Black ships. They weren’t any model I had ever seen or heard of. They looked like obsidian daggers piercing the midday sky, carved into a deadly arcane beauty by some space god’s hand. Cruel fins protruded from the dark hulls and a green aura surrounding them. That must be the shielding system.
“Derringer, come in! This is Commander Zenithan!”
I turned my comms back to Fleet. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Are you engaging?! You have direct orders to get your men out of there immediately! DO NOT ENGAGE!”
“Yes Ma’am, we are on our way.”
The autopilot indicator flashed as the base tried to rope us in, but I immediately turned it off. It would mean certain death if we were to simply coast away on auto. We were hurling even faster to the enemy position, directly into oncoming fire. “Jackal, hit the Chainsmoker now!”
THUM!
Jackal’s Phantom sounded off, sending a missile package of chain-reaction flares skyward ahead of us. The first flare reacted, giving our flight path cover, throwing off their targeting. One second. Two seconds…
“Knight, now!”
Knight’s Phantom shot off an enormous, fat missile that went shooting past me, leaving a quick trail of exhaust. It was called a Jolly Rodger, the most devastating missile he had. An instant later, the sky ignited and the black ships disappeared into a cloud of light. A flickering orb of fire. The missile’s swelling impact began shuddering our ships as it swallowed the atmosphere ahead of us, but there was no time to hesitate. If you hit the explosion at just the right speed, the right timing, creating a kind of spear with our shields...
“Alright everything we got now! Close in, close in!!!” I ordered.
Jackal and Knight fell in line behind me. We sliced into the explosion, thrusting straight through the inferno, our shields shrieking, crackling as they endured the flames. Even though we were blind, I knew mathematically that we were just seconds away from their formation now. I didn’t know what the capabilities of the alien starfighters were, but I gambled that the bomb would give us a window. We were flying blind toward the atmosphere and the waiting jaws of the mysterious enemy, but it was our only option. We came shooting out into violet sky, out the other end of the explosion, racing its expanding arc, the sheer force rattling my entire cockpit.
I let Jackal and Knight fly past me, soaring ahead, as for this part I needed to be last in the formation. Four… five…. Six! I fingered the red trigger on my joystick, releasing my own single-use bomb at just the right time, and as we shot toward the alien formation, the bomb detonated behind us. This bomb was the Gravity Crusher. It created an implosion of gravity, however as it came in contact with the explosion from the Jolly Rodger, the sudden clash made the artificial gravity field flip, so that now there was a giant sphere of gravity thrust radiating out from the roiling explosion. This created a kind of shield between us and the Jolly Rodger’s detonation, which itself was enough to level a whole city. This shield became a rushing gravity wave that thrust our ships forward at bone-rattling speed.
“Aaaaahhh!” came Jackal’s cries as we essentially lost control of our ships, letting the wave impel us onward like bullets fired from a rifle. The black ships were caught off guard, and began reeling, engines screeching plasma to try and steady themselves in the chaos.
As we raced above the roiling storm of the Jolly Rodger’s explosion, the flares, the Gravity Crusher all mixed together, I felt time slow.
The gravity bomb was not designed to work this way, and as the Jolly Rodger exhausted its fuel, the gravity well began imploding once more, crackling with warped cosmic forces, pulling at our ships, sucking them down into its purple vortex. I felt my engine’s raging, raging like my inner-self that was still contemplating the death of my squadmate. It was forbidden to involve emotions into piloting with a neural link, to flood the system with this energy… but in the intensity of the moment… the image of Elfen Beazly, ‘Golden Boy’, burning along with his starfighter scorched my consciousness and then I felt my fighter respond with even greater thrust.
Even through the frenzied explosion below us, I managed to spot an enemy ship up ahead, its nose like that of a beetle with wide, sharp pincers that encircled a firing mechanism glowing green. Trembling from the g-force of the Arc maneuver, I managed to clamp down on the red firing buttons, and let out a torrent of laser fire, as well as mentally willing every last missile I had on me to blast off, curling strangely as they too fought against the strange gravity ripples all around us. This barrage of missile and laser fire swallowed up the enemy ship before it had time to react, burying it in a cloud of plasma and shrapnel.
