EARTH'S LAST WAR (CHILDREN OF DESTINY Book 1)

by Glenn Van Dyke

  On her monitor, she saw the two Intercepts racing away from Red 3. A moment later two small flashes lit the sky. Several smaller explosions followed, and then finally, the destroyer blew, becoming a huge expanding ball of flame and sparkling debris.

  “Red 3, good going!"

  “Red 3, do you copy? Briggs?”

  Over Ashlyn’s open comm channel she heard, “This is Red 11. All pilots, hold position. On my orders, hit them with a heavy barrage of fire.”

  Red 11’s team of Sharkfins had formed a wall, daring the enemy fighters to pass.

  “I’ll be back for you Red 3, hold tight.” Ash hit the turbo in pursuit of her team. “Red 11, we’re bringing them home to you. Give us a moment to clear out and we’ll give you a clean shot.”

  “Roger that Red 2.”

  “Red 5, Red 10, take’em up three klicks. I’ll descend three klicks.”

  “This is Red 11—okay Rockettes, time to kick-up your heels!”

  Red 11 and his wing of fighters, laid down a heavy display of firepower in front of the advancing enemy, long before they had visual contact. Ashlyn’s team closing from behind opened fire, tightening the noose. The enemy pilots’ confidence waned and they broke formation, splitting off in all directions. The two teams of Sharkfins hit their turbo and took off in pursuit. Within moments, the enemy fighters were destroyed.

  “Red 11, you have the team, if you punch it hard, there’s a small chance you might be able to catch the missiles chasing Avenger. I’m going back for Briggs.”

  “Aye, sir. Godspeed, Foxy Lady. Godspeed.”

  ***

  “Admiral, a strafing run by one of our fighters has finished off the last destroyer,” said Rawlings.

  “On screen.” The rearward view monitor lit up showing the dimming explosion of the destroyer.

  “Enemy missiles are closing on the coolant dump—contact.” The intricate artwork erupted into a dazzling display of exploding, glistening ice crystals.

  “We still have three incoming, sir.”

  “Missiles at 6100 meters and closing. 35 seconds until impact.”

  “Order the returning Sharkfin’s to clear the area, they won’t get here in time to intercept them. Send the team to LV-6.”

  Unfortunately, only one option remained. “Comm, open a channel to engineering.”

  “Go ahead, sir.”

  “This is the Admiral. Emergency evac, repeat emergency evac of all engineering personnel. Section 3 will be disengaged in 15 seconds.”

  “Gena, initiate emergency disconnect of Section 3. Ten second delay. Shipwide, verbal countdown.”

  “Password verification required,” came Gena’s request.

  “Admiral Steven Sherrah, password, Lizard Tail.”

  “Password verified.”

  The shipwide, ten-second verbal countdown began with the pre-mandated programming that Section 3's two energy cores be ejected.

  Nearly 150 men and women scrambled for their lives to reach the connecting node to Section 2. As the door began to lower, one of the crew, a man, sacrificed himself and pushed his wife under the closing doorway.

  “Emergency disconnect of Section 3 initiated,” said Gena. The small internal charges of the massive coupling assembly blew, sending four, thudding jolts racing through the hull.

  As the sections separated, the piping and rubber tubing connecting the sections was torn away, leaving a messy tangle of tentacles flailing behind Avenger.

  “We’re f-free, sir,” said Novacek. He also saw that forty-seven people didn’t escape.

  “Robbie, boosters to maximum! Novacek, route all available power to the shields.”

  On the monitor, Section 3 began to brake, its auto-programming forcing it to wait for its slaughter.

  “Missile’s locked and closing, 3 seconds, 2—1, missiles impacting,” reported radar.

  The engineering section exploded in a blaze of glory as a massive shower of sparks filled the heavens. Instantly, the shockwave caught Avenger, carrying her along in its bustling wake. With the loss of Avenger’s primary stabilizers and the main drives on Section 3, they were nearly helpless. The attitude jets fought to stabilize her as she began listing to her port side. The jets were but a whisper of wind against the turbulence of a hurricane.

  Steven was nearly knocked unconscious by a crewmember who was flung across the room.

  “Mr. Preston, take my s-s-station!” said Novacek moving to help Steven. “H-helm, get her s-s-stabilized.”

