The Ganthoran Gambit (The First Admiral Series)

by Benning, William J.

  “Not today, my friends.” Geor pressed the trigger of the medium-yield cannon with his right forefinger.

  The loud WHOOSH of the pulsar-cannon was met, almost instantaneously, by the explosion and cloud of flame and debris that would mark the place where these soldiers fell. And, with the first medium-yield pulsar-bolt still creating ruin and devastation in the entranceway, Geor pressed the other trigger with his left forefinger. Again, the loud WHOOSH of the pulsar-cannon was rewarded with an explosion and a cloud of debris.

  “Knock, knock.” Geor smiled wolfishly as he surveyed the plume of dust, debris, and destruction at the entranceway.

  “Looks like no one’s answering the door, Sarge.” The familiar voice of Derch pierced through the ringing in Geor’s ears.

  “And, were you expecting the butler to open the door for us, Ghost four?” Geor asked.

  With the vehicle moving again, Geor could see that he had just crossed the roadway and was about to move towards what had been the security fence. The Frontier Fleet lasers were still sparking around him, but their intensity seemed to have decreased. The other Ghost Hammers were still gouging and scratching at the first and second floor windows, with the dust and debris still falling to the ground. The Boarding Troopers were still following close behind, crouching behind the Force Shielding to avoid the laser bolts that still zipped and sparked around them.

  “Ghost Hammers, halt and cease-fire,” the voice from the com-link ordered.

  Geor immediately passed the order via the troop-net, and stopped his own vehicle. Somewhat confused, Geor wondered if someone had made a mistake.

  The Boarding Troopers still had something like twelve metres to cover to the actual Palace building. The ground around the Palace was strewn with dead soldiers and damaged equipment.

  A layer of debris from the fabric of the building was collecting at ground level, and large chunks of masonry lay scattered everywhere. These obstacles would make it difficult for the Boarding Troopers to cover the ground quickly. And, even a few defenders could make them pay dearly in blood, for a frontal assault over this ground.

  About to raise his concerns over the comm-link, Geor instinctively ducked his head as explosions and falling debris began to rain down from the upper floors of the Imperial Palace. The third, fourth, and fifth floor windows of the Palace appeared to have disappeared amidst a boiling, seething ocean of flame, dust, debris, and destruction. Looking straight upwards, Geor could see the unmistakable white streaks of low-yield pulsar-bolts streaking towards the Imperial Palace’s upper floors. At that level, Geor knew that the only source of these pulsar-bolts would be Eagle fighters. The wily young Thexxian officer had called in another Eagle strike.

  “Sergeant, take us in,” the young Thexxian officer called out, “get us in to about three metres, and we’ll do the rest from there!”

  “Very good, sir! Ghosts, we’re taking the Boarding Troopers in,” he ordered into the troop-net.

  The acknowledgements rolled through the troop-net as Geor took the Ghost Hammer forward at a slightly quicker rate than he had previously. With laser-bolts still sparking from the front of his vehicle, Geor was aware that they were fewer and further between than they had been previously.

  “Ghosts, forward, and keep your eyes peeled on those windows.” Geor pushed the two pistol-grip controls forward once more.

  This time, at a faster rate, the five Ghost Hammers held their inverted “V” formation; with Geor at the point, and moved quickly over the last metres of their journey. The Boarding Troopers crouching behind the Ghost Hammers kept pace with the Fire Support Vehicles, despite the obstacles and craters of the Imperial Palace grounds. The resistance from the windows, although light, showed that the Boarding Troopers would still have some work to do once they had entered the Imperial Palace. Steadily, Geor Thardan led his Ghost Hammers over the ravaged and obstacle-strewn ground of the Imperial Palace. The laser-bolts had almost ceased, whilst the Boarding Troopers carried on the rapid-fire from their pulsar-rifles.

  When the vehicles stopped, the young Thexxian called for his Boarding Troopers to follow him and dashed forward towards the entranceway of the Imperial Palace. The Boarding Troopers duly followed the young Thexxian. When he reached the Palace entranceway, the young officer lobbed a Blast Charge into the main reception area to scour out any resistance. Ducking behind the cover of the entranceway, the young officer dodged the huge brilliant white flash of the Blast Charge. With the flash dissipating, the young Thexxian plunged into the Imperial Palace with his Troopers bunching up behind him.

