by Gene Stiles
“We must get to them before he does,” Haleah stated grimly. “If he finds them, it is a fact that they all will be quietly executed.”
“Lelantos,” Zeus commanded, rising from his chair, his decision made, “gather eight of your best men and meet me at the Silver Hawk. We leave within the hour.”
“I do not think it wise for you to go,” Hela said, grasping her brother’s wrist as he walked by. Her fiery red hair swirled around her sharp, angular features as she stood to block his path. “Should you confront each other, it will give him two of his children instead of one. You are the Lord of Olympia and the one he fears most of all. We need you here.”
“I will not send my men into battle if I am not willing to lead them,” Zeus said sternly. “I appreciate your concern, my sister, and I thank you for it,” he added kindly. “You, your sisters and Hades are to remain here. Should something happen to me, carry on my work and protect Olympia.”
“Then I shall go with you,” Haleah stated, the timbre of her voice saying she would brook no argument. “Should Cronus also decide to lead, there is much I must make him atone for and I shall be the one who sees that he does.”
Zeus only gave her a curt nod of agreement. He knew how much her heart seethed for vengeance and that there would be no dissuading her. On top of that, he knew her to be lethal in a fight and he might have need of that, though he prayed he would not. He strode toward the tall double doors of the office with Haleah on his heels, his mind filled with turmoil. Yes, he was anxious to find his brother, but he did not think of what might happen if his father showed up again. He felt a cold shiver ripple up his spine. He knew Cronus hated and feared him, but would he have the strength and courage to kill his own father if need be? If not, he knew he would surely die. As he and his companion exited the administration building, he hoped he would not have to find out.
Loki stood on the low-cut lawn next to the smoothly paved square where the Silver Hawk rested, his mahogany eyes filled with awe and wonder. He had seen her many times and even rode in her once. Still, the sight of the elegant bird filled him with a soul-touching reverence. Her silver, backswept wings were painted with crimson-edged feathers with a span of just over seventy-five feet. They reminded Loki of a diving raptor hungry for its dinner. Attached to the underside of each were two deadly Condensed Light Cannons. Combined, the four awesome weapons could cut a freighter in half with a single burst.
The fuselage was larger than all but the most mammoth of sailing ships with a length of one-hundred-fifty-feet. Though sleek and smooth, she had room enough inside to carry eight passengers as well as the pilot and gunner. The seats were well padded with thick harnesses to keep the crew safe and secure at her top speed of fifteen hundred miles per hour. Despite that, troops were unloaded on the ground before a chance of aerial combat if at all possible. Only the cockpit contained inertia dampening technology.
The nose of the Silver Hawk was sharply pointed, dipping slightly downward and painted like the open, screaming beak of the bird for which she was named. The two tinted-crystal windows of the cockpit narrowed as the met in the center, giving the ship a terrifying, fearsome visage. The plasma cannon inserted within her breast could only be used at low speeds or when she hovered since the thick, milky-white beam was too slow moving to be used in full flight.
Loki ran his hand along the shiny steel, feeling the light vibration of her Proto-Sun engines as they hummed into life. He felt his gargantuan body shiver in response as he pondered the mission they were embarking on. As powerful as this lethal killing machine was he knew both Atlantis and Nil had skyships her equal and more. He prayed they would not meet them in person.
“Are we ready?” Lelantos asked, his booming baritone voice interrupting Loki’s reverie as he dismounted a sled, his golden bow strapped over his broad back on top of twin, obsidian-hilted long knives. His radiant auburn hair was braided tightly and held from his gold-flecked hazel eyes by a plain, dark red headband. Unlike the rest of the squad, he was not garbed in maroon leather breeches and vest with calf-high, black boots. He wore a tight, silver Enviro-Suit modified with inertia dampeners and a Polaris belt encircling his thick waist to ease the strain of high-speed flight. Strapped to his hip and thigh was a black quiver bristling with ebony feathers. On his other hip, he carried a wooden-handled pulse pistol.