  “Trying, sir. We don’t have much to correct with.”

  “Mr. Preston, s-s-status?” Novacek called.

  “Shield strength stands at 7 percent. Running on backup reserves, currently at 22 percent and falling.”

  “Novacek, use the secondary boosters on Section 2 to get us to the—the planet,” Steven struggled to say, his eyes closed tight.

  “We-we need to f-f-flatten our t-tumble first.”

  “Tumble?” Steven said with only faint comprehension.

  “Med t-t-team to the bridge, Priority 1,” said Novacek as he removed a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and held it to the bleeding wound on Steven’s forehead. “Status?” Steven asked weakly.

  “S-section 3 has t-t-taken out all the missiles that were c-chasing us. We’re c-currently traveling at 1.54 s-sub-light. We’re t-tumbling; helm is trying to get us s-stabilized. We’re a long w-way from the p-planet. T-there’s no chance of Avenger m-making landfall.

  We’re p-preparing for evac.”

  “Use the vertical thrusters in the landing arm extensions,” said Steven with all the vigor he could muster.

  “Aye, Admiral! Extending sea-floor landing arm extensions,” said Robbie, with a proud sense of awe at the brilliant idea.

  Outside Avenger, it appeared as though the ship were morphing into a giant bug as four spindly legs began growing from its undercarriage.

  “The Sharkfins?” inquired Steven.

  “You ordered t-them to the p-planet, sir.

  R-radar, what’s t-the current s-status on our S-sharkfins?” said Novacek.

  “A little over forty million kilometers from the planet.”

  “Casualties?” Steven inquired.

  “A few, sir. We’re unsure as to who the specific pilots are though. The array that tracks the tagging signal was lost when we were trying to break free from the sun. I could have them do a verbal roll-call?” offered Chief Engineer Preston.

  “N-negative. The less information we b-broadcast about ourselves the b-better,” Novacek ordered.

  “Ash?” Steven mumbled almost silently. He reached out with his mind, trying to call her, but the pain kept him from focusing.

  “If anyone c-could make it, you’ve got to know it w-w-would be her,” Novacek whispered into Steven’s ear. “She’ll b-be f-fine, I’m s-sure of it!”

  Novacek waved the arriving med team over. After a quick check by the med scanner, “It doesn’t appear too serious, Admiral. You have a concussion. You’ll have some dizziness, and I can give you an inhibitor for the headache.”

  “No, no inhibitors. I need to be alert!”

  The medic nodded. “Yes, sir. Let me know if you decide you need something.”

  “It’s working, Admiral. The vertical arm thrusters are stabilizing us,” said Robbie.

  Steven’s only thoughts were of Ashlyn.

  ***

  Ashlyn had to assume that Briggs’ transponder was destroyed, since his emergency beacon wasn’t broadcasting. Combined with the lack of response to her cry of his call sign, it seemed likely that Briggs was dead. Still, she couldn’t leave without knowing. She owed him.

  The debris field from the destroyer was immense and spreading by the second. Sifting through the wreckage by traditional means would take far longer than her fading oxygen reserve would allow.

  Closing her eyes, Ash let her senses stretch, looking for a patterned wave of thought. Sensing nothing, she drew a deep breath and refocused her chi—drawing upon her inner strength to
perceive even the slightest emotion.

  There was something, like the radiating heat of a lit match at a thousand paces. Though weak and unfocused, she knew the thought pattern was human. She focused on it, searching for a distinct direction. Letting her mind guide her, she boosted through the debris to his location.

  Even at close range, lost amidst the junk pile of twisted metal, Briggs’ fighter was barely recognizable. “Eject left tow cable.” Immediately, the tow cable splayed out, hitting the nub of what had once been Red 3's wing. With the magnetics engaged, “Tighten line, 80 pounds psi.” The cable retracted, pulling the two fighters together.

  Removing her pilot’s helmet, Ashlyn activated her locket and vented the air in her cockpit. Once the canopy lifted, she stepped out. Walking down the length of her wing, the light-duty magnetics on her boots holding her to her craft, she glanced inside his cockpit. Ash, knew that once his cockpit air was vented, she’d have only seconds in which to get him safely inside her craft.