  Looking down, Geor caught sight of the tube-like weapon that they had tried to deploy to stop his Ghost Hammer. The sound ringing of weapons fire could already be heard from within the Palace; one of the other Landing Trooper columns had made its way through the back streets of Ganthus City and was approaching the Palace from the rear. Whatever remained of General Kallet’s forces in the Imperial Palace would be cut off and isolated.

  “Right, well done, Ghosts, that’s it - we’ve done our bit. Stand down, let the footsloggers sort the rest out,” Geor announced into the troop-net.

  And, as Geor began to switch over from his troop-net to pick up his new orders, the great mob of Ganthoran civilians burst into the Imperial Palace through the main entranceway.

  Clambering over the make-shift barricade, they scrambled, jumped, lurched, fell and crawled over the fallen Frontier Fleet defensive barrier like ants overwhelming leaf litter on a forest floor. Those that fell were trampled underfoot in the great swarming rush to get into the Palace. The Ganthorans shouted, yelled, and screamed as they broke into what had been the sanctuary of their Emperors for thousands of years.

  “I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of what that little lot are going to be dishing out,” the voice of Derch broke into the net.

  And, sitting back in his seat, Geor Thardan felt that he could only agree with him.

  Chapter 11: Chronos; a Moon of Ganthus

  Signals Captain Thripval Branthus was keeping busy with his many duties. And, since the success of Billy Caudwell in the Time Warrior Arena, plus the defeat of Kallet’s Frontier Fleet, he was most definitely keeping his head down. This was not a good time to be in any way connected with Frontier General Avavid Kallet. The murder of over twenty thousand Imperial Guards in Ganthus City had shaken the Guard contingent on Chronos to their very core. It could all too easily have been any one of them down there being suffocated in the fire-suppressant gas. Feelings were running very high on Chronos, along with very loud calls for revenge.

  The absent-minded Signals Captain act had been temporarily put on hold by Thripval until, at least, the remaining Frontier Fleets had driven off the aliens who now had control of Ganthus and Ganthus City. The civilians trapped on Chronos during the Time Warrior Ritual were now being evacuated back to their homes, relieving the massive overcrowding in the facility. Thripval knew that Generals Sal’nor, Timmeg, and Kav’al were bringing their Frontier Fleets to Ganthus. Everyone knew that the Frontier Fleets were going to challenge the new flame-haired Emperor who had successfully completed the Time Warrior Ritual. Kallet was not stupid enough to challenge the might of the Imperial Guard, this new Universal Alliance and what was left of Grobbeg’s Frontier Fleets all by himself. Kallet would move on Ganthus because he was the closest, but he wouldn’t move without the support of, at least, two other Frontier Fleets. And, it stood to reason: If the Universal Alliance took control of the Ganthoran Empire, there would be no more need for Frontier Fleets.

  The Frontier Fleets were coming to Ganthus, and flame-haired Caudwell and his Universal Alliance would be swept away. That was the hope of Thripval Branthus as he continued to work on the malfunctioning transmitter relay.

  Old General Sal’nor is a wily old creature who would outmanoeuvre this upstart Caudwell before tearing his precious Alliance Fleet to ribbons, Thripval considered for a moment as he began to re-assemble the circuits.

  Drawing a deep bre
ath, Thripval knelt down and began to build the long chains of square circuit plates into the cubes that would fit into the conduits beneath the transmitter control console. It was delicate work, requiring nimble fingers and a sharp eye.

  As he worked away, Thripval wished that he had been able to fully over-ride the self-preservation protocol for the Zulu creatures. That way, they would have raced up to Caudwell’s barricade, overwhelmed it and slaughtered everyone; including the flame-haired human who now had the right to call himself Emperor of the Ganthorans.

  “Captain Branthus? Signals Captain Thripval Branthus?” a voice with a strange accent asked from behind him.

  “Can’t you see that I’m very busy?” Thripval assumed that some lowly technician had been sent to find him.

