Earth Valor (Earthrise Book 6)

by Daniel Arenson

  An instant later, the plasma showered them.

  Addy screamed.

  She covered her face.

  Flames leaped through the crack beside her, licking her arm, melting the body armor. She cried out and ripped off the searing pieces. She heard soldiers screaming in the hold, and she glanced over her shoulder to see that the flames had entered the sand tiger. Soldiers burned.

  Fuck.

  Addy leaped out of the driver's seat. She stepped into the hold, cringed at the flames, and grabbed a fire extinguisher. She sprayed foam as the soldiers screamed.

  When the flames died, she saw that the soldiers had opened the back hatch, that several had escaped the inferno. Two had remained inside the sand tiger. They lay, charred and bloody, not moving. Addy couldn't tell if they were dead or alive.

  The hatch was still open.

  A marauder stood outside, staring at her.

  The beast leaped into Matilda.

  Addy, without an instant to think, sprayed foam from her fire extinguisher, blinding the alien.

  The creature slammed into her, jaws snapping. Teeth tore through her bulletproof vest. One of her grenades tore loose and rolled. She screamed, fell back, and the marauder pinned her down. She raised her pistol, but claws swiped it aside. Her rifle was pinned under her back. The creature drooled above her, cackling. The foam dripped off its eyes.

  "I know you," the marauder said. Its tongue reached down to lick her face. "Addy . . ."

  She screamed and struggled to free herself but could not. It was crushing her. She couldn't breathe. She reached blindly, seeking a weapon, found none. The jaws opened wide above her, and she stared into the gullet of the beast.

  With a battle cry, Pinky dropped from the gun turret onto the creature's back.

  "Hey, you son of a bitch!" Pinky grabbed the marauder's horns. "Get the fuck out of our ride!"

  The marauder shrieked, voice echoing in the hold, so loud Addy's ears rang. Riding the creature like a mechanical bull, Pinky drew a knife and slammed it down—right into an eye.

  The marauder screamed and leaped upward with incredible force.

  Pinky slammed against the ceiling, crying out.

  Addy winced to hear a bone snap.

  The marauder landed on the floor. Pinky still clung to its back, his arm at an odd angle. But still the little bastard fought, stabbing his knife down again, taking a second eye.

  The marauder yowled and jumped up again, slamming once more against the metal ceiling.

  Pinky howled.

  The broken bone pushed through skin.

  Addy managed to rise to her feet, to grab her rifle. She aimed just as Pinky took out a third eye. She fired but she missed the fourth and last eye. Her ears pounded.

  The marauder leaped again, slamming Pinky onto the ceiling—again, again, crushing the little soldier, and Pinky kept screaming.

  Addy fired a bullet. She missed again. Again. Again.

  The marauder finally managed to rip Pinky off and toss him aside. When the creature leaped at Addy, she fired her last bullet, hitting the creature's final eye.

  The marauder slammed down dead, burying Pinky beneath it.

  Gunfire blazed outside. A marauder fell, riddled with bullets. Steve leaped into the sand tiger, his rifle smoking.

  "Addy!" he said.

  "Help me!" She grabbed the marauder pinning Pinky down, grimacing. "Steve, help me lift this fucker."

  It was like lifting a dead horse. They both groaned, straining, shoving against it. Finally they managed to toss the dead alien outside. Steve pulled the hatch shut, though the hull was still cracked. The battle raged on across the field.

  Covered in blood, lying on the floor, Pinky groaned.

  "Steve, you got another driver for your ride?" Addy said. "Can you man the gun above?"

  Steve nodded. "I'm on it, babe."

  He scurried up the ladder into the gun turret, and while Matilda was immobile, at least Steve was now firing the machine gun.

  Addy needed to get back to the driver's seat. Any instant now, a ravager might burn them. She had to keep storming forward with the others.

  But instead, she knelt above Pinky. She touched his cheek.

  "Pinky! Pinky, stay with me, you bastard."

  He looked up at her, blinking. His arm was a mess. Half his face was bloodied, crushed.