“Don’t stop, push! Push! PUSH!” I shouted, spurring myself on as much as my squadron.
There was no time to look back on any damage I might have done. I had to get my men out of this situation.
My eyes clenched shut, and it was as if I saw the nerves inside my head rippling with light. Something surreal was happening. It was like I was willing our warp engines to come alive, not just mine, but even Jackal and Knight’s, as I felt the engines, like they were burning limbs of mine.
“Clock, what’s happening?!” Jacka’ls voice came over the comm.
“Have to... fly!!!!” I shouted, and the engines lit up bright, three supernovas within my own being. We flew then, soared and came free of the muddy grasp of the gravity well.
My eyes opened, heart lurching against my ribs. We were out of the heat, the explosion and gravity wave finally fizzling out as we reached the upper atmosphere and its plum haze. A second later, we were in outer space. Green lasers fired at us randomly from far below, but they had lost their menacing precision from earlier.
“Zero-G mode!” I gasped the command to my squadron, still reeling from putting ourselves through an energetic maelstrom just to get away with our lives. Our thrusters burst back to life.
“What the hell was that?” Knight growled, nearly gagging as he struggled for breath. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was still panting, not knowing what really happened myself.
I heard Jackal puking over the comms. “I think—” Jackal choked between his wretching, “Fuck, I think you got one, Clock! One of their ships.”
“Hopefully more than one.” I breathed deep, blood rushing back to my head. “No way of knowing right now.”
Jackal cleared his throat with a noise of disgust. “Then... then it was like the ships just got boosted all of a sudden. Engines going full blast.”
“You will tell us what that was!” Knight demanded.
“The only thing I will do right now, is get the hell out of here.”
We zipped off, racing through outer space, circling the planet’s spheric horizon below. No green lasers followed, and I knew we were out of the engagement.
“Whatever else happened... that was a suicide run, Derringer,” Knight interjected. “You’ll be court martialed.”
“Court martialed?!” Jackal spoke for me, “Clock just saved us, dumbass!”
“Hey, stow it! Both of you!” I couldn’t believe they were already back at it, but the wave of relief I felt having led my squad out of an impossible situation stayed my temper. “Let’s just get back to base for debrief. Whatever just happened, it’s a lot larger than what my superiors think of my actions.”
A moment later the comms scrambled on.
“Lieutenant Derringer, come in. This is Admiral Bradson.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Yes, sir!”
This was it. I saw Celeste in my mind, a new ship, a new status… they would recognize what I had just accomplished and I would be promoted. Then we would figure out who these enemy ships belonged to, and send them to their graves. Golden Boy’s death would not be in vain. This was history I was involved with, and I would protect Unity from whatever danger these aliens posed with my life. Then the Admiral spoke to me:
“Lieutenant Derringer, you were given a direct order by your superior
to return your squadron to base immediately. Now, if you’re done risking lives and equipment, please comply with your original orders, and return to base for debriefing. Bradson out.”
His tone was not that of a man addressing a hero. Not at all.
4
"Lieutenant Derringer, you are charged with the violation of Military Code 349-A —direct insubordination to a superior officer in a live-combat scenario. Please disarm your SpaceWing and come with me." It was a commander in a white, collared uniform, pressed as crisply as a blank sheet of paper.
I was speechless. I had just climbed down from the cockpit of my Phantom. Usually I'm met by my mechanic, Higgins, who was nowhere in sight. Instead, I was greeted by this pompous looking commander, who was flanked by two gargantuans in black armored uniforms, shoulders like bowling balls with glowing lights on the surface, heads shaved to be nearly reflective. Space Commandos. I eyed them cautiously, staring at the different color viles on the toxin devices wrapped around their skull, devices which they could will to flood their bodies with different chemicals, all of them making their already superhuman capacities truly terrifying. They were both over seven feet tall, genetically enhanced and trained from birth to do one thing—dominate. They looked down at me like they would an annoying puppy.
