A Guiding Light

by Gerard A Whitfield

  On his command the ships fired into unison, their concentrated fire intended to punch its way through the vessels before them. Shields flared in opposition and counter missiles were launched.

  He felt his cruiser reel under the power of his enemy’s attack, three times as many of them engaged him and from all sides. No time was given for him to communicate with his destroyers as their shields were torn apart and enemy fire sent them screaming to the Prelate’s Bosom.

  Alone now, he continued to fight, data streamed in of batteries overheating, missile hits against enemy ships and more against them. Hull integrity had been breached on three separate levels and there was now no return for the fighters, the launch bays having been ripped into shreds by incoming missile strikes.

  Baynes saw the indication of their failing shields and the exact moment their tenuous protection disappeared. Shortly afterwards he heard reports of enemy vessels clamping on to their hull and new breaches being blown. Reports flooded in of fighting on all decks and that his men were losing, their resistance futile.

  His decision taken, he ordered his Exec Officer to join him in the destruction of his once mighty vessel. An explosive detonation stopped him short as he saw the poor man reduced to a liquid spray and he knew that all now rested on him. There was no time to do this properly and he raced to ensure that this failure at least would not fall at his feet.

  It was, and always had been from the moment of the enemy fleet’s arrival, too late. A backhanded blow sent him reeling backwards in his chair and he screamed in pain as a whirring blade was pushed slowly into his stomach. The owner of the weapon calmly held the Admiral in place with one booted foot and proceeded to turn the man’s entrails into a horrific soup.

  Still alive, Baynes looked up into the scarred and piteous face before him, pleading for release.

  “I will give you release,” sneered the man, leaning forwards and kissing the Admiral on the lips, a vile spittle passing between them. He laughed even more as Baynes’ mouth began to blister and boil, “You are welcomed,” he snarled, “into his ever-loving embrace!”

  Chapter Three

  Geosynchronus Orbit

  Argent III

  Second Church Protectorate

  “Eagle One to Eagle Base, over. I repeat, Eagle One to Eagle Base, over!” nothing, there was zero response. Captain Marius of the Eyotalian 326th Fighter Wing, ‘the Eagles’, cursed as he pounded his fist against his control panel. He had seen the destroyers implode under the vicious enemy barrage, and had heard the frantic transmissions from the cruiser as the boarders smashed their way through the final defences.

  His wing had responded to his call, flying close to the automatic anti-aircraft systems of the cruiser, relying on their own friendly identification transponders to protect them. They had flown tip to tip, their autocannons blazing a metallic path of death in front of them. The enemy fighters had been unable to resist, yet the ploy had not been without casualties.

  Two of their wing had been downed on the first pass by enemy missiles, another blown apart by the cruiser’s own defences. It was irrelevant now though, they had nowhere to land, the ship’s launch bays having been destroyed. Basically there were two choices, die here or try and link up with the ground forces, a slower yet no less certain death based upon the vast superiority of the enemy fleet.

  Marius was leaning towards a more glorious and rapid end, here amongst the last remains of his companions. Not because he was the most heroic of men, rather the most practical. Signal strength was minimal and therefore he could not contact anyone on the planet, he had three Spitfire missiles remaining, his autocannons were less than half-full and his laser cannon was all but useless.

  There was no certainty his men would feel the same way, but he had to at least give them the option. Drawing in a deep breath he reached to activate his transmitter, but was forestalled by an incoming message.

  "This is Colonel Walters, Seventh Lutheran calling all surviving Navy personnel. You are to disengage, I repeat, disengage from enemy contact. I am assuming overall control for this mission. You will lock on to the signal which is currently being transmitted from my temporary headquarters. Walters Out!”

  Captain Marius looked curiously at his transmitter, he must have subconsciously flicked the switch to transmit after the message had finished. Cautiously he responded, “Marius here, can you verify? Over.”

  “Captain, make your choice,” replied the voice flatly, “accept my invitation unconditionally or die out there. Out!”

  This was more than strange, thought Marius, he had never given his rank, or had he?

  *****

  Walters turned to face Krantu, “Don’t worry Leftenant, they’ll come.”

  “My Lord, what use are a few fighter pilots,” asked the Leftenant, looking puzzled.

  “I wasn’t talking about them,” grinned Walters, “however, every single person counts, or have you forgotten that?”

  “No my Lord,” said Krantu, “I have not forgotten.”

  “Good. Now what reports do we have of the enemy?” questioned the Colonel, changing the subject.

  “Nothing as of yet, my Lord, all is quiet,” replied the Leftenant.

  “That won’t last for much longer,” responded Walters, “believe me!”

  Argent III

  Disputed Zone

  Second Church Protectorate

  Viker refused the smoke stick Alana waved enticingly under his nose, it held no interest for him. Ever since his chance encounter with the Colonel earlier, he had felt energised and in need of no other substitute.

  He had tried to explain what had happened, but his squad mates had just laughed. Curiously enough the only one who had not derided him was Corporal Johns, instead the grizzled veteran had simply stared. His gaze had been free of contempt, it was instead watchful, in a stern yet accepting way. Any reverie was blown away by the screaming howl of the alarms, all across the base they erupted in a manic chorus.

