by T. D. Wilson
The warrior swatted the assault rifle out of the MACE’s hands with a stunning attack of its lance and followed with a blow to the armored unit’s legs. The blow landed with a crack that made Jonathan cringe, almost as if it had dislocated the MACE’s knee joint.
The MACE pilot maintained his balance and struck back with the blades on his armor’s left hand. The blades scraped across the dark armor and caught one of the plates, just above its arms, and ripped it free.
The elite warrior’s lance came in high and smashed into the head of the MACE unit sending it staggering away. Not letting its new prey escape, the Chi’tan elite warrior closed again and pummeled the MACE again and again with its lance. The MACE fell over at an odd angle.
Thick black-and-yellow blood dripped from Chi’tan warrior’s wounds and landed on the dull gray plating of the fallen MACE. The elite warrior loomed over its fallen foe. It lashed out and grasped the MACE’s chest armor with its powerful arm. In triumph, the warrior hoisted the MACE up over its head and threw the heavy-powered armor unit into the pile of Cilik’ti warrior bodies it had just vanquished.
Jonathan crouched behind the cover of his bunker’s forward plating and witnessed the terrifying warrior move in to finish off the MACE. None of their weapons could even slow it down.
More figures entered the rear of the bunker and Jonathan turned to see Marine reinforcements taking positions beside his people. Two members of the platoon caught his eye. Both Marines carried heavy weapons the colonists lacked.
“You two,” he called out to the Marines in question. “Get over here.” Both Marines hustled to his side and slid in beneath the lower front wall of the bunker. “Listen. There’s some ultra-tough Cilik’ti out there tearing one of the MACEs apart. We can’t stop it, but maybe you can. Light it up!”
“Yes, sir!” the Marines yelled in unison.
One of the Marines pulled his AP launcher from his back and loaded the projectile.
His companion checked the rear to make sure there was no one behind him for blowback and tapped him on the helmet. “All clear!” she said and then covered her ears.
Jonathan followed the Marine’s example. A bright green targeting laser appeared on the left side of the hulking warrior. There was a sudden flash, and the projectile launched toward its intended target. The AP warhead ripped into the Cilik’ti warrior’s armor—and more important—the softer carapace underneath where the thorax met its upper torso. The massive impact threw the warrior sideways, away from the MACE, and flooded the ground with more dark Cilik’ti blood.
The colonists cheered in tentative celebration when the Cilik’ti fell, and hopes raised again as another MACE arrived on the scene. The injured Cilik’ti struggled to stand. The elite warrior slipped and fell back to the muddy ground. It screeched in agony. The Marine pilot, having seen his fallen comrade close by, approached the warrior with caution and readied his weapon. The Cilik’ti snapped its lance in front its body and fired a bolt of energy at the MACE. The poorly aimed shot went high and wide. The MACE raced forward, pointed its rifle at the injured warrior’s armored face and triggered a three-round burst.
Jonathan Hood watched in grim satisfaction as the Cilik’ti elite guard member’s form slumped to the ground. The MACE saluted the Marines and colonists in the bunker, then ran off to another gun battle down the line. Jonathan could hear another roar similar to the elite warrior that had fallen near their bunker. He hadn’t seen what happened to the other four elite warriors, but he hoped the Marines had better luck taking them down.
One of the Marines tapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “Commander, defense command says the enemy attack has broken and their forces are in a scattered retreat. They say to break cover, pursue and drive them west out of the valley.”
“Very well,” Jonathan replied. He turned to face the rest of the defenders in the bunker. “All right, listen up!” he shouted. “All of you who are able to move, we’re taking the fight to the Cilik’ti. They’re pulling back, and we need to keep the pressure on them. The rest, stay here and medical teams will be arriving soon.” He scooped up his rifle and jumped up on the lip of the bunker front blast plates. “Let’s go, people!”
Several of the Marines and colonists followed him and were joined by others from the right flank bunkers. Blasted hulks of both Cilik’ti and Marine tanks were visible after they passed the frontline bunkers, but the Marines and colonists encountered spotty resistance. They took cover behind the wreckage. After a moment’s pause, the pursuing Marines advanced farther and caught sight of what was left of the Cilik’ti attack force. Scattered Cilik’ti infantry scrambled past the field of vehicles that were destroyed in McGregor’s special surprise. All the Cilik’ti vehicles had been disabled or destroyed.
Command contacted the group again, ordering a halt. Explosions erupted across the path of the fleeing forces. Condor Flight unleashed a new fury of attacks on the remaining Cilik’ti in the valley. Without any air cover or protection from the forest, the Cilik’ti warriors on the ground didn’t stand a chance.
The assault continued for another ten minutes, and the smell of smoke and burning alien flesh started to burn at Jonathan’s lungs. He almost choked. There was so much death, and all for a world that promised life.
Several of the colonists walked up beside him and one asked, “Commander, is it over? Are we safe?”
