Crineal Chronicles 1: In Hera's Service

by Raymond L Jennings

  Del’Tarim went white in shock. “But what can I do? Advise me, damn it!” he demanded.

  “I already did: plead guilty, go for diminished responsibility and pray for mercy.”

  “I’ll get the admiral to appoint another lawyer for me if you won’t fight,” Del’Tarim snapped.

  A smile appeared on Junon’s thin face. “Please do. I’m only here because no one else would take the case and the admiral ordered me to do it as the most senior legal counsel on the ship.” He picked up his data pad and stood. “I’ll leave you to consider your options. Let me know what plea you wish to submit. If it’s Not Guilty then I advise you to refuse to take the stand and I’ll do my best. But frankly, they’re probably already taking lots for the firing squad.” With that the legal commander turned and left the room.

  Cyndora spent the following day tagging around after Crineal, which didn’t rate high in the fun factor stakes for her but it was better than sitting alone in his quarters worrying. She woke up the day after that to find Crineal checking out his flight suit. After their usual morning routines, he suited up, took her down to the med bay and sat with her and Lieutenant Feldea until the marine guard turned up. Cyndora was sure that it was the one from the arrest detail that seemed happy, almost eager, to shoot that piece of slime, Del’Tarim. Cyndora felt more secure as he stood watch whilst she and Fel discussed clothes and Earth history.

  Crineal stood addressing Ares Squadron and the four Ranger pilots from Hermes. “So, this is our plan. We’re going to take a one parsec jump to this point here,” he pointed to the charts. “Then, with Captain Linenty and his three ladies from Hermes sitting on the very outside edges of our formation, we’ll sweep along this path,” he said gesturing in an arc, “before calling it a day and heading home. We’re going to be on a lower than usual cruising speed and have our sensors turned all the way up to make sure we don’t miss anything. If anything shows, anything at all, then sing out. I’d rather have fifty false alarms than miss anything significant. If we do spot something or run into trouble then I’ve given the Hermes flight strict orders to break off and head for home at maximum possible speed. Ares’ task will be to cover them and make sure that they get out with the data. The scouts will be designated as Hermes Leader, Two, Three and Four. I’ll be flying in the usual Ares leader spot of Eta Leader. Any questions?” The pilots looked around at each other for a few moments, but there were none so Crineal dismissed them to their ships.

  Chapter Nine

  The squadron of Hunters and the flight of scouts assembled just off the Annihilator’s bow before powering up steadily and then making their jump towards Larahope. They arrived in an area of space that appeared devoid of anything and Crineal led them on to the planned patrol course. The Star Rangers were slightly smaller versions of the Hunter except they only carried a single laser and no missiles. The rest of the hull space was packed with engines and enhanced sensor suites. They were designed to find problems and then run like heck to get away. Over the next four hours there were several false alarms, consisting of minor space debris and the like. They were just coming up to their fifth hour out when the comm link buzzed.

  “This is Hermes Four to Eta Leader. Sir, I’ve got something odd out here, some vague readings on my high power scans. No energy signatures but if I didn’t know better I’d say they looked like…CRAP!”

  Crineal’s eyes went to his tactical displays and saw energy blooms appear across the scan as ships lit up their engines. The tac comp quickly resolved the blips as two squadrons of Axes, just outside of missile range, that had been lying doggo with everything powered down.

