Earth Valor (Earthrise Book 6)

by Daniel Arenson

  Here was not a technological assault like the attack on Abaddon in the Scum War. Here was a slow, bloody migration, slugging it out for every step along the trail.

  And every step, they left people behind.

  Along forest trails, their warriors fell to marauder claws.

  Along mountain roads, their vehicles burned in ravager fire.

  Through ghost towns they rode, the marauders attacking from every roof and alley, tearing into them, spilling their blood across the pavement.

  Along the plains, as a hundred thousand soldiers marched below, ravagers and jets battled above, and plasma rained as grenade launchers fired up.

  It was an invasion of courage and a trail of tears. They marched toward victory and they left a wake of their dead behind them.

  Addy fought in every battle, from massive assaults where thousands of marauders attacked to skirmishes with rogue aliens on the roadsides. She fired her rifle. She hurled her grenades. She rode her motorcycle through the lines of marauders, cutting into their eyes with her bayonet, and she rode atop armored sand tigers, firing machine guns as the vehicles charged into the enemy. Twice she shot down a ravager from the ground, firing her shells into their flaming maws.

  Every battle left another scar. Scrapes and burns on her body. Wounds on her soul. She felt dead inside, barely able to feel the horror anymore, and if at night she wept into Steve's embrace, at dawn she fought again.

  She worried what Marco would find when he returned, if he would recognize the woman she had become. Where was the Addy he had loved, the girl who laughed, played, wrestled him for sport, always with a grin on her face? That girl had died somewhere between Haven and the ruins of this world. With every new scar, with every new terror she faced, Addy's realization grew: Not only graves hold the soldiers who died at war. Even those breathing, talking soldiers who return home died upon the battlefield, their souls burned in the fire.

  "Rest today," Steve whispered to her in the mornings, holding her in his wide arms. "Ride at the back. In an armored truck. Sleep. Laugh."

  But every morning, Addy shook her head. "I started this. I must lead them."

  Every morning, they woke up in another bed—on a roadside, in a forest, in an abandoned house. Every morning, she made love to him. No, not made love; that was too tender a thing. She fucked him urgently while her wounds ached, while her soul screamed, clutching him until she drew blood, desperate to forget—if only for a few moments, to forget the pain. And they fought on.

  The tanks roared.

  The helicopters and jets rumbled overhead.

  The thousands of soldiers fired their guns.

  The marauders fought for every centimeter of land. For every step, they took a life.

  And with every step, Addy's fear grew that Marco would never return. That he had fallen on his quest to find the Ghost Fleet. Perhaps he had fallen in Haven itself, only moments after the marauders had kidnapped Addy. Perhaps there was no help for Earth. Their quest for the Ghost Fleet had surely failed. Earth alone fought this war. Earth alone would have to win it.

  And with every step, another fear grew. A fear that she would lose her war. That her hosts would break against the ruins of Toronto, the stronghold of marauder might on the planet. That Malphas was letting her claim these early victories, drawing her nearer like a spider drawing a fly. That his web awaited her.

  "I'm scared," she whispered to Steve one night, lying with him under the stars. "What if I can't do this? If I'm leading us all to slaughter?"

  Steve kissed her forehead. "You defeated the scum. You can defeat the marauders."

  "I didn't defeat the scum," she said. "I was just following orders then. I had Ben-Ari and Bryan and other brave, smart officers to lead me. I'm not an officer. I'm not brave. I'm terrified all the time. Steve, am I leading us all into a web?"

  "Probably." He nodded. "But we'll burn that web down."

  Or end up like flies, she thought. A meal for the spiders.

  Dawn rose.

  She straddled her motorcycle.

  She rode on.