  Moving to the small control panel on Red 3's fuselage, Ash hoped desperately that she’d find the ship’s internal electronics’ still functional.

  Lifting the panel’s cover, she hit the cabin’s manual pressure release button. As she’d anticipated, the familiar hiss signaling the cockpit’s depressurization was missing.

  “All right then, we’ll do this the hard way.” Inside the compartment was a small, emergency repair kit that held an assortment of Magnetite hand tools. Unrolling the bundle, she found the tools she was looking for, a simple screwdriver and a light duty hammer.

  Knowing that the glass would be near unbreakable, her objective was only to puncture the canopies seal. She made several hard blows before she saw the small wisp of escaping air.

  Again back at the access panel, Ash grabbed the red, emergency hatch release. A painted warning beneath it read “WARNING, DO NOT OPEN HATCH WHILE INTERNALLY PRESSURIZED! SEVERE INJURY COULD RESULT!”

  She watched until the venting stopped. Ash strained to grasp the handle, her gloves making a simple job hard. With a downward pull, the canopies internal locks released and it sprang open.

  Unbuckling Briggs’ harness, she lifted him, carrying him cross her wing to her cockpit. Dropping him into the co-pilots seat, she jumped in beside him, quickly punching the buttons that closed the canopy and pressurized the cabin. Deactivating her armor, she turned to check on Briggs beside her. When she saw him take a deep inhalation of air, refilling his lungs, she relaxed. It was all she had hoped for.

  ***

  “Chief, do we have any information on our pilots yet?” asked Steven, after he was again unsuccessful in his attempt to contact Ashlyn.

  “Nothing specific, sir. They are still under long-range blackout. Nevertheless, radar shows they are following standard protocol and following the beacon to its chosen location. They’ll be making landfall shortly.”

  “Keep me informed. Novacek, you have the bridge. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Steven had been using sickbay as a temporary childcare facility. He laughed aloud, the pain of his concussion making him wince as the door opened and he saw Phillip playing cards with the nurse. Though they were both securely harnessed, the scene had a contradictory casualness to it. The idea that they had been playing amidst the turbulent shaking was comical.

  “Admiral, your son’s been teaching me a game called poker.”

  “Is he taking advantage of you?”

  “A bit. I owe him 6 tongue suppressors, 1 stethoscope, 2 doctor’s hats, 4 pairs of gloves, and 142 Q-tips.”

  “I see! Then perhaps I am rescuing ‘you.’

  We’re abandoning Avenger. We’ll be evacuating into the emergency pods, shortly. About all I know is that, the pods are programmed to follow a beacon groundside. Instructions will be announced in a few minutes. Recruit the help you need to gather all the antibiotics and med supplies.”

  Before returning to the Bridge, Steven and Phillip stopped by their cabin to gather a few items. Steven’s movements were harried, his every thought awaiting confirmation that Ashlyn was safe.

  Five minutes later, back on the bridge, “Do we have the pilot update?”

  “It just came in, sir. We have six surviving Sharkfins, five of which have just landed on the planet,” said the Chief. He spun round to face Steven, obviously despondent over what he had to say next. “The sixth is Commander Parker. She also has Lieutenant Briggs aboard, she went back to rescue him.”

  Briggs? How the hell did she get him into her ship?

  The Chief, after a long, baited-breath then added, “She’s in serious trouble, sir. She’s ultra-low on fuel—and, she can’t go to the planet with the other pilots because she has an oxygen leak. She has less than 12 minutes of air left.”

  Steven tensed. “Give me the options.”

  “There aren’t any. She’s spam in a can.” Seeing the disgruntled look upon Steven’s face to his words, “Sorry, sir. She’s at full throttle to try to catch us before we reach the terminator to launch the pods. The oxygen situation is bad enough, but she’s so low on fuel, she won’t have any left for braking or course corrections. ”Novacek, wanting to turn the conversation to more optimism, “I’m h-having the bay p-p-primed for a d-dead‑stick landing.” It was an avenue of hope, if only a small one.

  “Comm, open a channel to her, full visual mode.”

  Novacek flashed Steven a questioning look for breaking official safety protocols.

  “Aye, sir. Channel open.”

