The ship rattled and shook with the resonating blast. For a moment, the artificial gravity faltered, causing the crewmen, especially those near the rear of the ship, to rise slightly into the air before it could be automatically restored.
Commander Spinner slammed himself back down in his chair and shouted towards the tactical team, “Status report!”
“Sir, we have minor damage to the hull plating, but have not had a breach. The gunner in station seventeen claims to have critically hit one of the bombers, but we can’t get confirmation.’’
“This is station thirty-six, come in tactical,” came an excited voice over the intercom.
“Go ahead, gunner.”
“Sir, we have just destroyed one of the primary targets. The other appears to be heavily damaged.”
“Gentlemen, I need immediate confirmation.”
“Status is confirmed sir, one bomber is down and the other is heavily damaged. It looks like he’s making his way to our sensory equipment. We have six gunners with an auto-lock on him.”
In an instant, the gunners opened fire and brought down the Confederate pilot, sending him crashing into the Dexterous’ hull. The impact sent metal scattering in all directions, but caused only a meager amount of damage.
As Commander Spinner informed him of the bombers’ destruction, Captain Wilcox breathed a sigh of relief. They knew the bombers were coming, but didn’t adequately prepare for it. Such errors in judgment simply could not be afforded. The immediate Confederate threat had to be eliminated before they could strike again.
“This is Wilcox calling all bombers. You are to make a run on the two heaviest damaged Confederate destroyers. I’m transmitting your targets to you now. All fighters, I want at least two fighters to escort every bomber. Move out immediately.”
As the bombers closed in on their targets, the Order’s frigates moved forward to complicate matters for the Confederate fighters. They moved in tight formation. The enemy destroyers responded by firing their heavy turrets, but it was a futile effort. The energy required to defend against the bombers heavily detracted from their ability to counter the destroyers.
Had they any less pride, the Confederate captains would have realized that their efforts were futile and that they would best serve the Confederacy by fleeing and salvaging what they could of their heavily damaged vessels. To them, defeat was not only insulting, but impossible. There had been minor uprisings in the past. None ever achieved victory, and it stood to reason that the same would be true now.
With the two weaker destroyers cracking into pieces under the force of the Order’s bombers, Delaney finally came to the realization that the battle could not be won with the limited forces they held.
“Comm., contact headquarters. We need immediate reinforcements. Inform them that we are facing two decommissioned battle cruisers and six decommissioned destroyers.”
The communications officer worked quickly, but did not say a word. His inaction sent a chill down Delaney’s spine.
“That was an order comm., get headquarters online immediately.”
With a gulp, the communications officer replied, “Sir, we’ve lost the long range comm. link. It looks like our array has been damaged beyond repair.”
His hands shaking in rage and frustration, Delaney turned to another crewman, “Contact the other ships. Do they have long-range communications up and running?”
After a pause, “No sir. It looks like we’re alone out here.”
The Confederate destroyer shook violently as bombers created a fiery rain over its hull. First, primary lighting shut down, followed quickly by emergency backup. With a few more hits, the air grew stale and smoke-filled as the life-support systems failed.
Captain Delaney of the Confederate Destroyer, Conquest, felt himself lift slowly into the air. Giving himself a push off of a rail in the darkened bridge, the captain floated over towards a window and watched in horror as a gigantic battle cruiser moved over his vessel.
Chapter Three
The word joy was hardly adequate to describe the feeling the Order felt at the destruction of the Confederate vessels. Despite their archaic ships, lack of training, and lack of experience, they reigned supreme. After overcoming their first obstacle, it was time to test their resolve and face their true objective. It was time to wage an assault on the colony below.
The six destroyers, each shaped like a short, blunted, double-edged battle-axe, passed the frigates and approached the colony first. Below them were an estimated seven million people, and they were to liberate as many as possible. If they found the opportunity, they were to gather any intelligence or supplies they could use.
Lieutenant Daniel Frost sat in his shared quarters strapping on his equipment. With the bulk of his armor already attached, he reached for his boots and took his time sliding them on. When he had the first one over his foot, he had to take it back off and readjust it. It seemed to him that they never really fit right. Because of the shortage of supplies, he couldn’t get a new pair. Sucking up his disappointment, he buckled his boot onto his shin guard and stood up.
The other men in the quarters were already prepped and waiting for him to lead them out. It was odd to him that none of them seemed afraid while he could barely keep his hands from shaking. He was their superior officer and was expected to keep his head cool. He wondered if that’s what bothered him, but he would take no time to reflect on it.
After securing his helmet, he made his way to the weapons locker at the front of the room and grabbed an assortment of dangerous toys. First he grabbed the pistol that attached to his belt, then an ankle pistol. Relatively satisfied that they would not fall off while running, he grabbed his sniper rifle and strapped it to his back. He then grabbed as much ammunition as his belt and reserve bag could carry. He knew the weapons would get several hundred shots off per clip, but he never felt like he had enough.
