The Firestorm Conspiracy

by Cheryl Angst

  “Aye, sir,” replied Targersson. “Launching flyers now.” Twelve tiny fighting craft silently streamed past the cameras monitoring the exterior of the main hangar. The crafts banked sharply to port, and tucked up under the Firestorm, ready to execute whatever sequence the tactical officer deemed necessary.

  “And while you’re at it,” she added, “get the third flight onto alert. I want them ready to launch within five minutes of sending out the second flight.”

  Targersson scowled and she thought he was going to question her actions again. After giving her a considering glance, he returned his gaze to his console and replied, “Aye, sir. Second flight is on a ‘five-to-Go’ and the third is dressing to alert status.”

  “Inform the transport and the team of the approaching ship. Order the transport to prepare for a hot retrieval and return,” she said, dreading having to stave off enemy fire while trying to get the transport back on board. The transport was designed to take considerable fire, but it was slow and cumbersome--a perfect target for enemy fighters and cannons.

  “Aye, sir.”

  Rebeccah gripped the arm of the chair as she waited for the other vessel to reveal its intentions.

  * * * *

  John and his team approached the clearing with caution. Apparently empty, the team conducted a quick search and took up a position near a large rock on the northern end of the open area. He crouched and leaned against the side of the boulder as he studied the landscape around them.

  The immediate area consisted of forest, but much warmer than the temperate ones back home. The foliage surrounding the RP was lush and dense. The sounds of birds and other life forms echoed and called around the clearing, masking the sounds of anyone who might decide to approach.

  He hated being first to an RP. The waiting always made him feel vulnerable. The message from the Firestorm didn’t help either. With a potentially hostile avian vessel entering Cerces system space, his time on the planet was running out.

  John stood, taking care to keep his hands visible at all times as six figures entered the clearing from the far side. Tall and graceful, the avians fanned out and took positions opposite John’s team. They were almost seven feet tall, with strong muscular legs and slender arms. He studied their broad hips, designed for chasing down prey, and the curve of their backs, which flowed seamlessly into whip-like tails.

  Nowhere did the avians resemble predatory birds more strongly than in their facial features. The avian in the lead had fine cheekbones that flowed into a long, delicate jaw. A high, almost hairless, forehead framed the large, deeply set eye sockets. The avian’s eyes were deep ebony, so dark the irises weren’t visible. Framed by the tan, green, and terra cotta mottling to the skin, the eyes with their long thick lashes were the avians’ most startling feature.

  His HUD readout showed an increase in heart rate and respiration among his crew; a natural reaction to seeing the aliens in person for the first time.

  The smallest avian nervously tugged on his shirt front and began to walk forward. John matched his pace and soon stood a few yards away, facing a young avian whose dark eyes showed only fear and awe.

  “I’m… I’m Kree,” he peeped, as he glanced at the troops behind him.

  “I’m Captain John Thompson,” he said, calmly.

  “You… you’re male?” asked Kree, as he ran his eyes over John’s figure.

  “Yes,” replied John.

  Kree peered over his shoulder again and a chill crept up John’s spine. Without saying a word, he accessed his HUD and ordered his team to take aim.

  “I have a message for you,” Kree’s voice quavered.

  “My government was hoping for more than a message,” John answered.

  Kree met John’s gaze after turning back a third time. He let out a soft trill as his face shifted into an expression of surprise. John’s gaze followed Kree’s as the avian gaped at his own chest. A bright orange flower blossomed in the centre of his shirt and quickly spread. He let out another trilling gasp and collapsed to the ground, dead at John’s feet.

  Chapter 38

  They played a dangerous game of cat and mouse around the planet. The pilot at the helm used all his skills and training to keep the Firestorm out of the direct line of sight of the avian vessel. After several tense minutes the helmsman reacted with confusion.

  “It’s gone. Sir, the avian vessel has disappeared,” he cried. Ragged cheers erupted around the bridge.

  Rebeccah turned to Targersson at tactical and ordered, “Report.”

  “One moment the ship was on the radar, and the next it disappeared,” he replied. He scanned the data streaming across his console and said, “Our sensors show the avian vessel made a minor course correction away from the planet, and then nothing.”

  Sudden understanding froze her blood and trapped her breath in her throat.

  “Helm, full stop and hard to starboard.” She gestured at Targersson and shouted, “Bring the cannons online now.”

  The Firestorm turned her nose so she faced away from the planet in time to absorb the first barrage of fire from the avian battle cruiser as the massive ship dropped out of trans-light less than a kilometer off what would have been their starboard side had they not turned their heavily armored bow in time.

  “Flyers are out,” Targersson reported as the twelve craft shot out from under the ship and flew at speed toward the attack cruiser. “Launching the second flight on your signal, sir.”

  “Evasive maneuvers. Keep our forward armor plating facing those cannons,” Rebeccah ordered as the ship rocked again. “Where are our cannons?”

  “Cannons coming online now, sir,” Targersson replied. “The first blast knocked out the primary relay system. It took a moment to switch to manual.”

  “Sir,” the helmsman reported. “Raptors approaching fast.”

