"This is General Michael Crane, speaking from the HDFS Jerusalem," said the burly officer. "All ships that are capable of atmospheric flight—fly down to Earth and fight in the skies."
Mairead sneered. "I won't abandon you, General!"
"You will not abandon Earth!" Crane said. "Colonel McQueen—lead all surviving Firebirds to Port Addison. Space is lost. Continue the war in the sky."
The Jerusalem was rising by Mairead's starfighter now. She could see Crane standing aboard the crumbling bridge, only a hundred meters from her starboard bow. Enemy fire kept pounding the Jerusalem, carving up more decks. Shuttles were fleeing the flagship, carrying crew members. The Rattlers fired on them. Several shuttles exploded. Others managed to reach Earth and plunged into the sky.
"Come with us, Crane!" Mairead said. "General—enter an escape shuttle! Come with us to Earth!"
As he rose by her, Crane looked through a cracked porthole. He saluted.
"A captain should go down with his ship."
Three Copperheads swooped, coming between Mairead and the Jerusalem. She focused on fighting, swerving around the enemies, firing her last bullets, taking them out one by one.
The Jerusalem gained speed, soaring above her, shedding scraps of metal like an insect shedding its shell. The entire stern detached and fell. Shield plating tumbled down. A piece of shrapnel slammed into Mairead's Firebird, tossing her into a tailspin. She could barely steady herself.
Crane was still on her monitor. The general raised his chin.
"For the blue skies of Earth!" he said—and engaged his afterburners.
The Jerusalem shot upward with a burst of speed, hurtling itself toward the alien formations.
The legendary frigate, the ship that had led humanity for decades, charged into the enemy lines. And among thousands of alien warships—detonated its nuclear arsenal.
Light and heat flooded Mairead.
She covered her head with her arms, grimacing. She was twenty, maybe thirty kilometers away from the explosion. Her suit was built to withstand the harsh radiation of space. And yet this conflagration washed over her with the fury of a supernova.
The battle paused.
No more missiles flew. No more lasers burned through steel. Everyone stared.
Above, the light faded.
The HDFS Jerusalem was gone.
This legendary starship. The great flagship of Earth. The shining beacon that had led humanity from exile to their homeworld. Their pillar of fire in the night.
She was gone, and Mairead wept for the loss.
With her destruction, with the sacrifice of her commander, the Jerusalem had taken out a hundred enemy warships.
With a trembling hand, Mairead lifted her comm to her mouth. She spoke with a shaky voice.
"This is Lieutenant Colonel Mairead McQueen. You heard the general. All ships capable of atmospheric entry—fly down to Earth. All shuttles—deploy. To the rest of you—Godspeed, children of Earth."
With roaring fire and blazing lasers, the battle resumed.
More blasts hit humanity's fleet.
More starships shattered.
The starfighters and shuttles, vessels with wings, began heading toward Earth. Mairead's Firebird was damaged, barely able to fly, but she circled around the others, firing on the enemy, covering the retreat.
Above her, the larger human starships—vessels that could not survive atmospheric flight—were rising in their final stand.
Another frigate charged into the enemy lines and exploded.
"For Earth!" its commander cried before the end.
More light and heat and radiation bathed the battle. Another hundred Rattlers tore open. More tears filled Mairead's eyes.
One by one, the human starships were blazing with light, tearing through the enemy, going out with glory.
And Mairead knew she would go out with them. She too would sacrifice herself for Earth.
A captain does not abandon her ship, she thought. And I will not abandon my fleet. She raised her chin, even as tears flowed down her cheeks. I was born in space. I was raised among the stars. And I will die here.
As the shuttles descended, as the starships exploded, Mairead soared.
She flew through debris, rising higher, engines sputtering, ascending through the fire and fury.
Her starfighter was out of ordinance. She raised her pistol and fired through the shattered canopy.
"For Earth!" she cried.
Starships blazed above. The inferno washed over her.
Her engines died, and for a moment—silence.
Nothing but silence as the cosmos burned.
And her Firebird fell.