  Johns sprang to his feet, barking orders to the relaxed men and women, using his fists and feet where words seemed to have no effect. The enemy was coming and he had no time for stragglers and was keen to make sure that they all understood this.

  “You!” he snapped at Viker, “Get your weapon and stick with me!”

  ”Corporal?” asked Viker, his voice quavering slightly.

  “That goes for all of you!” he roared, but Viker was sure the message had been especially meant for him.

  Geosynchronus Orbit

  Argent III

  Second Church Protectorate

  Drop pods were launched ceaselessly from the enemy cruisers, fighter craft were spat carelessly into space in numbers too many to count and still Marius vacillated. Right now, they were out of the main fight, hanging motionless whilst he made up his mind. More men had found their way to him, their own units ripped apart by the fury of the previous engagement and looking for someone to take charge.

  “Fuck this!” he muttered to himself, and then over the general frequency, “Form up, boys, we’re going to join the party. You have my absolute permission to send as many of these arseholes back to whichever ugly witch created them. For the Prelate!”

  Any response was drowned out by the roar of his engines as they thrust his fighter forwards. This was much better than waiting, and who knew, maybe this Colonel Walters had a plan?

  Argent III

  Disputed Zone

  Second Church Protectorate

  Soldiers charged to and fro in a maelstrom of activity; vast amounts of ammunition were ferried to forward supply depots, armour took up its position and Guardsmen scurried to avoid their commanders’ wrath. Colonel Walters looked on, confidence in his men high. He knew that this scenario was being repeated in other areas, the Church units outside of his command reacting in their own way.

  They, however, were of little concern to him at this moment, whatever part of the enemy forces they could tie up would only be a help, but was not counted i
n his own plan. His men needed to be blooded, to bond and find their true vocation. When the time was right he would be able to demonstrate to them exactly what was required of them and the rewards awaiting their loyalty.

  No, all they needed was time, enough for Arn and Berbatov to get here. Once that happened they could deal with the Tauran forces and then their real mission could begin. As the first of the drop pods began to rain down, he smiled, his teeth bared in an animalistic pleasure. The Church Navy had left them here to die and his men would soon know that. Once they realised their predicament, they would turn to him for guidance and he would be ready.

  Behind him he heard the excited growling of his K’ran bodyguard, they could feel it too. The link between them and Walters was strong and they could feel his rising excitement. Today they could kill again in the name of their Lord, their impatience to do so was palpable. Walters growled back, energy beginning to flow into him, and flexed his muscles. He was ready, let them come!

  *****

  Viker clutched his laser rifle close to his chest, fear setting his nerves on edge. Drop pods had hit the earth close to his position and he knew it would be soon. He saw Alana’s mouth moving, but no sound issued forth. She was praying to the Great One of that he was sure, but whether it would do any good was another matter.

  Johns stood nearby, one foot on top of the earthworks, staring out across the plain in front of them. Wind ruffled his shaggy hair and his face was lifted into the breeze. Viker could have sworn that he was sniffing the air, like some wild animal.

  Unannounced, he turned, his eyes locking tight onto those of the young soldier’s. With a start, Viker for a moment saw them blazing an emerald green and winced at the physical impact of them. In His name, he thought, who or rather what is he?

  The screeching of brakes announced the arrival of an aircar, Colonel Walters jumping down from the cabin. A low hum was heard across the lines, almost a purring of contentment, and Viker saw all of the veteran troopers staring at their commander, an almost religious fervour in their eyes. Leftenant Krantu and the two huge bodyguards were also there, their bodies tense with excitement.

  The Colonel and his entourage carried no weapons, yet they did not look unarmed, instead they radiated a kind of cold and deadly violence, held in check, but soon to be released.

  Stiv heard chanting and the beating of drums from out on the plain, a dark mass slowly moving forward. They were here, and he only hoped that he could stay the fear which coursed through his veins, long enough at least to do his duty.

  There was a light touch on his arm and he swivelled around, finding the Colonel next to him.

  “Do not worry, my son,” said Walters calmly, “I am with you!”

  *****

  Captain Marius held his Wing under tight control; they could not afford to waste their valuable ammunition. Now his decision had been made, their only hope of survival was in reaching the Lutheran positions. Somehow he knew there would be support there, more ammunition perhaps, but at least a safe haven. He was determined to make every last round count, to maximise the destructive power of his fighters.

  So with this in mind, the formation of fighters roared onwards, avoiding engagement with the enemy as instructed. The transponder signal drew them on, its bleep becoming a beacon of hope, or at least the promise of some kind of salvation.

  “Walters,” muttered Marius to himself, “you had better be worth it!”

  *****

  The semi-recognition of the Captain’s need reached Walters where he stood and he smiled. It was starting, now he would speak to the men here, would build their hunger for victory and with each chant of his name, with each pledge of loyalty, his strength would grow.

  *****

  Uther felt his Lord’s summons and called to his battle brothers, Tor would remain here, in the pinnace, for now. The ex-Immortal checked his weapons one last time, as the others filed past him into the waiting shuttle. The craft had been kept hidden on board the pinnace, its design screaming Immortals to all.