  They were near now. Behind Addy, the divisions of the Resistance converged. Hosts of armor, battalion after battalion of tanks that roared across the land, raising clouds of dust. Formation after formation of artillery, the massive cannons rolling forth. Countless trucks full of engineers and builders. Tens of thousands of infantrymen, some riding in armored transport carriers, most marching afoot, several divisions of them, banners raised. Cargo trucks crammed full of munitions, food, water, blankets, medical supplies, and all the other necessities of war. Above flew their air force, jets and helicopters and bombers, unable to reach space but deadly in the sky. Most of these warriors came from the Human Defense Force and still wore its uniforms, but many were rebels gathered along the long roads, rising up against the enemy. A hundred rebel groups fought together, joining under one banner. Here it was, in all its strength—the Resistance.

  As Addy rode at their lead, she saw it ahead, rising from the haze.

  Toronto.

  Its spires rose like chipped teeth in the rotting jaw of a giant. Smoke plumed from the ruins, forming a charcoal shroud above. A cloud of specks swarmed around what remained of the skyscrapers like bees over a carcass—ravagers. Addy didn't know if any humans still lived in her old city. If they did, they were in hell. Here was a nightmare, a vision of the underworld.

  The Resistance stopped outside the city.

  Rain began to fall, mixed with ash.

  Silence covered the land.

  Addy rode along the front lines on her horse, banner raised, like a knight from an old tale. She let the troops see her, salute her, know that she, this figurehead, this heroine, was fighting with them. Inside she was trembling. Inside she was still that little girl, facing the ruins of her home, so afraid. But as she rode by them, tall, chin raised, shoulders squared, the wind in her golden hair, she was a symbol to them. She was like a living statue—strong, eternal, the warrior who had defeated the scum, who would deliver them now from evil.

  And all I want to do is hide, she thought. Every part of me shakes. I comfort them. I am strong for them. But who can I turn to for comfort?

  She turned back toward the city.

  She sat on her horse atop a hill, staring.

  Toronto.

  The city where she had been born to a junkie mother and a prison dad.

  The city where she had fought on the street, poor, ragged.

  The city where they had stuck her into the remedial class, locked her up with the freaks.

  The city where she had wept, had fought so many battles against boys twice her size, where she had wanted to die, where she had watched her parents slain.

  The city where she had felt trapped, an animal in a cage, crying out, enraged, tortured by countless whips.

  The city where she had met Marco.

  Where she had watched the stars with him.

  Where she had moved into his library, learned about old stories and music and art.

  Where she had met Steve.

  Where she had played hockey and laughed so much.

  Where she had become a woman, learning the ways of love.

  Where she had collected her coins from precious memories, from hockey games and movie nights and street fairs.

  Where she had loved people.

  Where she was at home.

  Where she was not this figurehead, not this heroine, just a girl.

  Where she would return to today.

  I wish you were with me, Marco, she thought. I miss you so much.

  One of her soldiers, a speechwriter by trade, had composed Addy's message to General Petty and his fleet. A marauder had torn out that writer's guts two days south from here. But Addy would still speak to her soldiers today, try to inspire them. Her horse nickered and sidestepped. She patted the animal, and she spoke into her communicator, broadcasting her voice across the camp—and, she hoped, to the marauders in the city ruins.

  "To the
warriors of the Resistance!" she said. "This is Addy Linden. Some of you call me the Golden Knight. Others the Steel Witch. Some of you, I've heard, call me 'that crazy bitch with the tattoos.'" She cleared her throat, mustering herself for an attempt at eloquence, knowing these words would echo through the ages. "Anyway, listen up. The final battle is ahead. In the city ruins, the tyrant Lord Malphas waits. The king of the marauders. And many of his warriors guard his lair. It'll be a tough battle. But I believe in you! You are strong, you are brave, you are human. That means a lot. That means you don't take shit from nobody!" She winced. Again, she had failed to sound exactly Churchillian. "What I mean to say is: There comes a time in our lives when we must stand tall. When we must raise our heads. When we must march toward danger, through fire and rain, through darkness, to seek the light. Today we will rise! Today we will be noble! Today, like the great heroes of old, we will . . . we will . . ." She twisted her lips, words failing her. "Ah, fuck it. I'm no poet. Let's just go kill that Malphas asshole and go home. Kick ass, everyone!"