  “Launch the second flight. Get those raptors off our ship,” Rebeccah called as she scanned the readouts on her console. “Prepare the third flight for launch and scramble the fourth. This is going to take everything we’ve got.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Communications, get me the transport,” she ordered. “We need to get the team off the planet.”

  “Sir,” Targersson called. “OPs are reporting a second ship closing in on our position.”

  Shit.

  “Launch the third flight and hold the fourth in reserve under the belly.”

  The ship shuddered as a blast tore through the port side of the hull. Rebeccah gripped the armrests and clenched her jaw to keep from accidentally biting her tongue.

  “Direct hit. Main communications array is down,” the officer at the communications station reported. “Switching to backup now.”

  “Damage report.”

  “Hull plating holding, sir,” the engineer replied. “Damage to the port side is extensive.”

  “Have we got the transport yet?” she asked. Her stomach lurched, fearing the answer.

  “Negative, sir.”

  “Sir,” Targersson suggested, “I recommend we consider pulling back. Our position is untenable.”

  “I agree,” she replied. “But we’re not leaving until we get the team off the planet.” I will not leave them behind--not again.

  “Sir, I’ve got the transport,” he cried. “I’ll put--”

  “Emergency signal from the surface,” Targersson interrupted. “It’s the captain.”

  “Thompson to Firestorm. Do you read?”

  “Santiago here. We read you, Captain,” she replied as the ship shook with the force of another direct hit.

  “We need reinforcements. Now.”

  The sounds of weapons fire and the screams of the wounded carried through the communications channel.

  “Sir, the second vessel is within cannon range,” reported Targersson.

  “Launch the fourth flight. Let’s hope the second flight can keep two sets of raptors off our key systems.”

  “Commander? What the hell is going on up there?”r />
  John’s voice was riddled with undisguised stress and fear. More weapons fire echoed in the background. The sound of a pistol being fired at close range carried through the speakers, and Rebeccah realized the weapon had to be his.

  “We’re being slaughtered down here. We need backup. Now.”

  “Captain,” Rebeccah replied as she scanned the space around the ship, “I can’t get anyone down to you. We’re taking heavy fire from two--” She paused, her stomach sinking into her boots as news of a third ship spread around the bridge. “Make that three avian attack cruisers.

  “Sir, you’re going to need to get your team out of there. I warned Lt. Ryan to expect a hot extraction.” She willed herself to remain calm as her nightmare again became reality. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing more I can do.”

  * * * *

  Sanchez and Henderson died where they stood. They’d been a few meters behind and flanking him. They went down before anyone had time to react to Kree collapsing at his feet. Only his instincts had saved him. Without pausing to check on the others, he launched himself in a diving roll toward the rock as soon as he noticed the blossoming wound on the avian’s chest. His motion spurred the rest of the team to take cover too.

  Bullets and energy fire screamed around him, raising the hairs on his arms and causing his ears to ring; he crouched behind the rock. Seven UESF soldiers against five avian assassins; the odds were not great, but he reasoned they should be able to make it back to the transport.

  “Thompson to transport. Prepare for hot evac. ETA five minutes.”

  “Copy that, sir. Hot evac in five.”

  He paused to reload his pistol, leaned against the rock, and opened a channel with the six remaining crew. “Use whatever cover you can find and retreat into the woods to the north. Kim and I will lay down suppressing fire.”

  He reloaded his pistol and nodded at Master Seaman Kim who crouched on the other side of the boulder.

  “Once in position, you will strafe the area until Kim and I can join you. On my mark,” he said as he took aim around the side of the rock. “Now.”

  Thompson and Kim fired at the five avians in the clearing, pinning them down behind a low hillock. They were running out of ammunition, but they needed to keep the fire heavy enough to prevent the avians from retaliating. He used his HUD to monitor the five soldiers as they broke cover and sprinted for the trees. His pistol clicked blankly as the last of the soldiers made it to the safety of the woods.

  The avians resumed their forward progress as soon as his weapon ceased firing. He needed to get himself and Kim into the forest where they’d have a chance of making a run for the transport. His HUD readout showed a perilously low supply of ammo amongst the surviving soldiers. Their strafing fire was going to be short lived.

  He tapped Kim on the shoulder and gestured for him to prepare to run. Like a sprinter at the gate, they crouched, waiting until their comrades got into position. After an eternity, the HUD showed him what he wanted to see.

  “On my mark,” he braced his feet against the rock. “Now.”

  Dirt and debris flew around him as he propelled himself toward the safety of the trees. He kept his head down and used the HUD to warn him of an impending impact with a tree. John dove and rolled into the protective cover of the underbrush. He scrambled up behind the nearest tree and took stock of the situation.

  John lamented their lack of ammunition, but firing at moving targets within the confines of the forest would be a waste anyway. He scanned the forest. The way seemed clear.

  “Rendezvous at the LP. Evac in three. Move it!” he shouted into the comm. unit as he broke into a lumbering run through the dense brush.

  “Sir, enemy de--” Kim’s reply died on his lips as his signal faded from green to red on John’s HUD. Within seconds his team of eight became six.

  Then three.

  Then one.