Finally, he grabbed his weapon of choice, the standard Beam Assisted Particle rifle, and secured the locker. He looked at his men and couldn’t help but admire their stoic postures. Maybe under their helmets they bore the same agonized expression as he, but if they did, it didn’t show.
Over the ship’s intercom came a hurried voice, “All infantry, follow your lieutenant to the shuttle-bay and prepare for immediate dispatch.”
“Let’s go,” Frost ordered. He turned toward the door and tried to clear his head.
Frost led them down the corridors that made the neck of the ship that contained all the quarters. They then headed back into the body of the ship, which housed most of the workings for the vessel. If he went left or right, he would take them to the fighter bays. Continuing up, they joined several groups of soldiers making their way to the drop ships. Despite the relative lack of training, the movement seemed expertly coordinated and all the men seemed more than eager to have their chance at some action.
It was clear that some of the men were already weary as they had to double as gunners due to the lack of crewmen. The initial uprising was unavoidable, but it forced many to kill good men that were just following orders. No one truly deserved to die in the conflict because it wasn’t their fault. They were lied to and put under the serum, but all the men Sykes had freed to cause the uprising had to learn a valuable lesson. Anyone under the influence of the serum was dangerous and was disposable. The serum did things to people and forced them to act in ways that a free man never would. It was an abomination, and would eventually have to be destroyed, a goal the Order hoped to achieve.
Frost and his men reached the shuttle-bay quicker than expected and made their way to their designated drop ship. He approached the entry door and swiped his access card. Two arms, one on top of the other, extended out of the ship. The lower dropped to the ground. On each arm, there were fifty chairs, five seats wide and ten seats long, which would hold the soldiers securely, but would leave their feet dangling down. The first group grabbed their spot and fastened themselves in. As the last man secured his harness, the arm r
ose slightly, pulled back into the ship, and allowed the upper arm an opportunity to lower itself. Frost groaned because of his obligation to sit in the top section, but swallowed his discomfort so his men could not see it. A moment later, the upper arm rose back up and pulled into the ship allowing the door to close.
It irritated Frost that it took a moment for the lights to activate because he was already uncomfortable. The ride ahead of him was going to be hard enough without the thought of the lights possibly turning off mid-flight.
After a several minute wait, the flight deck was evacuated and depressurized allowing the drop ship to rise rather unsteadily off the floor and exit through the wide bay door. The ship itself was loud enough, but as it began to enter the atmosphere, a roar that continually grew louder accompanied the steady rumbling of the engine and made conversation impossible.
The further the ship dropped into the atmosphere, the louder the noise became until it had permanently etched itself into the ears of the men within. The men had more or less convinced themselves that nothing could ever be as loud as entry into the atmosphere, and were taken back by an explosion on their port side.
Frost slammed his hand on his wrist communicator and shouted to the pilot, “What the hell was that?”
“It looks like our bombers didn’t mop up as well as we thought. We’re encountering anti-aircraft fire. Prepare for evasive maneuvers.”
The ship slammed the men back and forth in their seats as it struggled to avoid the fire coming from the surface. Frost tried his best to swallow his stomach. Drops were bad enough, but drops in hostile territory were something altogether different and something he couldn’t have trained for.
If the men on board became comfortable with the maneuvers, they weren’t when the ship came under direct fire. The guns below made the sound of vicious rain underneath their feet.
“Hold on!” shouted the captain over the intercom, “Just a few dozen meters until we’re clear!”
Sure enough, it didn’t take but a moment until the ship began to slow down and Frost could let his stomach free. The second the ship touched down, however, the tension he felt before rose back up within him.
The door at the back of the ship opened and the top deck of soldiers lowered to the ground. Their harnesses automatically released and retracted. As the men dropped down, they scurried out of the way so that the lower level could exit.
Frost had his men stand by for a moment so that he could survey the battlefield. In the sky, a dozen or so drop ships came down, and at least twice as many headed back up to grab more men. A few Confederate fighters screamed above in the sky, but the Order pursued them. Looking at the skyline, Frost saw that the bombers had done a decent job leveling things. Plumes of smoke shot up from what seemed to be every few meters, leaving some buildings demolished and others only singed. The defense towers that gave them so much trouble were nearly extinct. They grew closer to that point the more they let off a volley of fire, making a target of themselves.
When he was told about the mission, it was Sykes that personally addressed the lieutenant and told him that he was to play a vital role. While the other company leaders were to clear the bulk of the colony, Frost was personally charged with inspecting the primary research facility, which he could see smoldering at the center of the complex. It raised several stories out of the ground, but was suspected to run dozens below. If he could capture even one new project from the facility, then the mission was going to be counted as a success. Frost located his closest comrade, Ensign Robert Campbell, and the group headed off towards the research facility.