As she tumbled toward the Earth, Mairead stared above, watching the commanders of the fleet perish in fire. She screamed, wanting to join them, to die with them in glory, to rise with them to halls of fallen warriors.
But the gravity kept pulling her. Her starfighter disintegrated around her. Only her armored suit protected her now. She ejected and blasted out into space, crying out in rage and agony.
She floated alone through the battle. A woman in an armored suit. A woman falling.
Corpses careened around her. Mairead tumbled through the battle and into the sky.
She fell, teeth rattling, consciousness slipping. A mantle of fire burned around her. She was ionizing the air, shrieking downward, spinning madly.
All was blackness.
She floated in a void.
She gasped for air, regaining consciousness, and saw the burning plains of Earth below her. Only a few kilometers away.
Screaming, she grabbed the controls of her jetpack and ignited the engines.
She streaked across the sky, leaving a vapor trail. She soared, staring upward, trying to rejoin the battle. But a jetpack could not escape the gravity well.
"I should have died with you!" she howled. "I am a warrior! I should have died in battle!"
But she fell.
She fell like a coward.
The world was burning below her. All around her, the enemy shells were shrieking downward, exploding on the ground, digging craters. Smoke covered the sky. Chunks of shattered starships fell like meteorites. A piece of metal, no larger than a tack, slammed into Mairead's jetpack, killing one engine.
It tossed her into a mad spin. She corkscrewed downward, trailing spirals of smoke. She killed her remaining engine and fell. A meter from the surface, she ignited the jetpack again, spurted upward, and then shut down the engine.
She fell.
She crashed through a canopy of trees and hit the ground.
Darkness spread over her.
As a fiery curtain spread across the sky, Mairead's head dropped to the ground. Blackness enveloped her, and there was no more pain.
CHAPTER TWO
Half a million humans. The entire population of Earth. They huddled underground as the surface burned.
"Get me General Crane on the comm!" Emet barked as the walls shuddered.
"He's gone, sir!" cried an officer. "The Jerusalem is gone."
Another explosion sounded above. The bunker shuddered, and dust rained from the concrete ceiling.
"Get me the Jaipur, dammit!"
"They're all gone, sir." The officer stared at him, her face pale. "Our entire fleet. It's gone."
The war room shook again. Every second, another blast pounded the surface. The bunker was buried deep underground, and the walls were thick concrete reinforced with metal. But even they groaned in protest, and cracks spiderwebbed across them. Officers filled the bunker, staring at their monitors in disbelief. One man was trembling. Another vomited in the corner.
Doorways led to deeper bunkers, an underground network containing the entire population of Port Addison. People were praying. Holding one another. A song rose from a nearby chamber, a hundred voices singing together. They sang "Earthrise," once the song of their exile, today the anthem of Earth.
Our entire fleet, Emet thought. Gone.
The
words lingered in the war room.
The Jerusalem had been his home for thirty years. His closest friends had served on that ship. Earth's fleet. Its orbit. Its surface. Lost.
His officers were looking at him. Waiting for his guidance.
For a moment, despair clutched Emet. He could barely breathe.
We're all going to die, he thought. The dream is over.
But then he listened to the people singing in the tunnels. Thousands were now singing together, their song filling the tunnels under Port Addison. His people were afraid but not despairing. Bowing but not unbent.
And they gave Emet strength. He had never been prouder of humanity.
He picked up his comm, and he spoke, transmitting his voice across the tunnels. Not just the tunnels here below Port Addison, the capital of Earth, but to bunkers across Earth's fifty human communities. He spoke in a loud, steady voice, even as booms kept shaking the bunker.
"This is President Emet Ben-Ari. Yesterday, the Galactic Council chose to grant Earth to the basilisk empire. At once, the basilisks began a campaign of shock and awe against us. Ships from six other alien nations joined their assault. They are bombarding our colonies, seeking to break us. But we will stand strong! Underground, we are safe. Xerka, Queen of the Basilisks, will dare not nuke our planet, dare not drop explosives that can burrow underground. Millions of basilisks live on Earth, most of them in tunnels of their own. So long as we stay underground, we're safe. The Human Defense Force, the military of Earth, knows how to fight this threat. Our brave soldiers are already mounting an artillery attack on the enemy starships. All soldiers of Earth—listen to your commanders, fight bravely, and we will overcome. All civilians—continue to stand strong, to support those who fight, and to inspire us with your courage. This is our war of independence! This is a war we will win."