  She nodded. Good enough.

  The artillery began to fire.

  The attack on Toronto began.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It flew toward Earth.

  A single, massive, clanking warship, an old bull with one last fight in its gnarled heart.

  The Minotaur. The last starship of humanity.

  Petty stood on the bridge, staring ahead at the pale blue dot.

  "The poet's eye, in fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to Earth," he whispered.

  Earth—there, growing larger, in all her fragile beauty. A marble in the depths. The spring of humanity, art, music, all things dear to Petty. A world afire. A world fallen. A world in chains.

  Around the planet they flew. The ships of the marauders. The deadly ravagers. A hundred thousand or more of those living ships orbited his world.

  Petty and his ship—they flew toward the enemy. Alone. Two aging warriors facing their last fight.

  "It is likely that we fly to our deaths," he said to his officers. "It is likely that today, we lose our war, that our last flare of independence goes dark. But we will fly forth nonetheless. And we will fight well. Here at the end."

  They flew past the moon. They flew onward. Earth grew from a marble to a great sphere against the stars, limned with a band of blue sky. It was May ninth. Below on the surface, the assault on Toronto would be commencing.

  And as General Petty and his warriors flew toward their world, the ravagers flew out to meet them.

  Thousands of them.

  Petty gave a thin, tight smile.

  Good, he thought. We'll draw a few away from Addy.

  "Full power to forward shields," he said.

  "Aye aye, Captain," Osiris said. "I should warn you, sir. With our shields at full power, our cannons will only fire with half their usual deadliness."

  "I am aware, Osiris." He nodded. "Remember, the enemy has more ships than we have ammunition. But we can distract those ravagers. We can hurt them. We can give Addy some breathing room."

  The ravagers were flying nearer, charging at incredible speed.

  Osiris looked over her shoulder at Petty.

  "So we're cannon fodder, sir?"

  "No," he said. "We're the galaxy's biggest damn bull in its biggest damn china shop. Now damn those ravagers, and full speed ahead!"

  Osiris smiled. "Full speed ahead, sir."

  The Minotaur charged.

  The thousands of ravagers stormed toward it.

  Space exploded with fire and metal and light.

  Plasma roared across the Minotaur's shields, showering out, forming a great cone of flame. The ravagers flew through the inferno, slammed against the Minotaur's thick metal hulls, scratching, digging, clawing.

  The engines roared.

  The hull creaked and screeched and grumbled.

  They kept charging.

  All along the port and starboard, the side cannons blasted. Shells tore through the enemy, and fire pulsed.

  The ship's front cannons fired, blasting out shell after shell, ripping through the ravagers.

  But mostly, it was the pure girth of the Minotaur that did the damage.

  The ravagers were large starfighters; they were far larger than Firebirds. But the Minotaur dwarfed them. They were like insects crushed against a charging, enraged bull. Their constant assault pattered against the Minotaur, a hailstorm.

  The hull dented.

  A deck cracked open.

  Alarms blared.

  "Keep streaming power to our shields!" Petty said. "Everything you've got!"

  "No more power available, sir!" Osiris said.

  "Divert some from the engines! Burn up more fuel! We need to keep those shields up."

  "If I tap into the fuel for power, sir, we won't have enough to fly away."

  Petty gripped his controls. "We're not flying away, Osiris. This is our last stand. Keep those shields up!"

  They kept charging through the ravagers, knocking them aside. Their guns kept firing. Another deck cracked open. Marines spilled out into space, soon burned in the enemy plasma. Petty could barely see Earth; the fire was everywhere, washing across them. Life support died in the lower decks. One engine burst and the ship rocked. A viewport cracked.

  "They're tearing us apart!" an officer cried.

  "Keep charging!" Petty shouted. "Onward! To Earth!"

  Through fire and metal, they flew.

  Another deck cracked.

  Fire raged through the ship.

  Ravagers clung to them, digging, ripping open holes.

  Sirens screamed.