Chapter Four
The air was distasteful and his men were shaky, unsure of the cracked earth beneath them, but Frost kept them moving. Waiting for the troops to clear a path to the research facility hindered their progress.
Their assault on the colony was carried out quickly and with little resistance to be found. Frost was more than a little relieved to see most of the buildings destroyed by the bombings. His men fell in behind him and broke off when ordered.
Wearing black and grey armor, the men looked like ghosts as they ran up and down the roughly made streets. The group steadily decreased in size, breaking off to investigate different areas and to capture groups of workers and engineers. They made their way to one of the few buildings that still stood where they hoped to find something worth the destruction of the base. When the group had dwindled down to twelve men, Frost called for everyone to halt as he waited for men from other platoons to join. It didn’t take long for enough men to arrive ready to storm the building with Frost’s men at point.
Squad leader Ensign Campbell came up and whispered to the Lieutenant, “Just what are we supposed to find in there?”
Frost was hesitant to enter the building and used the question to pause for a moment longer. “I don’t know for sure.” He swallowed a large amount of saliva, “I’m just hoping it’s good. We’ve lost five men in our company and I’m sure others have lost more.”
“Well, I heard from Crewman Harking that we’ve captured something like fifteen thousand men. I don’t know how we’re going to get them all up on the ships. It seems to me that the transports are already busy enough. I can’t imagine we’re going to stay here longer than we have to. I don’t think we can risk being blindsided by a Confederate cruiser.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think we’d let them stay down here and die. Don’t worry about it. All that’s up to Sykes. Let’s get on with this.”
After placing six detonators around the door, the men stood back and covered their ears in preparation for the blast. When it came, everyone dropped their hands back to their rifles and stormed inside.
Frost and his group met a small number of guards that returned fire. It mystified Frost that they stood their ground to the very last man. He expected them to give up after firing only a few rounds, but they kept at it until they were all dead. Somehow, it tore at him harder than he felt that it should.
As soon as they entered, the group split off into their individual squads and went into different areas. Frost walked up to a desk near the entrance and threw everything on it to the ground. “Campbell, let’s get set up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Frost to base, come in.”
It took a moment for a response to come in and when it did, it was full of static.
“Go….rost.”
“We’ve entered the building and have set up a makeshift command center. We are proceeding to search the building.”
Frost ordered Campbell to stand guard at the door while he opened a metal briefcase. When opened, it looked empty with black walls on the inside. After pressing some buttons, it lit up and extended a transparent replica of the building. In the projection, green figures represented soldiers of the Order. Blue figures represented any other person the sensor sweeps detected. The areas with no green figures were vague in their appearance. As the men moved out, scanners that accompanied the communicators on their wrists sent back data that updated the display.
The majority of the building was unspectacular with only basic computer systems. An elevator shaft stood out most. It went down to the basement of the building, but didn’t appear to stop. Frost thought that was a bit unusual and was prepared to order a team to investigate. There was no particular reason why, as far as he could see, but he was hesitant to send anyone down there. Despite everything he felt inside, he knew it was his responsibility to gather as much information from the place as possible.
Frost sent the order with reluctance. He wanted to call to the ships for reinforcements, but knew resources were limited. After consideration, he decided this was something he would do with the men he had, regardless of what his gut told him.
As the team he ordered to investigate traveled down in the elevator, the display coming from the briefcase grew taller and taller as there seemed to be no end to the shaft. The men hadn’t reported back yet and Frost grew more nervous by the second. He ordered a second team
to wait by the elevator doors in case of trouble.
“Frost, come in Frost,” came in roughly over the radio.
“Go ahead,” Frost said, trying his best to suppress the excitement in his voice.
“There’s a research lab down here and what looks like a docking bay.”
“Can you have one of your men send back the data?”
“I don’t know about that sir. I think it may be in your best interest to come see this for yourself.”
Frost left the command post and ran as quick as he could to the shaft. He was so nervous that he kept stumbling over his own feet. He didn’t know what to expect down there. The men hadn’t called for backup, so if nothing else, he took that as a good sign. Even so, despite the many wonderful things it could be, it could also be a thousand horrible things.
At the entrance, six men stood waiting with their guns at the ready.
“Let’s go.”
No sooner had he given the command than the door opened, revealing an unexpectedly large and poorly lit elevator cabin. Traversing down the shaft proved to be nearly as nerve wracking as landing on the planet in a shuttle. Every bump and bruise was reiterated a hundred times by the echo in the shaft. Time stood still for a while as the lights blacked out and came back on in an undetermined pattern. When the journey ended with a flat thud on the ground, all of the men rushed to get out.
The team he first ordered down the shaft stood in front of him with their guns held as if they were expecting an attack at any time.
“Lieutenant, off to your right you’ll see a landing bay. There are a good hundred fighters in there at least. They look like the same type that was attacking us earlier.”
Dreamscape Saga Part 1: Project Falcon Page 2