Even though Loki stood a good two-foot taller than the eight-foot-four Commander, he still felt small in comparison. It was not the powerfully sculpted muscles that rippled beneath his suit or the pillars he called legs. It was not the way his raptor eyes could pierce the depths of your mind as an eagle could cleave a thick morning fog in search of a bloody breakfast. It was the air of confidence that filled every graceful stride with self-assuredness and the respect he showed the men around him.
“Yes, Sir,” Loki responded, snapping to attention as Lelantos neared him. “The squad is inside, gear stowed and strapping in as we speak.”
“Good,” Lelantos said, never considering anything would be different. His men and women were extremely efficient. “How about our Nephilim guests?”
“The seats had to be modified for Eriktis and Loren and I fear they may have to slump a little to keep from bumping their heads,” he replied with a grin, “but they refused to be left behind.”
“I bet they did,” Lelantos said with a chuckle, reaching up to put a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “And there are few who would argue with those two. I think either of them could crush my head with one hand.”
“No doubt,” Loki smiled, relaxing a bit with the comradery. “Still, I am glad to have them with us. Should we have to battle hand-to-hand, those two are fierce fighters.”
“That is not the only reason I allowed them to join us. I thought they would make great ambassadors to the Nephilim with Poseidon. I would like them to join our ranks.”
Lelantos stepped inside the skyship and took a moment to speak to everyone onboard before locking his golden bow to clamps along the wall. He noted their stiff body posture, some of them gripping the webbing holding them to their seats as if fearful it may break. He lightly joked and chatted with them to assuage their unease knowing it was not the prospect of danger that was causing their distress. It was the flight, itself. ‘They all prefer to keep feet on the ground,’ Lelantos thought, smiling inwardly.
“Lady Haleah,” he said, kneeling in front of the maroon dressed woman, “are you comfortable?” He could feel the tension radiating through her and knew it was not fear of flight that caused her muscles to quiver. It was her screaming desire to wreak havoc on the man who had killed her love.
“As much as can be expected pinned to this seat,” she responded sullenly, her sky-blue eyes dark and brooding.
“Better than falling out,” he quipped with a grin, vainly attempting to cut through her burning hatred. He could see the fire in her gaze and in the set of her jawline that he had failed. Lelantos understood. Morpheus had been his friend as well. He placed a comforting hand upon her knee, saying no more, and rose to enter the cockpit.
“All is secure,” he said, taking his place in the gunner’s chair and strapping himself in. He glanced at the colorful array of displays, buttons and switches in front of him, ensuring the weapons systems and scanners were up and functioning, ready for combat.
“Good,” Zeus replied absently while his fingers deftly ran over the panels before him.
He could hear the loading ramp rising on the stern of the Silver Hawk and waited for the hiss of the seals setting before wrapping his hands around the half-moon control wheel and pressing one of the five buttons beneath his right hand. Easing the stick backward, Zeus felt the hum of the Polaris units rising in pitch as the ship lifted gracefully off the ground. Once the talon-looking struts of the aircraft were a hundred feet off the pavement, they retracted into the belly and the Proto-Sun engines roared to life sending streams of red-hot flames shooting beneath the wings. He luxuriated the surge of pressure against his chest as his ship leape
d into the golden sunlight, but, for the sake of his passengers, held the raptor back from its desire to rip into the azure sky.
“By the grace of the Creator,” he prayed quietly once the Silver Hawk was cleaving the hot morning air, “let us find the Sea Dragon before Cronus does.”
Zeus’ fervent prayer would go unanswered.
“Get everyone into the caves!” Poseidon roared as he raced across the burning corn fields. He uselessly fired his pulse rifle up at the swooping Atlantean warbird as it strafed the gardens once again, frustrated that his weapon did nothing to slow the vessel. He knew the red-yellow beams would simply bounce off the reflective silver surface, but he hoped the glare might at least blind the pilot long enough for him to get his people to safety.
Poseidon pelted across the charred landscape, his golden-red mane singed from the flames surrounding him, his beard dirty with motes of gray ash. The once-blue sky was thick with dark, swirling smoke clouds from the fields and the howling inferno of the wooden skeletons that had been their homes. His wide nostrils were filled with the stench of burning buildings and bodies, choking him and searing his throat.