  “I think you can leave that, Captain Branthus.” The cold, metal barrel of a pistol-like device was placed gently against Thripval’s right temple. “And, we’ll have your hands raised just to be careful.”

  “Erm, what is the meaning of this?” Thripval Branthus slowly and nervously looked to his right.

  There, he saw an Alliance pistol being held in a hand covered in dark greyish-green scales beneath a black uniform sleeve. Placing the chain of circuit squares slowly and gently onto the floor, Thripval Branthus raised his hands up to shoulder level.

  “Stand up slowly, and turn around to face me,” the accented voice said calmly.

  Aware that the pistol was still placed against his temple, Thripval Branthus rose slowly to his feet and turned around to face a small creature with olive skin in a black Universal Alliance uniform. Immediately, Thripval Branthus recognised it as a Landing Trooper uniform. He had seen the Landing Troopers around the Alliance Legation in Ganthus City when he had come down from Chronos for spares for the Signals equipment. His green, scaly colleague, who was holding the pistol to his head, was also in a Landing Trooper overall, wearing the black helmet, but with the silvered, half-face visor snapped firmly shut. Next to the small olive skinned one; who appeared to be an officer, was another helmeted and visor-ed Landing Trooper; much taller than the other two, who had a mottled grey and green skin.

  “There, that’s better.” The olive skinned officer smiled insincerely.

  To Thripval Branthus, this Alliance officer had the easy-going confidence and swagger that all of the Alliance creatures seemed to possess. It was an arrogance that Thripval both loathed and envied at the same time. At this particular moment, he loathed this olive-skinned creature, but the pistol pointed at his head made sure that he kept his opinions to himself.

  “Signals Captain Thripval Branthus,” the olive skinned officer began casually, “you are under arrest for complicity in the murder of Universal Alliance Ambassador Sarkor Nicx, the attempted murder of First Admiral William Caudwell, and for high treason against the Ganthoran Empire.”

  “This is preposterous,” Thripval began to protest.

  An instant later, it felt as if his head had exploded as the pistol wielding Trooper slammed the barrel across the back of Thripval’s head, knocking him face first onto the floor.

  “Shut it, you!” the gruff-voiced, green, scaly Trooper ordered.

  With his head still ringing, Thripval felt his hands being dragged roughly behind his back and secured as he realised he was bleeding from his nose and mouth.

  “Try not to be so rough, Trooper...Senior Intelligence Officer Sownus wants to interrogate this one personally.” The Alliance officer spoke calmly as if the Trooper had merely spilled a drink.

  “Sorry, sir,” the Trooper apologised to the officer, but not to Branthus.

  Still reeling from the blow, and with his ears still ringing while mixed with a deep humming sound, Branthus felt himself physically dragged to his feet by the powerful arm of the grey-green Landing Trooper.

  “Prisoner Branthus secured.” The scaly green Trooper spoke from behind Thripval’s back into a controller.

  “Senior Intelligence Officer says send him up to Central Containment aboard Colossus, and then proceed to next target, sir,” the scaly-green Trooper reported.

  “Sir, I must protest this treatment...,” Thripval began to protest again, and suddenly felt the force of an open-handed slap on the back of his head.

  “Captain, you can protest all you like, but I very much doubt you’re going to live long enough for anyone to be listening,” the Alliance officer said calmly to Thripval.

  Before Thripval could reply, his world disappeared in a flash of blinding light as he was Tele-Ported away from the Imperial Guard facility on Chronos, up to the waiting Star-Cruiser that would carry him and his fellow arrestees to the Star-Destroyer Colossus. With the planet of Ganthus now held by the Alliance, Karap Sownus had decided it was time to clean house.

  All over Ganthus, and on Chronos, arrests were being made, of which Thripval Branthus was only one.

  “Right, that’s Thripval Branthus sorted out,” said the olive-skinned Landing Trooper officer, “who’s next on our little list of villains then, Trooper?”

  Chapter 12: The Imperial Palace, Ganthus City

  As Geor Thardan sat back on his seat aboard the Ghost Hammer, the tall and willowy figure of a young girl named Slythra stumbled and staggered towards the wreckage and devastation of the Imperial Palace entrance. Corpses and discarded weapons lay strewn amongst the smouldering craters and ruined gardens of the Grand Entranceway, making her progress difficult.