  A squad of avians appeared on his HUD, blocking his path to the transport. John found himself alone, out of ammunition, and surrounded.

  “Transport, return to ship. Transport, cancel hot evac. Return to ship immediately.” John panted as he scanned the forest for signs of an escape route.

  “Sir? I can’t do that.” Lt. Ryan sounded terrified.

  “You can and you will,” John ordered. “Get that ship off this planet now. The lives of those on the Firestorm depend on you.”

  “Sir.”

  “Do it.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  John thought he heard the man gulp back a sob.

  He contemplated looking for a place to hide, but ruled it out as a futile delaying tactic. Their sensors would be able to pick up his bio-signs and he had no desire to die like a rat in a hole. He braced his back against a tree and flexed his fingers. He might be able to surprise one or two; either way, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

  The thrum of overhead engines drowned out the sounds of pursuit on the ground. For a brief, terrifying moment he thought they’d brought in a heavy gunship, and the thought of having his insides blasted into a pulp while his head exploded turned his bowels to water. He clung to the tree, focused on the sound, and swore.

  “Lieutenant. I gave you a direct order.”

  “I know, sir. But I can get you.” Ryan sounded desperate. “I’ve lowered the emergency ladders out the back. If you can just get to a small clearing--”

  “Damn it. I gave you an order.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ryan replied. “And you can bring me up on charges of insubordination after you get your ass onto my ship.”

  John smiled.

  He darted between the trees, heading for a small clearing to his left. The transport hovered over his position, tracking him through his HUD. He reached the clearing and ran for the dangling ladder. He took a flying leap and fell hard to the ground when his hands met only air. John tried to gasp--the air knocked from his lungs coupled with his burning ribs made breathing almost impossible--and rolled over in time to see the transport shudder in the air. The avian reinforcements had brought anti-aircraft cannons.

  The spots in his vision cleared and left John wondering what kind of ambush he’d led his troops into.

  “Get. Out. Now,” he wheezed as he tried to climb to his knees.

  He tilted his head to catch one last glance of the transport and found himself staring into the nasty end of an avian assault rifle. He raised his empty hands above his head and the avian bared his teeth. His world exploded into blackness.

  Chapter 39

  “Hull breach on deck fourteen, sir.”

  Rebeccah braced herself against the command center as the ship rocked under another barrage. The transport was thirty seconds away from the hangar, assuming the flyers could keep the raptors and cannons off long enough for the pilot to gain the safety of the hangar.

  The tiny ship could be seen lumbering toward them, moving far too slowly for her liking. Two raptors broke off their attack on the Firestorm and raced to intercept. Swooping in like the birds of prey they were named after, the ships split up and prepared to strafe along both sides of the transport.

  Rebeccah couldn’t use the cannons against the raptors. They were too close to the incoming ship. One miss and the ungainly craft would be blown apart. Instead, she ordered two flyers to peel away from the nearest battle cruiser and rush to prevent the attack. Freed of two more attacking craft, the cruiser focused greater attention on the Firestorm. The flyers spun and whirled in an attempt to get clear shots at the raptors as the viewscreen went blank.

  “Forward cameras hit.”

  “Get me another feed.” The ship shuddered under their feet.

  “Direct hit on OP Four, sir. Sealing the surrounding decks.”

  She scanned the data readouts as they streamed across her console. Without the cameras they were blind to all action in front of them. She created a mental image of the battle unfolding off the bow by relying on the reports from the flyers and transport. The transport took several hits, as did the
flyers, but all three ships seemed to be taking less fire than before.

  One of the raptors must have been destroyed, she thought as she watched the distance between the transport and the Firestorm dwindle.

  “Pull up the hangar camera,” she ordered. “We should be able to get an angle on the transport now.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “We’re taking heavy losses,” Targersson reported. “We need to pull the flyers in.”

  “Not until we get that transport,” she countered. “Vary your attack plans. Give them something new to think about.” Information on casualties and damage arrived faster than she could process it.

  “We tried everything,” Targersson shouted. “I used every pattern in the book.”

  The viewscreen sprang to life. The scorched transport, venting plasma and oxygen, limped into view. The raptors were nowhere to be seen. The flyers, damaged and leaking, flanked the vessel as it lined up for entry into the hangar. As soon as the transport reached the protection of the underside of the nose of the Firestorm, the flyers pulled off and raced back into battle.

  “The transport is aboard, sir.”

  “How many survivors?”

  “The report is coming in now, sir.” The young officer gulped. “Sir, the pilot reports only two on board. The pilot and co-pilot.”

  She shook her head. “Get me Lt. Ryan. Now.”

  She refused to think about the missing personnel and focused on the main viewscreen. Her anger threatened to boil over. “Tactical, why the hell are they flying in pairs?”

  “Sir,” Targersson replied, “we are following SOPs. The attack patterns recommended by the UESF--”

  “Don’t work,” she interrupted. “They’re dying out there. Give them one of the captain’s.”

  “But they’ve never been tested--”

  “Neither have the UESF SOPs. Until now,” she countered, “and I think we proved they don’t work.” She glared at him over her console. Her rage boiled into an ice so hard she thought her soul might shatter. “Order a new battle plan.”