He didn’t say anything and just surveyed the battlefield. His eyes came upon one of the Marine tanks several meters away. Clutched to the side of the tank were two bodies of fallen Marines, both burned and melted from an energy blast. Jonathan let his rifle slip from his fingers and trudged over to the tank. One of the Marines’ helmets wasn’t burned, and he flipped back the visor to examine his face. The boy was nineteen, tops. Jonathan recognized him. He was a member of the Marines who had helped Toronaga train his people.
The young Marine’s lifeless eyes just stared past him, but he felt their weight on his soul. Jonathan reached out his trembling hand and closed them. He wasn’t a soldier. He was a pilot, a mission commander, a scientist—well, not a good one—but he wasn’t a soldier. Jonathan closed his eyes and tried to block out the death around him, but the face of the young man was still there. The emotions inside were too much to hold in now. He leaned against the tank next the Marine, put his hands to his face and wept.
* * *
Even during the final second before the Cilik’ti bomb impacted, Hood was frantic to find a way to change the inevitable outcome. In his mind, it was as if someone had complained of cheating and flipped the chessboard over in disgust. It just wasn’t supposed to happen.
The Stinger impacted on the Armstrong’s weakened shield with a flash so bright that Hood and others on the Command Deck had to shield their eyes. The entire ship shook, and all lighting was knocked out on the Command Deck, except for the sparks exploding from overloaded panels.
Hood groaned when the restraints of his chair constricted his legs and shoulders, but the inertial dampeners, weakened as they were, reduced the effect of the explosion. Once the ship stabilized, he released the restraints and called out to the stations around him, “Damage report! How are bad are we hit?”
There weren’t any answers, and many of the crew was still finding their feet from the blast. Hood started to make his way to the Tactical Station, but his side grabbed at him. His ribs ached and it hurt to breathe, but he fought past it.
Aldridge was back at her station, and reports were pouring in. “Our shield is down. Port weapons are all off-line, but no reports of structural damage.”
Hood tapped a key on his terminal and opened a comm channel to Engineering. “Mr. Whitaker, what’s your status?”
“Not good, Captain,” the chief engineer replied with a grimace. “The explosion overloaded the shield circuits, and I had to take them off-line or we would lose the entire space-fold drive.”
> “Can we get it back?”
“Not without a complete overhaul of the system,” Whitaker explained. “Sorry, but getting it back is not in my bag of tricks.”
“It’s all right. It served its purpose and kept us in the fight. We just have to finish it.” Hood jumped to his feet. Something didn’t feel right. The ship should be turning now as part of its evasive pattern. The effect would be almost negligible with the inertia dampener, but he’d trained himself to notice changes in the ship’s speed and direction, especially in combat situations. But now, he didn’t feel it. Hood snapped his gaze to the Helmsman Station. Lieutenant Sparks was still in his chair, his hand on the controls, but something was wrong. His head was tilted forward and his free hand was limp at his side. The other helm operator managed to climb back into her seat, and Hood yelled to her, “Ensign, man that helm!”
The young ensign transferred the primary helm control from Sparks’s station to her own and gained control, but it was too late. A bright flash lit up the starboard side view ports. A new attack from the Cilik’ti mother ship struck the Armstrong unimpeded now. Without the shield to hinder the attack and the Armstrong’s course steady, the Cilik’ti gunners managed a powerful and crippling blow that trailed down the starboard side of the Armstrong.
Power faded again on the Command Deck, only to be replaced by emergency lights. Smoke billowed into the room from the elevator lift hallway, but there was no visible sign of a fire. The Armstrong drifted to port for a few seconds until power returned to the Command Deck stations.
Hood watched the young ensign in front of him wrestle with the sluggish helm control and he could feel the huge ship begin to turn again. Behind him, the Communications Station was a flurry of activity as new calls for help flooded Wells’s terminal.
“Get our bombers back after the enemy,” Hood said to Aldridge and he watched the damage reports coming in from across the ship. Outer bulkheads on three decks had been breached, and the forward rail guns on the starboard side had been either disabled or destroyed. Hood rubbed his forehead as he searched for answers, but they were coming few and far between. He was spent. “Most of the drones have been dealt with, so there should be a clean path. Target the guns on the upper hemisphere and keep pounding them. We can’t take another hit like that.”
“Sir,” Wells called to Hood. “Engineering reports reactor three is down to fifty percent and containment is in the yellow.”
“Can they maintain it and still hold jump capability?” Hood asked, and a feeling of dread grabbed at his heart again. If they lost a reactor, the other two could keep the systems running, but any initiated jumps would take longer to activate.
She conversed with Engineering and then turned back. “Mr. Whitaker says they can manage, but not give them any more bumps. Batteries have enough for a full jump, but not much more.”
“Tell him we’ll do our best not get socked in the jaw again, Lieutenant,” Hood replied, dripping with sarcasm. Much to his liking and probably Whitaker’s, he could feel the Armstrong turn easier and the large ship accelerated back to her flank maneuvering speed. “Helm, get some more distance between us and that ship. I don’t want to be dancing toe-to-toe with that behemoth any more than we have to.”