  "Addy . . ." he managed to whisper, hoarse, voice slurred.

  Fingers shaking, she rummaged through her medical kit. She slammed a needle into him, giving him a shot of morphine.

  "I'm here, Pinky," she said. "You're all right. Just a bit uglier than normal, but that's not much of a difference."

  He coughed. His teeth were loose. His back was crooked, she saw. He had soiled himself.

  His spine is broken, she thought.

  "My name is . . . Peter . . ." he managed to whisper.

  She clasped his hand. "All right, Peter. You hang in there. We'll get you a medic soon and he'll stitch you up. You might just need a metal spine to go with your metal legs. Kinda like Corporal Diaz, remember?"

  His hand shook in hers. His hand was so small. Like a child's hand.

  "Tell Poet," Pinky rasped. "Tell him . . . I'm sorry. Tell him I'm sorry. That . . . I'm his friend."

  "I will," Addy whispered, tears in her eyes.

  Pinky managed to give her a crooked, bloody smile. "Win this war, Addy. For the Dragons Platoon."

  She nodded, her tears splashing him. "I will."

  His breath died.

  He stared up at the bloody ceiling, the smile locked on his face.

  Addy returned to the driver's seat. The cracked sand tiger, with Steve now in the gun turret, kept driving.

  But the battlefield was ugly.

  Everywhere Addy looked, she saw the ruin of the Resistance. A helicopter lay smashed nearby, burnt pilots inside its wreckage. The husks of tanks smoked everywhere. Thousands of dead soldiers lay across the field, and marauders were cracking their skulls open to feast on the brains. Much of the Resistance was still fighting, but they were struggling for every meter of ground, and Toronto was still several kilometers away.

  And the damn ravagers still covered the sky.

  We're not going to make it, Addy realized.

  She stared at the ruins ahead. Malphas was there. She was so close to killing him.

  But we'll die outside his door. We can't break through.

  The ravagers streamed above, and more plasma fell. Addy cursed, swerved her sand tiger, and dodged a jet of fire. She kept plowing forward, slamming into marauders, desperate to reach the city, knowing already that she could not.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Firebirds streamed through space, all guns blazing.

  All around them, the battle for Earth flared with light and fire and searing metal.

  Above them, the Minotaur was ramming into the two massive cube-ships. Below them, Earth was burning, the bombs exploding. And here around them, everywhere, thousands of them, flew the ravagers.

  Captain Julian Bryan clutched his joystick, leading his squad of Firebirds.

  "All right, boys and girls, stay in formation and let's blast those sons of bitches," he said. "Remember, don't get drawn into a brawl in orbit. Our destination is Toronto. Let's rock this joint."

  They stormed down toward the planet—his fifteen starfighters and around them hundreds more.

  The ravagers charged at them from all sides, plasma flaring.

  Julian fired.

  His heat-seeking missile flew, curved, and slammed between the claws of a ravager, hitting its fiery innards. The ship exploded.

  "Remember, guys, aim for the fire," Julian said. "Don't waste ammo on their hulls; they're too heavily armored. Get 'em to open their claws and hit 'em where it hurts."

  Enemy fire blasted toward him. He swooped, releasing another heat-seeking missile. It rose and hit the ravager, and the alien ship exploded, scattering severed claws. Julian thrust his Firebird forward, barrel-rolling,
dodging the shrapnel. One cloven ravager claw, the size of a tree, slammed into a Firebird behind him, knocking the starfighter into a tailspin. Plasma took out another bird. The rest of his squad were firing their own missiles, cutting a path through the ravagers ahead.

  "Forward, to Earth!" Julian said. "With me—spear formation!"

  All around him, the other Firebird squads were charging at the ravagers. The living ships grabbed starfighters in their claws and ripped them apart. Walls of fire rose. Ships chased one another in dog fights, plasma and missiles and bullets flying. More Firebirds fell. Julian pulled his ship up, dodging a charging ravager, then spun and sprayed it with bullets. When the ship turned toward him, fire blasting, he shot another missile. The alien ship exploded.