He heard the screams and shouts surrounding him as he ran along the blazing streets, but could see little due to the tears filling his stinging jade eyes. It was the thick fog of fire and smoke that would save them and not his feeble attacks on the skyship. The heat confused the warbird’s infrared sensors and the angry, black clouds filling the town hampered visuals. The caverns were close and if the fire-made winds continued to blow toward the cliff, their flight would be masked long enough to get inside.
An eternity of minutes later, Poseidon stumbled into the mouth of the cave, his lungs aching as he coughed out the dusty ash coating his tongue. He wiped his eyes, splashing water from a nearby bowl onto his face. He could hear the bitter, enraged shouting echoing off the hard stone walls and the hacking breaths of the men and women filling the chamber.
“Take a sip of this,” Kiranimis said, handing his Captain a cup of cold water from the spring inside the cavern. The tan, deer-hide tunic he wore fell to his mid-thigh, the edges singed and filthy with grime and gray ash. A wide black belt encircled his thick waist from which hung a leather sheath, the hide-wrapped hilt of a long knife visible above the wrist guard.
“Thank you,” Poseidon managed to choke out as the icy liquid fell down his parched throat like a stone as he sat upon a flat rock near the entrance. He could still hear the warbird buzzing over the bonfire that was their village and it tore at his heart, a furious need for vengeance surging through his soul. “How many did we lose?”
“Thirty-three people are dead or missing from the crew,” his First Mate replied grimly, “and we have lost six of our Nephilim brethren. We have about another two dozen wounded.” His deep brown eyes were mere slits beneath his bushy, black eyebrows and his full dark lips were pinched across his boulder-like face. “If Anak had not seen the warbirds approaching, there would have been many more casualties.”
“Almost forty people dead,” Poseidon growled, his emerald eyes blazing in the dim lighting. So great was his fury that it took a moment for the rest of the report to register in his fevered mind. “Warbirds? You mean there is more than one?” Poseidon did not like the sound of that at all. In all the confusion, he had only seen the small fighter tearing through the sky. A shiver cascaded down his spine at the unwelcomed thought of what he knew must be coming.
“Yes,” Kiranimis said, tying his long, untethered chestnut hair at the nape of his huge neck with a strip of cloth. His deep, rumbling voice was ominous and dire as he spoke. “The other one is a troop transport. We do not know where or when it landed.”
“The caves can protect us from an aerial assault, but we do not have the weaponry to face the firepower of a ground attack,” he said, rising quickly to his feet. Poseidon swallowed the last of the cold water and tossed his cup violently aside, hearing it smash against the rough-hewn rock wall.
“Everything we have is trained on the cave mouth,” Kiranimis told him, hurrying to keep up with the Captain’s long-legged stride. He ignored the blistered flesh upon his thigh from a near-miss, the blackened skin already beginning to heal. “It is the only way in. I did not see the transport so I do not know how many Black Guard we may face, but any attempt at a breach will cost them dearly.”
“Unless they simply seal the cave and leave us in here to die,” Poseidon responded harshly, sending a shudder through the First Mate’s body. “Luckily, I doubt the Atlanteans know they have us cornered. They will not attack until they make sure we have no way out. That will buy us a little time. I will not be buried in this tomb! Get the commanders to me at once.”
The huge limestone cavern had a warren of tunnels and side rooms that spread out like a spider web beneath the low mountain range that edged the shoreline. At any other time, the stalactites dripping from the ceiling like the teeth of some mythical monster would be awe-inspiring in their size, color and beauty, but Poseidon barely noticed as he passed beneath them. He wound his way around the stalagmite pillars rising like anthills from the floor, heading toward the large chamber they once used as their command center.
