
“Everything is lost, Your Majesty,” Sudrus anxiously delivered the gravest of news.
“Everything, Captain Sudrus?” the Empress probed.
“Yes, Your Majesty, everything,” Sudrus confirmed.
“Our Imperial Fleets?” she questioned.
“Yes, Majesty,” Sudrus replied.
“What of our Armies?” the Empress questioned again.
“Occupation garrisons have survived on the two uninhabited planets on the edge of the Praxos system, Majesty,” Sudrus reported.
“The rest?” the Empress pressed.
“Destroyed by the enemy, Majesty,” Sudrus reported and tried to stay as calm as he could.
“All of them?” the Empress continued.
“Yes, Majesty, they never got off their troop transports,” he reported.
In the darkness of the Throne Room, Lullina took several deep breaths and then, with a loud animal bellow, flung herself down the steps of the Onyx Thorne barging past Sudrus to shout at the moon.
“TRAITORS!” she bellowed at the guard who had the misfortune to be standing close to the tall window.
“COWARDS!” she shrieked at another guardsman who almost passed out with fright as she stalked around the Throne Room.
“Bring me that traitor Batarrien!” she turned and, with a pointed finger of accusation, hissed the instruction to Sudrus.
“He’s already dead, Majesty, took his own life,” Sudrus replied.
“COWARD!.......TRAITOR!” she shrieked again, having been denied the pleasure of killing the handsome young Officer herself, “what about Tetherrien?” she rounded on the General who had presented the young Batarrien and his study.
“Also dead, Majesty,” Sudrus answered.
Once more the Empress let out huge bellow and uttered a curse on the heads of the two dead Officers she would hold responsible for the disaster, conveniently forgetting that it was her orders that had sent the invasion force to its fate.
“Then, kill their families!” she ordered with icy coldness.
“Right away, Majesty,” Sudrus replied.
But, Captain Sudrus knew that no innocents would die this night. Having discovered both Batarrien and Tetherrien dead, he had ordered their families away from Bardan. Captain Sudrus knew that by the time he was delivering the bad news to the Empress, the families would be on transports getting as far away from Bardan as they could. In the morning, when the Empress’ mood had calmed, she would probably have forgotten all about issuing their death warrants.
“It was Caudwell, wasn’t it?” the Empress pointed her finger of accusation at Sudrus once more.
“Intelligence reports that he was present at the battle,” Sudrus could only speculate.
“Of course it was him,” the Empress cursed, “it’s always him, Sudrus, he has spies everywhere,” she muttered conspiratorially to her Bodyguard Captain.
“As you say, Majesty.” Sudrus knew it was best to simply agree with her when she was so angry.
“Find them, Sudrus, search them out, hunt them down, find them and kill them!” she ordered the deaths of First Admiral Caudwell’s mythical agents on Bardan.
“As you wish, Majesty,” Sudrus acknowledged yet another futile order to ignore.
“And, purge the Generals,” she hissed, “They’re all traitors; get rid of them!” she snapped.
“Of course, Majesty,” Sudrus agreed once more.
“Oh yes, we’ll get you Caudwell, and your precious, puny little planet” she snarled, “What of the Ganthorans?” the Empress snapped her mind into strategic mode.
“The frontiers are all quiet, Majesty,” Sudrus informed having put the frontier garrisons on high alert, “the Horvath are making no moves either.”
“Watch them, Sudrus,” the Empress snarled, “watch them!”
&nbs
p; “As your Majesty commands.” Sudrus bowed and began to dismiss himself from the Imperial presence.
“Captain Sudrus?” the Empress called him back, “bring us Metgar the Threylan,” she instructed before walking calmly back to the Onyx Throne.
Bowing once more, Sudrus marched as quickly as he decently dared back out of the Throne Room. It puzzled him why the Empress would want to speak to Metgar. One of the most disreputable characters in the galaxy, Metgar was from a vast nomadic species that lived either as mercenaries or planetary asset-strippers in the unclaimed territories. They had served in the Bardomil military many years before and had been treated as little more than cannon-fodder. You didn’t have to pay the dead, the Empress had instructed her Generals on the use of the Threylans. And, the Threylans had never forgotten that cruelty. There was no love lost between the Threylans and the Bardomil; of course that was a common complaint amongst a lot of species within the Empire.
Quite what Empress Lullina wanted with the Threylans was not something Captain Sudrus wished to dwell upon as he headed back to his quarters.
But, whatever it was, Sudrus knew that it would mean no good for someone.
Chapter 38
Planet Earth
Micky Stewart lay on his comfortable bed, in his brightly decorated but messy bedroom, studying his favourite book of World War Two fighter aircraft. Model Spitfires, Hurricanes and Mustangs hung from near-invisible threads from his ceiling and caught the sharp sunlight that flooded through the large window. Pictures of scantily clad young women adorned his walls as he lay, on his stomach, lower legs raised. Flicking, left-handed, through the grainy black and white images of classic propeller-driven fighter aircraft from nearly half a century before, Micky quietly nursed his heavily bandaged right hand. His parents were out, leaving Micky with the run of the house, which gave him the peace and solitude that he enjoyed.
On his bedside table, the small black and white portable television played to itself as Micky languidly imagined himself some heroic fighter ace; a Knight of the Sky, vanquishing enemy fighters and saving the day once again. Oblivious to the television, Micky did not hear the ongoing commentary and speculation as to why the huge solar flare, that had so mysteriously appeared the day before, had managed to not overwhelm the Earth. Various experts had been paraded in front of the cameras with their pet theories. But, now that the supposed danger to all life on the planet had passed, much of humanity had returned to their state of blissful ignorance and apathy.
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