  Another one of his Firebirds shattered. Its pilot ejected, only for a blast of plasma to roast him.

  Julian pulled his starfighter back toward Earth. The atmosphere was close now, only a few hundred kilometers away.

  Between him and the blue sky were still thousands of enemy ships.

  No fear.

  He stormed forth.

  No pain.

  He flew through the fire.

  For Earth.

  He fired his missiles.

  The ravagers slammed into his squadron, tearing Firebirds apart. He heard his comrades screaming. He saw them dying. A burnt corpse slammed into his cockpit and flew off, smearing blood. Plasma flew toward Julian, and he flew left and right, up and down, unleashing his arsenal.

  He fired his Gatling guns, trying to hit the ravagers' flaming mouths. He hit them with bullets. He blinded them with photon blasts. One ravager clipped his wing, and he spun madly, spraying bullets, finally steadying himself.

  Around Julian, scores of Firebirds burned and fell down toward the planet.

  Squads shattered and reformed.

  More pilots fell.

  Behind him, the Minotaur was still roaring, a wounded bull, battling the behemoths.

  I'm going to die here, Julian thought. We're all going to die.

  He bared his teeth.

  No.

  "Hey, boys and girls," Julian said, broadcasting his words to the entire wing. "You remember the Garrote Move from flight school?"

  One of the squad leaders answered. "Yeah, you mean, the move we were told to never, ever use?"

  "That's the one!" Julian said. "I say it's time to give her a try. What say you?"

  The other Firebirds kept firing missiles and bullets, unable to break through.

  "Let's roll the dice!" came the reply.

  With a few quick commands back and forth, the Firebirds changed formation.

  They charged toward the enemy.

  Instead of scattering and looping, they kept flying straight forward, and each Firebird blasted out cables from its sides.

  The cables were normally used for docking on unusual surfaces—an asteroid, say, or even the back of a larger starcraft. The Garrote Move had never been tried in actual battle.

  But it works in theory, Julian told himself, wincing.

  His cables attached to the Firebirds at his sides.

  Their cables snapped onto his starfighter.

  A hundred Firebirds charged, forming a great net of metal cables between them.

  The plasma roared toward them.

  Julian cringed as the flames washed around his ship.

  The cables slammed into the ravagers.

  "Release them!" Julian cried, hitting a button.

  The cables detached from the Firebirds, tangling around the ravagers.

  The ravagers spun madly, unable to navigate, trapped in the net. They crashed into one another. They burst on impact. Ravager after ravager careened. Several slammed into the cube-ships, punching holes into the hulls.

  The surviving Firebirds—by God, so few remained—flew onward.

  They reached the atmosphere.

  They plunged into the sky, the fires of atmospheric entry burning around them.

  They roared over the Atlantic, flying at thousands of kilometers per hour.

  They flew close to the water, blazing forth toward the coast. They stormed over forest and field and the ruins of cities—two hundred Firebirds, the last among tens of thousands.

  They flew until they saw the ruins of Toronto ahead and the battle that raged there.

  Julian lost his breath.

  He had fought in many battles. As a young lieutenant, barely out of flight school, he had battled the scum at Abaddon. As an experienced captain, he had fought marauders at Pluto, at the Starship Graveyard, at Mars. But Julian had never seen a battle like this, never seen such destruction.

  The city lay in ruins. Barely any buildings still stood, only the husks of some skyscrapers. Across the countryside, leading to the ruins, smoked the wreckage of thousands of tanks, troop carriers, trucks, and fallen helicopters. Thousands of corpses littered the fields.

  But still the Resistance fought.

  Still their surviving armored vehicles were trying to reach the city. Still their artillery fired. Still their infantry marched.

  And more kept falling.

  The marauders were everywhere, leaping onto humans, ripping them apart. Great mechanized spheres, bristly with blades, were rolling between the human troops, marauders operating them from within. The ravagers swooped everywhere, plucking up soldiers in their jaws, breathing fire, tormenting the Resistance.

  Here was the great human uprising—and they were losing.

  Julian tightened his grip on his joystick.