As with the other parts of the cave, most of the supplies and equipment salvaged from the Sea Dragon were gone, used in the construction of devastated village. Now the caverns were mainly used for cold storage of foodstuffs for the bitter winter months and in case of natural disasters like the typhoons that ravaged the coast from time to time. The power source from the ship was contained here, so lighting was not a problem and the springs provided fresh water. Almost as an afterthought, the armory of tech weapons was stored inside since they were not needed in daily life. Only a few rifles used for hunting and sidearms for protection from predators were carried outside. That would be of great benefit in the upcoming confrontation.
Poseidon stood in front of the long, teak table left inside the room, leaning on the polished surface with his head hung down. He felt the wood beneath his enormous hands and had to fight the compulsion to crush it into powder. He had been ambivalent about joining Zeus in his fight against Atlantis, but now a fury unlike he had even known swelled his gigantic chest and filled his heart with hatred. The attack was vicious, without warning and completely without mercy. So many lost and for what? Some ancient prophesy? They were as far from Nil as they were from Atlantis. All he, his crew and the Nephilim wanted was to be left in peace to live out their lives. Cronus just proved he would not allow that to happen. It seemed Poseidon was being given no choice. He could not allow the perpetrator of such a barbaric, unwarranted assault to go unpunished. Of course, they had to survive first.
“The wind is changing direction and smoke is beginning to thin,” Miko announced as the Commanders hustled into the room. His scraggly, golden-red beard was singed and blackened with patches of soot, giving his burning hazel eyes and anger-twisted lips a savage, demonic appearance. “Once it does, the entrance will be open to Atlantean intrusion.”
“We pulled everyone back from the line of sight and shored up barricades with massive boulders with the help of our gigantic friends,” he continued as the men and women quickly seated themselves. “They should provide enough protection so we can concentrate fire on the cave mouth. Nothing and no one will get through for a while.”
“How long can we hold?” Poseidon asked, still standing at the head of the table. With great difficulty, he slid his turbulent emotions into the background and cleared his calculating mind to deal with more immediate issues. He had to treat this situation as he would a storm at sea. Think, act and get through it.
“It depends on what is brought against us,” the Quartermaster responded harshly. “We do not know what firepower these filthy creatures have with them, how many men they have nor what they are willing to sacrifice. With the food, water and power we have, I would say months, but we only have small arms – pulse rifles, CL pistols, knives and swords. We would stand no chance against plasma weapons or amas
sed onslaught.”
“Even if these despicable invaders do breach the interior,” Larimis interrupted, his voice filled with contempt and his black eyes glittering in the dim lighting, “this mountain is full of warrens and chambers. We could hide and pick them off one by one. It would cost them dearly.”
“Possibly,” Poseidon replied to the Aam Commander, “but that will depend on the size of the contingent Cronus sends against us. The longer this siege lasts, the more troops he can amass outside. We cannot wait. If we stay here, we shall all surely die. And that is assuming they do not discover they can simply seal us in here and entomb us forever.”
“But how to get out,” Kiranimis said bitterly, “and where to go.” He still wore his tattered tunic but had washed the gray ash from his round, square-jawed face.
“I may be able to help with part of that,” Anak stated gruffly, brushing his monstrous hands on his dirty, deer-hide breaches as he entered the chamber. The gargantuan Nephilim was bare to the waist, his titanic muscles sweaty and bulging. “We found the steel sheets retrieved from the wreckage of the Sea Dragon. We can hammer them into shields that will deflect small arms long enough for us to make it to the forests to the north.”
“Those sheets are huge,” Miko said, shaking his head. “They are too heavy to lift, let alone carry on the run.”
“Not for us,” Anak told him assuredly, bending his arm so his mammoth bicep flexed into a small mountain. “If we weld straps to the backs, two of us can handle the weight long enough.”
“A good thought,” Poseidon agreed and thanked the man, “however, once outside we are vulnerable to air attack. We cannot chance it while they have a warbird in the air. Use the sheets to narrow the cave entrance and limit how many can get through at once. Create a killing corridor.”
After listening to other suggestions and concerns, Poseidon sent the men out to prepare as best they could. The next move would be up to the Atlanteans. The son of Cronus held no illusions. The odds of surviving this day were slim. Very slim, indeed.