He ended the transmission. A massive explosion sounded above, rattling the bunkers. Cracks raced across the ceiling, and dust fell.
Emet spoke to his officers next, his words for their ears only.
"This bombardment will not last forever. The enemy is softening us up. In a day, maybe two, maybe even a week—they'll invade with their infantry. Then it'll be a fight in the tunnels. Until then, our artillery batteries will try to take out as many Rattlers as we can. This won't be a short war. This won't be an easy war. This is not a war over territory, nor riches, nor power. This is a war for the survival of our species. If we lose this war, humanity goes extinct." He clenched his fists. "So we must win."
As the bombardment continued, Emet walked through the tunnels.
Two hundred thousand humans hid here below Port Addison—the entire population of the city. Most of them had escaped gulocks during the last war, only to end up here—arguably history's worst case of leaping from the frying pan into the fire. But they all stood tall, chins raised, shoulders squared. They were singing. Their eyes shone.
Yes, they were in bunkers. But they had an army. They were no longer cattle. No longer refugees, lost and scared in space. They were proud humans fighting for their homeworld.
As Emet walked among them, they reached out to him. He shook their hands. He patted their backs. He soothed their crying babies. He returned the salutes of young soldiers, some no older than thirteen but already wearing military uniforms. Brown trousers. White shirts. Blue coats. Colors that across the galaxy meant human pride. The soldiers could barely hear one another. The explosions were still booming above, and the bunkers kept shaking. But the people kept singing. One man was playing a guitar. In another room, a young woman was singing to a crowd of children. Not everyone here was a soldier. But they were all fighting for Earth.
Emet reached a shaft and ladder. He climbed and entered an artillery pillbox that rose above the surface—a hill of armored concrete and metal. A huge cannon thrust skyward, so large Emet could have climbed inside. Brave soldiers stood there, loading rockets and firing them into space. Emet spoke to them, slapped them on the back, congratulated their fighting spirit. Then he moved to another pillbox, another cannon. A third. A fourth. Every hundred meters, an artillery battery rose from the bunkers, firing upon the Rattlers.
The enemy had scored direct hits on two pillboxes, destroying them, crushing the cannons and slaying the gunners. But two hundred other artillery stations still operated across Earth, filling space with rockets. Most of these cannons had once been mounted on starships. The ships had burned in the wars. The guns had been salvaged.
Emet walked through the military intelligence bunker. Soldiers stood here at computers, painting pictures of the battle aboveground, communicating with other bunkers, working relentlessly to track the enemy positions. They used an array of hidden cameras on the surface, sonar machines underground, and hidden satellites in deep orbit. Even underground, the HDF was not blind.
Many bunkers were filled with infantry. Emet had a hundred thousand soldiers on Earth. But only one in ten was armed. Across the planet, they had barely ten thousand rifles. And only small caches of bullets.
Two hundred artillery cannons, Emet thought. Ten thousand rifles. My fleet destroyed. It's barely an army. It's not enough.
But that did not include the Exodus Fleet.
The Exodus Fleet was still out there. Flying in deep space. Fifty starships, armored and armed. Starships tasked with bringing human refugees home. Bay and Rowan were commanding the operation. Right now, they were Earth's only hope.
Emet walked through the tunnels and entered the communication hub—a large chamber filled with monitors, humming computers, and cables.
"Any luck contacting the Exodus Fleet?" he asked.
The chief communication officer, a petite woman with curly black hair, shook her head. "No sir. The basilisks are still jamming our signals."
"So unjam them!" he said.