  “This is Eta Leader to Hermes flight, get out of here. Put everything you have into speed and make that jump. We have your backs. Ares Squadron, this is Eta Leader, this is how we’re going to do this. As soon as we all have locks I want everyone to launch one missile only at their designated target in formation Bandit One.” That was the Axe squadron closest to the fleeing Hermes flight as designated by the tactical computer. Crineal was pleased to see that Hermes Four had followed her instructions to the letter and already passing over the far side of Ares, going hell-bent for leather to put distance between herself and the rebels. “Once our first missiles are away, I’ll wait until the rebels launch their salvo and then run a predict. I’ll trigger a launch of our second missiles with a ranged detonation to blow them just as they intersect the rebels’ birds.” It wasn’t going to be good. Crineal’s first wave was going to be forty missiles strong; if the rebels followed procedure, there would be one hundred and twenty missiles heading back. He was hoping to use his second forty birds to set up a kill zone for the rebels’ missiles. “I want everyone to close up to give the rebels as small a target as possible.” His missile lock alert sounded. “Fire, Fire, Fire!” and he triggered his first missile. The warheads streaked away from Ares Squadron but he wasn’t paying them any attention, he was watching for the launch from the Axes. And there it was. He quickly set up a plot that had their remaining missiles fire and detonate at one thousand miles out just as the rebel birds would reach that point. He hoped that by pulling his formation in close that the rebel missiles would be packed tighter on their incoming trajectories and thus he’d achieve a higher kill rate, but it was risky. If it failed they would all get caught in the missile blasts. Crineal’s tac comp ticked down the time and then triggered the second launch. The missiles sped out and it seemed to Crineal that they detonated almost instantly. The space ahead blossomed into light as warheads exploded and took other missiles with them. It appeared as if Crineal’s squadron passed through a sheet of cascading fire. The results were good but not perfect and a number of missiles got past the screen. Ares Squadron’s ten flights went into evasive maneuvers but they still took losses. Crineal felt the explosions that signaled the deaths of his ships and he took stock of the casualties; thirteen Hunters down, amongst them Eta Two was gone from his own flight. Then he read the scans of the Axes. Formation Bandit One had been decimated, twenty-five ships destroyed. The odds were down from three to two to nearly one to one. They had a fighting chance now and the two sides closed to knife range. Crineal’s flight opened up with lasers and another Axe died as its right wing blew off. He registered the destruction of three more Axes but at the cost of two more of his own pilots as the battle became a twisting dog fight. He pulled his own Hunter around in a tight g turn and threw on his retro-thrusters to squeeze a little more turn out of his ship, feeling the stress of the forces pressing against his body. The Axe pilot who was passing to one side didn’t think that any craft could turn that hard and never knew what hit him as Crineal caught him dead in the center of his engine. The general piled on the power again and Eta Three and Four followed him around and caught another rebel between them, skewering it with laser bolts that blew the cockpit apart. Crineal rolled his Hunter over as a salvo of fire smashed into his ship, weakening the shields and causing slight damage to the trailing edge of his right wing. He made a jink to the left and lost whoever had been following him. Then he heard a distinct cry for help from Mu Four. Crineal checked his display, the rest of Mu Flight was gone and the young pilot was on her own.

  “This is Mu Four, I could use some help here, have two bandits on me,” the woman reported, desperation evident in her voice.

  Crineal swung his manta-shaped fighter around as Mu Four passed close by, one of the Axes appearing dead in his sights and he activated the laser trigger on instinct. The bolt went straight through the top of the triangular rebel ship and it seemed to just fall apart in front of his eyes. He pulled his Hunter around harder. The proximity alarm triggered as the second enemy fighter seemed to fill his cockpit view and he fired his lasers again. The Axe blew up and Crineal was suddenly in the midst of the explosion, surrounded by debris. His ship shook around him and he felt a jolt as a port thruster blew, then it felt as if a giant hand slapped the entire left side of his body. White hot knives lanced into him all along his left arm and leg, his vision s
tarting to go black. Kicking in, his flight suit med pack started to pump painkillers into the damaged areas. His vision cleared a little to find his displays were shot to hell.

  “Gamma Leader, this is Eta Leader. Tac comp is down, repairs in progress, handing tactical control to you until done.”

  “Eta Leader, this is Gamma Leader, roger that,” replied Captain Trovas.