  When the new Emperor’s black-clad soldiers had landed in Ganthus City, Slythra’s grandmother had dragged out the old Imperial Guard pistol; that her grandfather had once carried, from its hiding place in the dry and crumbling wall. Then, with an instruction to Slythra; telling the girl not to leave the room, her grandmother had disappeared out into the darkened corridor. Two hours later, gnawing her bottom lip in apprehension, Slythra had crept around the door and into the corridor in search of her grandmother.

  Picking her way unsteadily through the carnage, Slythra crept past the squat and intimidating Ghost Hammers and into the shattered remnants of the Grand Entranceway. Having been born and brought up in one of the many hundreds of industrial sectors of Ganthus City, she had never seen the Imperial Palace before. In fact, Slythra had never really strayed beyond her own neighbourhood. The ever-present threat of gang violence made her journey to and from school as quick and as short as possible. The Grand Entranceway, strewn with corpses, became a nightmarish maze of obstacles for Slythra who had never even seen a dead body before. Turning and stumbling her way through the horror, she knew that her grandmother had joined the civilian mob that had stormed the Palace, and that if she was still alive, then she would most likely be in the Palace somewhere.

  Clambering over the bodies that littered the huge doorway, a terrified Slythra saw the destruction that the Alliance Ghost Hammers and Eagle fighters had wreaked on the majestic interior. Fine art, furniture and decorations, now reduced to so much garbage and rubble, cluttered the once pristine floor leaving a heavy fog of dust, with the acrid stench of smoke hanging in the air. To her left, the great wide ceremonial ramp littered was littered with dead civilians and Frontier Fleet soldiers. The scorch marks and craters of weapons fire turned the pristine white ramp into dark, streaked shambles, where blood ran in pale rivulets to pool at the base.

  To her right, Slythra saw the corridor and open doorways to the dozens of formal reception rooms where the great and good of the Empire had waited to be seen. Once again, the savage hand of battle had torn through the once-sedate and perfectly tended rooms. Centuries old furniture lay smashed and smouldering amidst the devastation. Nothing had been spared by the looters and destroyers of generations of Ganthoran high culture. Exquisite vases lay in shards across the scorched and heavily scratched polished floors. And, the ever present dead; in small, pathetic huddles, bore testimony to the savagery of the fighting amidst the shattered splendour.

  Following the contours of the corridor wall, Slythra edged nervously through the reception rooms: her eyes scanning the t
orn and scorched huddles of dead for the distinctive red scarf worn by her grandmother. At every entranceway, she steeled herself for the worst. But, at every room, the red scarf did not appear and Slythra moved on.

  Deep in the Palace, the battle still raged. The muffled sounds of weapons fire, explosions, and shouts deepened the fear and anxiety of the already-terrified twelve-year-old. Turning through the corridor into the Audience Hall, Slythra stared in awe at the huge chamber where dignitaries and ambassadors were allowed to present their formal petitions and messages.

  Once again, the savagery of the battle had left its mark on this once-proud auditorium. The soaring, spiralled columns that held up the vaulted ceiling were scorched and gouged by the intensity of the weapons fire that had criss-crossed the huge marbled floor.

  The massive windows were smashed to thousands of shards, letting the sunlight, smoke, and smell of decaying bodies permeate the great Hall. With her young stomach on the point of rebellion, Slythra covered her nose and mouth and stepped nervously into the Hall. Anxiously, Slythra scanned the dead for any sign of her grandmother, and was silently relieved not to find any. However, as she skirted the Hall, delicately negotiating the dead and devastation, Slythra heard a faint groan. Moving forward carefully, Slythra saw a pile of bodies pitched up against one of the twisting pillars. A group of Frontier Fleet soldiers had finally been hunted down and trapped. This was where they had made their last stand in a vicious hand-to-hand fight.

  Following the sound of the groaning, Slythra saw the slight movement of an arm amongst a pile of bodies. At first, she wanted to run away and hide from the moving arm in the twisted, contorted mound of corpses. However, she choked back her gorge and moved shakily forward.