As the Armstrong vectored away, its massive particle cannon fired a new blast of energy at the mother ship. The salvo struck home and obliterated one of the upper hemisphere cannons. This time the energy penetrated the exterior armor and set off more secondary explosions on the interior of the ship. But unlike their bomber’s previous strike, it didn’t cascade. It was a trading blow for the black eye that had been dealt to the Armstrong, but the mother ship had other weapons to call on and was already powering up for another blast.
A new warning beeped on Aldridge’s terminal, and the tactical officer gasped in surprise. “Sir...sensors just picked up a new gravitational anomaly.”
“Blast it! I told Admiral Tramp no reinforcements!”
“I don’t think it’s our people. The signature is huge.”
Hood checked the reading himself. The signature of that size could mean one thing, and its position was almost on top of the mother ship. Moments later, a second mother ship completed its jump, and the Armstrong was now pitted against two gargantuan foes. The odds for the battle now had dropped off the range of impossible.
Hood closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. After he finished, he glanced at Aldridge. Her demoralized stare was a plea for guidance, something to rally around, but he’d run out of options now. They had to fall back and take the fight away from the planet, but that left the Marines and colonists below at the mercy of the Cilik’ti. He didn’t like it, not one bit. He let out a curse and bowed his head. “Lieutenant, initiate jump to our fallback coordinates.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice echoed the sense of solemnity in his heart.
He walked over to the Communications Station and put his hands on Wells’s shoulders. “Recall our fighters and bombers and cease all Search and Rescue Ops.” He knew his next call would be the most difficult of his career. “And get me a channel to McGregor. I need to speak with him.”
“Sir,” Wells said with an unsuspected smile on her face. “I’ve already got him on the line. He says the Cilik’ti attack force has been defeated and his forces are wiping out the stragglers. Shall I transfer him to your station?”
Hood had never felt so elated and so devastated at the same time. McGregor had done it! And now, he had to abandon him. “Yes, send it to my station please.” He wanted it to be more of a private confab, but there wasn’t time.
He was about to return to the Command Station when Aldridge’s voice stopped him again. “Captain the second mother ship is moving. It seems to be positioning itself between us and the other mother ship.”
“Probably shielding it. Its drones are going to be on us soon, so we need to get out of here,” Hood said and continued back to his station. “Let me know when all our craft are on board and pass the secondary jump coordinates to the gunships. We can link up with them later.”
“Sir, the vessel’s actions are very strange. The new ship isn’t on approach. I haven’t detected any drone launches or weapons targeting us at all. It’s almost like that new mother ship is shielding us from the other one.”
Confused, Hood checked his terminal and confirmed Aldridge’s assessment.
“Sir, I’ve a priority call from planet-side,” Wells said.
“I thought you already had McGregor.”
“He’s still on the other line. This one’s coming from the canyon site,” she explained.
“Patch it to me now,” Hood said, and Wells routed the audio signal to his terminal. “This is Hood. Who is this?”
A familiar synthesized voice came over the terminal speakers. “Captain Hood. This one is pleased to hear your voice again.”
“Kree?” Hood said, somewhat flabbergasted. “We thought you were dead!”
Jillian, who was still at the Command Station, was ecstatic. “Kree!” she screamed and tears started down her cheeks. This time tears of joy. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
“Yes, Jillian. This one is still with you.”
Hood recognized Kree’s ruse for what it was. “Why did you do it, Kree?” Hood rubbed his throbbing cheek, but the pain in his ribs had subsided to a dull ache as long as he didn’t move.
“The N’lan needed to be reminded of who they are, Captain,” Kree explained. “This one spoke to the Hal’ta, and they heard. This one knew actions would also be needed to remind the N’lan. Actions to show them who humans are.” High-pitched clicking sounds echoed in the background as Kree’s pointed legs skittered on the hard stone floor of the cave. “You honored the Shi by accepting K’rveen and you honored life by requesting innocents be removed from the difficulties of the trial. The Chi’tan chose to attack a noncombatant. Humans raced
to its defense, risking their own lives to save it.”
Several of the crew stood in silence at their stations and listened to Kree’s voice as it carried throughout the Command Deck.
“The trial of K’rveen is over. The Chi’tan forces on the planet have been defeated. The Shi will be informed of the K’rveen’s conclusion, and the N’lan have sent their representatives here, as is their right, to embrace the acceptance of humanity by the Shi. Congratulations, Captain, you have held on to what few believed you could. This world will belong to your people. The N’lan welcome you.”
Hood collapsed back into his chair and closed his eyes. He started to laugh. He understood it now. The code Kree had recited to him once before of the N’lan warriors: life, honor and sacrifice. He’d challenged them on each point and showed them that humans possessed the same qualities.
“Excuse me, sir,” Aldridge called out from her station.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” Hood replied, still stuck in the euphoric moment.
“I’m picking up a powerful energy buildup from the first Cilik’ti mother ship.”
“What kind of—” Hood stopped his question and looked at his screen that still showed the two Cilik’ti mother ships. “What in the world?” he muttered as a large red sphere of energy gathered on the side of the Chi’tan mother ship. The sphere, a half kilometer at least in size, detached from the mother ship and sped toward the planet.
“The sphere’s energy signature is increasing,” Aldridge said. “Its current trajectory would place it right on top of the Magellan.”