  “Mu Four, this is Eta Leader, form up on me and slot into the two position. Eta Three, take the lead for a few. Am following you, find us something to shoot.” Crineal’s left side was now down to a dull throb of pain as he swung around to follow Eta Three. But even the mild stress of the slight turn sent a wave of agony through him. The four Hunters dove down and rolled out to catch another Axe in a storm of laser fire; then another explosion buffeted Crineal’s ship and Eta Four was no longer at his side. Finally, the repair bypasses kicked in and his tactical display lit up once more. He targeted the closest Axe on his display, rolled up under it into its blind spot and gutted it with three laser bolts. The last three rebels were swarmed under by the remaining Hunters of Ares Squadron, disappearing in explosions and clouds of debris. Crineal eased back in his cockpit and did a count. Fifteen, he had just fifteen pilots left. His tactical display flickered and went out again for a few seconds before coming back up. Lord, he felt tired. He’d probably lost some blood, maybe a lot of blood.

  “Gamma Leader, this is Eta Leader. Systems are still patchy. Please arrange the squadron into new flights and run a check for any survival beacons. Have everyone mark this area on their nav comps as well. Eta Leader out.”

  Crineal tried to check his Hunter’s diagnostics, but either they weren’t working right or he was too confused to be able to make sense of them. He went to punch up some stimulants from the ship’s med pack but then hesitated. If it was damaged as well, then who knew what it could inject him with? He stared hard at the read outs and they seemed to show that med kit was still functioning properly. He gave a shrug, which sent spikes of pain through him once more, and then requested the stimulants. A minute later his mind started to clear a little and he surveyed the damage readouts again. Not good, they made a little more sense now, but he knew they still couldn’t be right. There were too many conflicting messages. He realized that Captain Trovas had reformed the squadron and was now waiting for further instructions. There didn’t appear to be any survival beacons.

  “Eta Leader to all pilots: power up jump drives and let’s go home,” he said wearily.

  Forty minutes later the survivors of Ares Squadron popped into space close to Earth Orbital Three and the Annihilator.

  Fuzzily, Crineal hit the comm link. “Annihilator Flight Control, this is Ares Leader. Please have the flight bays and med teams standing by. We’re in pretty bad shape here.”

  “This is Flight Control. Acknowledge that, Ares Leader.” He could hear the shock in the controller’s voice as he realized how bad Ares losses were.

  “Gamma Leader, this is Eta Leader. Please allocate single landing bays for those ships that are the most badly damaged. Give me Bay Gamma Ten. I’ll come in last.”

  The worried voice of Captain Trovas came back to him. “Roger, Eta Leader. Are you sure about that last, Sir? You’re as badly shot up as anyone.”

  “Then I don’t want to chance wrecking a bay for anyone else, Captain. I’ll be fine, and I won’t be waiting very long out here. Eta Leader out.” Crineal listened dazedly as Trovas snapped out instructions to the remaining pilots. His mind drifted through a fog as they made their approach to the carrier and then Crineal tried to pull himself together for the landing. His Hunter was responding like a drunken three-legged elephant and he fought with it as he lined up on his assigned bay. Finally, getting it straight, he triggered the reverse thrusters to slow down, only to find that just two of the four responded. “Flight. This is Eta Leader. Get the crews clear of my bay. Not going to slow down enough,” Crineal ordered, his voice slurred with pain and fatigue.

  According to his instruments his speed was dropping, but he was still going to be well over the recommended safe landing velocity. He lowered his Hunter’s landing gear and his befuddled mind was almost surprised to find it working. Then he aimed the ship as best he could to make contact with the most forward part of the flight deck possible. With a screech of metal, the skids of his craft touched down hard and the Hunter lurched sideways. Crineal fought with the controls and the fighter slammed down against the deck once more, slowing with the friction. Not enough, he thought groggily, as the rear wall of the bay rushed towards him. The general tried to slew the fighter around just before contact and he felt it respond a little before there was a sickening crunch and everything went black.

  Cyndora was enjoying a late lunch with Lieutenant Feldea. The med bay staff had been uncertain at first about providing her with anything, but the coppery-haired lieutenant had insisted that Cyndora had to eat, too, and they acquiesced and brought food for both of them. The marine guard managed to get included as well by dint of some pitifully starving looks he gave the med tech. As they were finishing up, a low intermittent buzzing started accompanied by several dim red flashing wall lights around the room.