The woman stiffened. "Sir, we're working on it. My entire team. Every time we come up with a new code, the basilisks disable it. We can reach a few of the nearby colonies—barely. To contact the Exodus Fleet in space? We need more time."
Emet pursed his lips, swallowing the anger. He nodded. "You're doing a good job, Major. Keep at it."
He left the room. He kept moving through the tunnels, visiting medical stations, an ammunition factory, infantry brigades, and their dwindling stores of food and water.
But he kept thinking about the ships out there in space.
About Bay, his son—flying with the Exodus Fleet.
About Leona, his daughter—perhaps still at the Galactic Council, perhaps trying to make her way home.
About Rowan, who had become like a daughter to him. About Tom, who was like a brother. Both far from home.
As much as he feared for Earth, Emet feared for his family. And he didn't know if he wanted them back here—or for them to fly far away and never return.
A massive boom shook the tunnels.
Dust flew.
Screams rose.
Emet ran toward the cries. An enemy shell, tripped with a drill, had bored through a nursery ceiling. Several children lay dead, and their mothers wailed. Another boom sounded. Another. The bombardment continued, unabated, and Emet did not know if they'd last the night.
CHAPTER THREE
The Exodus Fleet, the last fifty starships of humanity, hid behind Pluto as the enemy bombarded Earth.
"We have to join them!" Bay said, pacing the bridge. "Damn it, Rowan, we have to join the fight."
He made to grip the yoke, to fly the HDFS Byzantium home. Rowan caught his wrist, stopping him.
"Wait!" She glared at him.
"But—" Bay tugged his hair and groaned. "The basilisks are bombing our world! Earth needs our help! We—"
"Bay!" Rowan grabbed his head with both hands and stared into his eyes. "Calm yourself. Now. Breathe. And listen to me. Are you listening?"
He forced a deep breath. He nodded. "I'm listening."
"Good." Rowan gestured at a monitor, which displayed an image of the attack on Earth. "If we fly there now without
a plan, we're dead. The basilisks destroyed hundreds of human starships. They can destroy us too."
"What about our people?" Bay demanded. "My father! The rest of them!"
"They've spent the past year building bunkers, Bay. They're safe. But you know who's not safe?" Rowan pointed out a porthole. "The HSS Porter. A mega-starship with a hundred thousand human refugees aboard. A starship with no weapons and barely any shields. Those refugees have no bunkers. No artillery. Only a hundred rifles between them. Right now, only we—the Exodus Fleet—are defending the Porter. If we rush home now, the Porter is dead. And a hundred thousand humans with her."
They both stared in silence at the ship outside. The Porter dwarfed any other ship in the fleet. Back in her younger days, cowering in the ducts with the Earthstone, Rowan had watched a twentieth-century show about a cruise ship—an enormous boat with thousands aboard. The Porter too was a cruise ship, even larger than those from Earth's ancient oceans. An alien company had built the Porter for pleasure. Then the Galactic War had broken out, burning the galaxy—and killing the Milky Way's tourist industry. After the war, humans had purchased the hulked Porter, and now she carried gulock survivors. These refugees had crossed vast distances, traveling for over a year—only to be stopped so close to home.
"Rowan, we can't flee again," Bay said softly. "After everything we fought for. All our battles. All those who died. We can't abandon Earth."
Earth was too far to see with the naked eye from here. But they both turned to look at their monitor, which showed a telescopic view of the planet. The sensors were picking up enemy formations in orbit, displaying them as little red dots. Thousands of little red dots.
"We'll never abandon Earth," Rowan said. "We vowed to get these people home. And that's what we'll do. Thousands of enemy starships surround our planet. They're firing on anything that moves. But look, Bay. See this?"
She pointed at the monitor. Green dots were rising from Earth.
Bay nodded. "Yeah, what the hell is that?"
"Artillery fire," Rowan said. "Human weapons. Emet is alive, Bay. And he's firing all his cannons on the enemy. We must talk to him. To get him to concentrate all his fire in a cylinder. To form a tunnel of rockets. And we fly down that tunnel—and bring these people to Earth."
The Song of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 5) Page 2