For an instant, I felt the pull of the neural link which was still active; a reactionary sensation to the danger I faced. My engines flared, weapons armed… my Phantom hovered behind me, raising ever slowly like the head of a hooded cobra. The Commandos shifted uncomfortably—even encased in their power-suits, they couldn’t withstand a direct lascannon blast. My cannons were locked onto their faces. Commanding no other systems on my ship, I could fire simply by wishing it now.
“Lieutenant Derringer!” the Commander barked, his worn face tensing.
My eyes remained on the Commandos, their massive gauntlets closed in fists, beginning to crackle ever so slightly, one of them readying his laser rifle, its huge barrel just inches from pointing at me. I calmly said: “Deactivate Neural Link.”
The system responded, and then a moment later I was powerless, disconnected from my Phantom.
“Please escort Mr. Derringer to his holding cell,” the commander ordered, while the two Commandos were already moving toward me.
I raised my hands in the air. “Keep your dogs off me, I’ll go! Pretty sure I outrank both of you, anyways.”
“Fuck your rank,” one of the commandos grunted.
They were faster than seemed possible, and in an instant they were behind me. The other behemoth prodded me along with the butt of his rifle, which to him was nothing more than a light shove. My hands broke most of the fall, but I fell with such force that I face planted.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing?!” It was Jackal. From the ground I saw his black boots sprinting toward me, his dark hair wild from helmet-head. Nitro was close behind him.
“Stand down, Lieutenant Fujira!” the white-uniformed Commander ordered. One of the Commandos stepped forward, daring Fujira to come any closer. Jackal didn’t back down, as fearless outside of the cockpit as he was when he was piloting.
I raised a hand, my head spinning: “Barrett,” I called Jackal by his first name, “it’s alright. Let it go.”
A huge hand gripped the collar of my flight suit and brought me back to my feet.
I composed myself. “I will go as ordered, Commander.”
The commander gave a stiff nod, satisfied that someone had taken control of the situation, even if it wasn’t him. “Very well, Lieutenant.”
Flanked by the Commandos, I allowed myself to be escorted out of the hangar. As I passed Jackal, he stared at me apologetically, unable to do anything. Nitro had the same calm expression that he always did. He gave me a curt nod, which I returned. Then he whispered: “I’m sorry I wasn’t there... sorry about Golden Boy.”
At the sound of Golden Boy’s callsign, his sudden death hit me full force. The rest of the way to the brig was a blur, as I reminisced on the promising young pilot’s life. We had met after I was already assigned to a squadron, he being a few years younger than myself. When he joined, the first thing he did was challenge every pilot to a race. The cocky little shit, I thought back then. But he backed it up. He beat every pilot, except for me. I never told him, but my fighter at the time—a standard NM67 Legionnaire—was modded with an uncommon engine upgrade. If it hadn’t been for that handicap, I felt certain now that Golden Boy would have won against me, too. He was that good. Now, he was gone, his life snuffed out. As strange as it seemed, I wished that I could have at least just told him, “you beat me.”
We rode in an armored ground transport to the brig, which was located at another compound on base. The transport’s enormous tires kicking up dust. The vehicle was specially modified for the Space Commandos’ massive bodies together with their armor, which left me feeling like a child in an oversized seat. My escorts were chatting in the front two seats, while the one drove like a maniac. Though they could be ordered by Unity upper echelon, the Commandos generally operated outside of the regular Fleet by their own set of rules, which to anyone with a brain seemed to be no rules at all. There were always rumors floating around about Commandos who committed acts of unsanctioned violence or direct insubordination, but nothing ever more than rumors. Some said that they even practiced a form of religion—which was absolutely illegal and grounds for Reprogramming for anyone else. I reasoned that the long leash afforded to them was because the Space Commandos were indeed dogs of war — ferocious, relentless, but still considered ‘dogs’ to the powers-that-be. That, and they were the best at what they did… and they were fucking scary psychopaths.