  Cyndora looked up. “What’s that?” she asked Feldea.

  “Emergency signal. They try and make it discreet so as not to startle any existing patients,” the lieutenant explained. “Hand me my data pad, would you? And I’ll see if I can find out what the problem is.”

  As Cyndora reached over to Feldea’s bedside cabinet, a convoy of med staff rushed through the bay pushing the floating medical beds used to transport patients. She handed Feldea the pad.

  Sitting up a little the pilot turned it on, punched in a few queries and then went pale. “Oh my stars! It’s Ares Squadron.”

  Cyndora felt panic clutch at her. “That’s the squadron that the general is with, isn’t it?” she asked frightened.

  Feldea nodded. “According to the first reports there are less than half of them left,” she told the equally pale-looking woman next to her. “I’m just trying…ah, there we go. Eta Leader is still there… I think... ”

  “You think?” Cyndora was really scared now.

  Even Feldea was looking worried. “His signal keeps fading in and out. Might just be damage to the ship’s beacon though… ” She scrolled through the reports, shaking her head. “They’re all in a bad way from the looks of it, only fifteen Hunters left. I can’t tell how bad the damage is to the general’s ship. His diagnostics don’t seem to be reporting right. Half the time it’s saying that there isn’t a ship left at all, which is nonsense. Wait, they’re making their approaches now. The general’s coming in last again, as usual.” Cyndora watched as the young lieutenant studied the screen intently and then her eyes went wide. She hit keys on the data pad frantically, then looked at Cyndora with a scared expression. “His beacon’s gone.”

  Cyndora stood up, panic-stricken and stared wildly around. A hand suddenly grasped hers and she looked down to see Feldea holding it. “Sit down, Cyndy. If he made it then either he’ll be in here to check on the other pilots or the med folks will be bringing him in themselves. If not, we’ll hear soon enough.”

  The toga-clad woman slumped down into her chair, her hand still in Feldea’s. “How can you be so calm?”

  The pilot gave her a little smile even though the concern remained in her eyes. “I’m not, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m as worried about General Crineal as you are. So I just have to lay here and wait.”

  Ten minutes later, the first of the Ares pilots were brought in. Cyndora stood so she could see their faces and she started counting them. One, two, three, four… Then two pilots strode in alongside three more floating gurneys. That made nine, then a brief spell when none came in before another small flood of four more gurneys and one more walking pilot, Crineal wasn’t among them. Fourteen. She felt the fear starting to grip her tightly and as one of the uninjured pilots passed by she saw it was the captain from the briefing sh
e had attended two days earlier.

  “Sir?” she asked clutching at his arm. “Please? Do you know what’s happened to General Crineal?”

  The tall, round faced captain frowned down at her for a second before recognizing who she was. “Oh, I’m sorry, the last I heard he was down but his fighter crashed into a wall. As I left the bay I heard they were trying to cut his body out of the wreckage.”

  Cyndora let his arm go and collapsed onto her chair with a sob. She felt Feldea’s hand resting on her shoulder in sympathy as she started to cry.

  At first she didn’t even look up when the med bay doors opened a few minutes later. Then Feldea’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “Cyndy, look,” she heard the young woman say.

  Through tear blurred eyes she saw another team of meds pushing a gurney into the bay, a black-clad figure on it. She rushed over as they carefully maneuvered it into a vacant spot. The left side of Crineal’s face was blackened, but Cyndora saw it was just soot. The blood caking his flight suit’s arm and leg told her that most of his injuries weren’t superficial though.

  Doctor Marrash regarded her sternly. “Assistant, please return to your chair and let us work, otherwise I’ll have the guard remove you.”

  Cyndora started to back away. “Will he be ok?” she sobbed.

  “He will be if you move and stop getting in my way,” he growled at her.

  Retreating to her chair by the lieutenant she found Feldea’s hand again and clutched it for comfort.

  Feldea kept shifting her looks from Cyndora to where Crineal lay. “What did the doc say?”