  These ravagers might have destroyed tanks, helicopters, and even fighter jets. But they hadn't faced Firebirds yet.

  "All right, pilots," Julian said. "Spearhead battle formations. Full assault mode. Let's tear these bastards apart."

  The Firebirds swooped toward the city.

  The ravagers shrieked and turned up toward them, spurting up fire.

  The Firebirds blazed forth their wrath.

  Missiles, bullets, and photon blasts tore into the enemy. Ravagers exploded, careened, and slammed down onto the city.

  "Phoenix Squadron, get the bastards on the ground!" Julian said. "With me."

  The Firebirds dived and fired their machine guns, tearing through formations of marauders in the field. The creatures screamed and died. The Firebirds rose toward the sun, spun, swooped, and fired again, ripping apart the lines of marauders. Their spherical vessels burst. Their severed claws flew.

  Emboldened, the Resistance soldiers cheered and stormed forth, charging toward the city.

  And below, Julian saw her.

  It had to be her.

  She stood atop a tank, waving a flag with a blue sphere on a black field. A cigar thrust out from her mouth. An ivory sword hung from her side, and her golden hair shone in the sun.

  "Addy," Julian whispered.

  Marauders leaped toward her, and Julian fired his machine guns, tearing them down. Addy and her armored vehicles kept moving, crossing the last kilometer to the city ruins.

  Julian and his Firebirds kept flying.

  Firebird after Firebird fell.

  They were the last pilots. They were the survivors, the best at their trade. They were the pride of humanity. They tore down ravagers. They plowed through marauders.

  Yet the enemy ships outnumbered them by hundreds to one. More kept flying toward the Firebirds, rising from the city like flies from a corpse.

  The fire was everywhere.

  Julian dodged one spray of plasma. Another blast hit him, and he spun, barely steadied himself. At his side, a Firebird burned. Another crashed, hitting a crumbling skyscraper, shattering what remained of the building.

  Julian gripped the controls.

  If I go down, I go down fighting. For Earth. With courage. With honor.

  A blast hit him.

  His engine caught fire.

  Julian screamed, and even as his Firebird dived down, aflame, he kept firing bullets. He kept killing the enemy.

  He hit the ground, slamming i
nto a host of marauders, ripping into them.

  His cockpit cracked.

  His starfighter kept driving forth, scraping across asphalt, plowing through the enemy.

  The marauders screamed everywhere.

  The fallen starfighter screeched to a halt along the city streets.

  Julian moaned, head bleeding. His leg was twisted. The bone was broken.

  With shrieks, the marauders leaped onto the Firebird. Their claws shattered the cockpit. Julian reached for his pistol. He fired. Again. Again. The bullets glanced off them. The aliens grabbed his hand and tore it off, and Julian screamed.

  The aliens paused for an instant. A hundred or more circled the crashed starfighter.

  Julian knew he could not fight them all off.

  He smiled thinly, delirious with pain.

  This is heroism, Grandpa.

  Several bombs still hung from his Firebird's weapons racks.

  The marauders leaped into the cockpit and tore into him. As they ripped his belly open, Julian pressed the button.

  The bombs detached, hit the ground, and fire raged, and—

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Sitting at the helm of the Minotaur, General Petty fired the cannons and drove his ship forward, ramming into one of the hulking marauder cubes.

  The great alien ship, large as a mountain, slammed into its brother.

  Petty fired again.

  Again.

  He hit the cannons one last time—firing the Minotaur's nuclear weapons.

  Massive explosions tore through space.

  Blinding light flared over the Minotaur's bridge.

  Petty yanked on the controls, and the hulking Minotaur rumbled into the distance.

  The two enemy cubes shattered into millions of pieces that rained down into the Atlantic below.

  For a moment—only a moment—Petty allowed himself to breathe.

  Below him, a path of clear space and empty sky led to Earth.

  Behind him, thousands of enemy ships still flew.

  And here it is, Petty knew. My choice. Two paths. Death upon my world or death above it.

  He gazed down at Toronto. He magnified the image on his viewport.

  His heart sank.

  The Resistance was struggling to advance.