  "We're being boarded!" shouted an officer. "Deck 17A breached!"

  "Deck 23A breached!"

  "Storeroom 7 breached!"

  From across the ship, gunfire raged. Monitors showed marauders racing through the corridors of the Minotaur.

  "All marines, fight for your ship!" Petty said, speaking into his communicator. "Hold them back! Fight for your lives!"

  Marauder after marauder crawled into the warship. Gunfire blazed. Smoke filled the ship and blood splattered. A marauder burst onto the bridge, and security guards fired their guns, tearing it down.

  A hundred more ravagers formed a wall before them.

  "Sir!" Osiris screamed, and Petty could have sworn there was fear in the android's artificial eyes.

  "Onward," he said.

  They stormed onward.

  They slammed into the wall of ravagers.

  Their central viewport shattered.

  Fire filled the bridge.

  Metal screamed and the hull creaked.

  They broke through.

  The curtains of fire parted, and ahead he saw it: Earth.

  They were close now, so close that Earth filled those viewports that were still working. Many ravagers still orbited the planet, turning toward the damaged, limping Minotaur. On the surface, Petty knew, hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of marauders were waiting. Osiris turned the ship toward North America.

  "Magnify a view of Toronto," he said.

  On one of the viewports, he saw the ruins of the city.

  The battle had already begun. Petty couldn't see the details, but he could see hundreds of trails of smoke arching through the sky—the trails of artillery shells, flying toward the city ruins.

  The Resistance was bombing Toronto.

  The invasion of the city was about to begin.

  And we will join it, Petty vowed.

  More ravagers kept flying from behind them, and their engines roared out fire, and their back cannons blasted. Within the Minotaur's twisting halls, the battle still raged, but the marines were getting the upper hand, slaying the last marauders.

  "Bring us directly above Toronto, Osiris," he said. "We're going to bomb a path through the ravagers, then send down our marines."

  "Yes, sir!" the android said. "Heading toward Toronto, sir!" They slammed into more ravagers, knocking them aside. "Sir, do you know why Canadi
ans don't wear short sleeves? Because they're not allowed to bear arms. It's funny because it's cold there, so they all wear jackets. And did you hear about the Canadian who took a test? He got an eh. It's funny because—"

  "Osiris, focus on flying," Petty said. "Bring us within five hundred kilometers of the surface. Our shuttles can make the jump from there. We—"

  He stared.

  For an instant, he couldn't speak.

  My God.

  Three marauder warships were flying toward them from around the planet.

  Not ravagers. They were far larger—larger even than the Minotaur. They were shaped as cubes, patched together with metal sheets, and spikes thrust out from them, each like an obelisk. Here were no living starships; Petty could see the bolts and rivets. Here were ships the marauders had built. Massive warships. And they were charging toward the Minotaur.

  Petty clutched his communicator, his grip so tight he nearly shattered it.

  "All Firebirds, fly!" he shouted. "Get down into the atmosphere and help the Resistance! The Minotaur will handle these behemoths."

  The massive alien ships were closer. Seconds away.

  Petty cursed. He was still too far. He needed to bring the Minotaur directly above Toronto to launch his marines.

  He stared in horror as the cubical warships drew nearer.

  "Fire everything!" he shouted, and the Minotaur's cannons blasted out, and shells burst against the massive cube ships.

  Instants later, one of the cubes—twice their size—slammed into the Minotaur.

  They careened through space, spilling out Firebirds like a mother spider ejecting her spawn.

  Across the bridge, officers flew from their seats. Petty fell and banged his hip. He struggled to rise.

  "Osiris, steady us! Take them on!"

  The android leaped back into her chair and grabbed the controls. "Yes, sir, I—"

  Another cube ship plowed into them.

  Klaxons wailed as another deck was breached.

  The Minotaur spun through the sky, plowing through ravagers and Firebirds alike.

  "Osiris, charge at them!" Petty cried. "All cannons firing! We'll slam them into one another, and—"

  Shrieks tore through his words.