  No matter now, they were no longer Church Elite, they had a new brotherhood, a new Lord. Still, their role was the same, they would only carry it out in another’s name. One who held their total loyalty, who led them on the battlefield and imbued them with his strength. Unable to hold his eagerness in further, Uther raised his head and howled in joyous exultation, his brothers quickly joining in.

  *****

  The stuttering roar of the anti-aircraft batteries announced the arrival of the enemy aircraft, strangely they had kept silent during the deployment of the drop pods, but now they opened up in their full splendour. Their targets appeared only to be the enemy fighters and bombers, they strictly avoided the more slow moving troop transports.

  Marius and his men had no such compunction, their objective was to join up with Walters and anything that got in their way was a prime target. They had managed to maintain their identity relatively secret during their approach, their craft ignoring all hails and hugging the ground as they neared the Church-controlled positions. Finally though their disguise had been sprung and Marius had given the order to fire.

  He watched as one of his precious Spitfire missiles swooped imperiously into the attack. All attempts to stop it failed and it finally tore its way through the belly of a slow-moving transport, splitting it open and sending its contents spewing downwards towards the hard ground below. He briefly saw tumbling bodies and equipment as he flashed past, another target in his sights.

  *****

  The shuttle settled briefly to earth, disgorging its contents, before rising rapidly and tearing back in the direction it had just come from. Viker stared at the armoured men rushing forward, there had been no talk of Immortals here!

  Amazingly he saw them kneel before Walters, their fists crashing against their chests. Then he recognised them as part of the crew of the pinnace, this was getting stranger by the minute. One of them carried a furled banner in his hands, which he ceremoniously held out to the Colonel. He saw Walters smile gently and nod, the armoured figure then firmly planting the shaft into the ground. The colours which unfolded were not those of the regiment, the design was the same but contained no Church numbering or prayers. A snarling beast head emerged, as the wind caught the cloth. It seemed alive, its emerald eyes reflecting in the sunlight.

  As one, the armoured figures and all of the veterans knelt, then their howls rang out in a tremendous chorus. They appeared changed, bigger, more powerful and the Colonel almost god-like! What was happening?

  Chapter Four

  Argent III

  Disputed Zone

  Second Church Protectorate

  “Die you fucker!” screamed Marius, his fingers pressing again and again on the fire control button. He had passed through the calm and controlled commander phase and was only now interested in killing his enemies. This was a nightmare, he had no idea how many men he had left, and in fact cared little. The only thing fixed in his mind was the next enemy that crossed his sights. In such a target rich environment, it was easy to lose yourself.

  His last Spitfire missile speared outwards, obliterating his target; a slow moving bomber which had lined itself up for a run at the AA batteries. All he had left were his auto-cannons and he was determined to make every last one of these Tauran shits pay. Screaming his anger aloud he roared as he fired, “Walters, where are you? This is for you!”

  A calm washed over him, an exhilarating energy he had never felt before. He heard Walters’ voice ringing in his mind, “I know my son, have faith!”

  The curious thing was that he did, and unbelievingly he felt his laser cannon power up. It burnt with a pure green fire and he aimed at his enemies and felt the screaming bolt tear them apart. There was none of the usual waiting time, rather he seemed to have infinite charge in his weapon. The auto-cannon was spent, his missiles were gone and yet his laser cannons carried a sort of divine flame.

  A message entered in his brain, he heard the words whisper
ed and he did indeed believe. His voice rang through all of his surviving wingmen’s speakers, “Have faith in Him, believe in Walters and you shall be rewarded. See how I smite our enemies!”

  The channel became clogged with transmissions, “In Walters’ name! For Walters! Die you Mother!” All worked, they had been blessed and were exultant. Their enemies could not resist the purifying fire of their lasers and down below Walters roared, grew and called more to his banner. The enemy came, they fought and they died!

  *****

  Viker watched them come, the mutants and dispossessed herded by their masters; the Tauran Elite. He watched as the virulent armour of the fallen spewed forth clouds of bloated flies which swirled around their heads, hiding them from sight. Laser fire was ineffective against them, only dropping the monsters to the earth, yet the Taurans came on.

  He looked up at Walters and found him smiling, saw him nod to his own men and stride forward. Like many Viker raged in frustration at his inability to be more than he was, to walk at Walters’ side and then miraculously his Colonel halted. He turned, his eyes flashing a pure verdant green and spoke, “Come, join me!”, was all he said and they did.

  They came in their hundreds and thousands, screaming his name, yet he did not wait. He strode forwards to meet the demon possessed Taurans and they cried out in anguish. Running they tried to catch up with him, almost insane with their desire they ripped and tore their way through the unfortunates who faced them. They had no pity, no reason to forgive; their Lord walked alone and they would not be found wanting.

  Walters smiled and watched them come; it was almost time, he could feel it.

  The Galleon

  In Transit

  Fold Space

  “What’s keeping us,” growled Berbatov, his halberd slamming into the wall, sending metallic sparks into the air.

  “Calm down,” cautioned Arn, “we still have time!”

  “But he’s alone, with nothing but a handful of men with him!” replied Berbatov in frustration.