“Fuck man,” the one who shoved me said to his partner, “I can’t wait to get some pussy.”
“Gonna be awhile if we got to deal with these new fucking aliens.”
“Maybe they have females?”
“Maybe. I could definitely go for some alien strange,” the other Commando replied, while manhandling the steering wheel into a reckless turn. “Remember when you got so drunk after our raid at Asno Prime that you fucked that Gleesian female?”
“Shit, you know I don’t remember most of that deployment. Those were the fucking days—rape and pillage like the old gods!”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but at the same time I wasn’t at all surprised. What did surprise me is how openly they spoke of their war crimes. The Gleesians were a peaceful race, traders by craft. They also had a slug-like appearance — which was why both of the Commandos found it utterly hilarious. I hadn’t heard of any Unity operations on Asno Prime before now, though… and I doubted that the Commandos were putting on a front for my sake. In fact, it seemed like they had forgotten I was there listening entirely. They really believed they were untouchable.
The ground transport came to a jarring stop, and the two Commandos stepped out. “Let’s go, fly boy!”
I complied, hopping to the ground—the distance being greater for a normal sized person. I walked toward the unremarkable, spartan building that was the brig. My escorts lingered a safe distance behind me, still cautious. I realized that they probably thought I could summon my Phantom from wherever I wanted. That brought a smile to my face. The front doors opened as I approached, revealing a litany of guards who were anticipating my arrival. Standard issue unit-Marines, who operated the prison complex, one of the few units who still wore the camo-fatigues from ancient times. Then as I crossed over the threshold, one more individual caught my eye—because he took up half the room. Another Space Commando—no, the Space Commando. His scarred, grizzled, old-cuss-of-a-face was unmistakable even to me: General Grigg Hardcastle, leader of the Commando outfit. Absolute legend. As we made eye contact, the grin on my face vanished—he stole it from me, slapped it on his own face, then flung a three-foot-long stream of black tobacco spit through his rotten yellow teeth in my direction. Pfffffffft. The stinking loogie splattered entirely onto my uniform.
“—I said
: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SMILING AT?!”
A voice came screaming from my other side. I was so preoccupied with the General, I hadn’t noticed anyone speaking to me. I blinked my eyes rapidly, shook my head. It was sensory overload. Then I learned the Marine to my right was a commander, again, of course. He outranked me, and he was already chewing me out. If the Space Commando reputation was one of wanton anarchy, the reputation of the Marines was one of hard-nosed discipline. The Marines traced their heritage back over a thousand years—to a time before the Robot Rebellion, before the first Alien Contact, and even before the Religious Wars. Not much of Unity history is widely known, so the Marines took extreme pride in their long-lived history.
“Stand the fuck at attention, Lieutenant!” the commander barked.
I snapped to.
“Derringer!” he yelled my name at me an inch from my eyeball. “I’ve heard about you. YOU lost your cool in a sudden combat situation. YOU got your squadmate killed. YOU got emotional, then YOU risked MORE UNITY LIVES, to GET YOUR FUCKING NUT OFF IN A NO-WIN, RECKLESS-FUCKING-MOVE that you managed to survive by STUPID-ASS LUCK! YOU are a pathetic excuse for a leader of men, YOU —”
I had to stand there and take it. I was numb. My brain was throbbing—a temporary side-effect of the neural link technology, combined now with guilt and extreme exhaustion. I had no idea what kind of situation I’d gotten myself into. Nothing made sense, least of all why I was being yelled at by the Marine-equivalent of Knight. Knight had said this would happen. How could I have made such an error in judgement?!
From my peripheral, I noticed the two Commandos reporting to their superior, General Hardcastle. The two operators pounded fists with him. “There ya are, ya little fogs, what news ya bring?” the General said; just a casual, unauthorized greeting. Unbelievable.
“Not shit,” one of the Commandos answered.
Alpha Wing Page 3