  Steven was surprised to see that Ashlyn was in her armor. Ashlyn’s face appeared on the view screen. “Commander Parker, what’s your status?”

  “Not so good, Admiral. I took damage from the destroyer. I’m running low on oxygen, I’m using what’s in my suit for me, giving what’s left in the Sharkfin for Briggs.

  As for fuel, problematic. I’m white-hot. It’s a race to catch you before the oxygen runs out versus the remaining fuel. Computations show that if you can increase Avenger’s speed to 1.98 sub-light, I’ve got a shot at syncing our speeds before I run out of fuel. I have a 4 minute and 10 second ETA. My fuel will be gone in approximately 3 minutes 43 seconds. I’ll need to cut fuel at 3 minutes and 20 seconds though to save some for last minute braking and course adjustments.”

  Steven crunched the numbers in his head. 50 seconds of flight time without her mains. If she is off by even a millimeter, she’ll miss Avenger by a hundred kilometers. It was impossible.

  “I need you to rig the launch bay for a dead-stick landing, sir.”

  “It’s being prepped as we speak. What’s your oxygen reading?”

  “Briggs has 9 minutes left,” Ashlyn said casually.

  Ashlyn reached out, seeking to talk with Steven privately, and was surprised that she couldn’t do so. “Are you all right, sir?”

  Steven touched the bandage on his forehead. “It’s nothing; just get back here safely, Commander.”

  “Will do! Sir, if I can make a suggestion, please turn off all of Avenger’s external lighting, only leaving the internal landing bay floods on.”

  “Affirmative. We’ll center Avenger so that the landing bay is a straight shot for you. Ash—” Steven’s voice trailed away.

  Though she wished she could have spoken to him within the privacy of the fugue, she was forced to make her request verbally, “Sir, if I may make one additional request? I ask that you go to the flight deck’s pilot entrance at the rear of the hanger and observe the landing in person.”

  Steven hesitated only briefly, “Very well, on my way. God-speed, Ash, Godspeed!”

  Novacek’s intensely narrowed eyes, questioned Ashlyn’s strange request at placing Steven’s life at such extreme risk.

  “Helm, what’s our energy status?”

  “At 7 percent, sir.”

  “Good—increase our speed to 1.98 per the Commander Parker’s instructions. Align the bay for her.”

  “Aye, sir. Aligning shuttle bay. Our port correctional thrusters are almost useless
for increasing our speed though.”

  With unusual sternness, “Figure it out. Just get it done.

  Chief, time until the escape pod launch?”

  “For safety, launch should begin within 22 minutes. At 29 minutes, the planet will be too far away to make landfall.”

  “Very good,” said Steven. “Comm, sound the evac order for everyone to get to the pods.

  Novacek, I’m going to the landing bay. You have the Chair. If you don’t mind, keep an eye on Phillip for me, please.”

  Novacek thought to question Steven about the danger he was putting himself and the ship in, but seeing the conviction etched in Steven’s face, he also knew that his cautionary words would be ignored.

  ***

  “Hold on Briggs. We’re almost home,” said Ash to her passenger’s unhearing ear.

  Though Avenger was still invisible to her, and Steven’s mind was still inaccessible, her heart was drawn to him with a precision that no machine or instrument could duplicate.

  She knew that Avenger’s gaping maw sat before her like the open mouth of Moby Dick and not unlike Ahab in his obsessive hunt for the white whale, Ashlyn’s soul was dependent upon catching it. Her obsession though was not for Avenger, but for the man who commanded her.

  “Gena, switch me over to manual control, maximum yoke sensitivity.”

  “Manual override, engaged,” came the instant response. With a light hand that could hold a stick of warm butter without marring its shape, Ashlyn eased her craft a finite gradation to port. A chime sounded, signaling her divergence from the course Gena had chosen as optimal.

  Pressing the tandem floor pedals, Ash reversed the port and starboard engine thrusters. Her Sharkfin trembled under the torque of heavy braking, growing stronger as she pushed the reverse thrusters to the floor. Ash heard the first of three small pops as several, already weakened rivets on the underside of her hull gave out.

  With the yoke jittering in her hand, the red fuel warning light on the control panel began flashing faster, questioning her expensive use of crucial fuel on empty tanks.