by Danny Loomis
Ian jinked up and sideways, managing to unleash a shot with his Stinger. It punched through one of the four giant drives. Another flash as Jonesy nailed a second one, and both of them dodged out of range of the storm of anti-ship missiles and lasers. Ian looped about and raced down the spine of the great ship, firing the Stinger into the plenum chamber of one of the two 50-megajoule lasers. The resulting explosion killed both main lasers, as well as knocking out four capitol missile tubes. Another drive was destroyed by Jonesy at the same time, slowing the battleship’s progress to a crawl.
“I’m getting weird fluctuations on my power readout,” Jonesy said. “One more shot with my Stinger and I’m outta here.”
“Forget it, Jonesy. Go back and help the ground forces in their attack on the airfield.”
As if he hadn’t heard, Jonesy arrowed in and knocked out four more Capitol missile tubes, as well as starting a major fire on the port side of the ship.
“Got ’em, man! I…” The sudden blast of Jonesy’s anti-matter bottle inverting its energies caused Ian to flinch aside from the attack run he’d started.
“Ah, God…” breathed Ian, feeling a deep sorrow. All of them. All of his command, blown away. Grimly he pressed his attack home, and took out the last drive on the battleship, which now hung in space virtually defenseless. He inspected his readouts, looking for the slightest sign of any fluctuation in power. Especially to the Stinger’s anti-matter bottle. An incoming call brought him back to full attention.
“This is flight commander Bravo one. Nice shooting, guy. Your IFF beacon lists you as belonging to the York. Is she still in-system?”
“This is Alpha-one. No, the York was destroyed several weeks back. I’m the last surviving Wasp from her. We did some modifications that give me a little bit of an edge, but those modifications also killed three of my wingmen.”
“Sorry, mate. I’m from the C.C. Northampton. Come and join the party while we watch the big boys tangle. Our task force is due to hit their line of battle in about forty-five minutes. Should be quite a show, especially since you took out four of their ships.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got one more thing to do before I stop. I’ll be back in a bit.” Ian boosted to full power, headed out system towards the four red dots he saw on his screen. One more ship. He’d try for one more…
* * *
“Commodore, we’ve got one surviving Wasp from the York still flying,” his Operations officer said.
“From the York?” Commodore Jones snapped around. “Who’s the pilot?”
“Didn’t identify himself, Sir. Said he had one more job to do and raced off. We’ve got him on scope now.”
The Commodore watched in amazement as the blip raced across the screen towards the four oncoming ships that had picketed the Confederation nexus.
“Link me up with him,” the Commodore said. Within seconds a reply came back.
“This is alpha one. Ahoy, Northampton. I’ve got one more mission given to me by my commander, then I’ll be free to chat.”
“Understood, son,” the Commodore said. “Just wanted to know if you’d run across an Ensign named Winthorp Jones. Most pilots called him Jonesy.”
There was a long silence. “He was my wingman today. He was killed after making a successful run that disabled a battleship. In case I don’t get back from my last chore, make sure word gets to his folks. He died a true hero.”
“Thank—thank you, alpha one. His father just got the word,” Commodore Jones said.
The com chief looked up. “Sir, we’ve I.D.’d the oncoming Alliance ships. Three battlecruisers and one battleship, as you thought.”
The Commodore wiped his eyes, visibly collecting himself for the task at hand. “Thank you, Ops. Tell all Wasps to draw back and wait for the big boys to get here. And keep an eye on that maverick, will you? He’s got one of the fastest Wasps I’ve ever seen.”
“About twenty percent more speed, sir. He’s also got some weird fluctuating field… Holy shit! He’s disappeared, Sir.”
On-screen the four Alliance ships raced to join the rest of their task force. As they passed the last known point of the vanished Wasp, the largest ship abruptly veered out of line and slowed.
“They’ve been hit. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone was using an anti-matter weapon on it. There! You see that? I think it’s just lost its drives.”
“This is Alpha one. My ship’s energy fields are fluctuating pretty badly. I’m ejecting now.” Seconds later a brief flare was seen.
“Let’s go pick him up, folks. I’ve got some questions to ask him,” Commodore Jones said.
“We’ve got a fix on the general area,” the Executive officer said. “It’ll be a miracle if we find him, though. He’s got to be fifteen light-minutes from here, and that’s a lot of time he can drift before we get there.”
“Then we’d better get there fast, hadn’t we?” the Commodore said.
* * *
Elder Enforcer Yoshida checked his communications unit once again. Having a communicator that fit in his ear was normal. But one the size of his hand seemed such a clunky thing! Unfortunately it was the only way he could ensure he was able to talk with Edoan and Confederation troops at the same time. So far everyone held in place, to include the forces in the tunnel system. He was concerned about the tens of thousands of Edoans who showed up to claim a weapon and disappear, slipping into the tunnels behind the forces led by Aosi and Pointy. At last count they had given weapons to over forty-five thousand Edoan citizens.
“Something’s happened in space, Elder,” said one of the marine NCOs who had attached himself, apparently as his bodyguard and communications specialist. Right now he listened to something on his helmet com, which had more frequencies than Yoshida’s radio.
“The battle’s started, Sir. Captain Stanton says to commence the attack.”
The signal passed through the massed ranks of soldiers, poised to the northwest and northeast of the airfield and Vanport. Without a word they were up and jogging towards the enemy positions eight hundred meters away. The distance was down to less than three hundred before they began to come under fire.
Half of the Edoan force stopped and returned fire with heavy needlers, grenade launchers and rockets. The impact of over a thousand grenades and one hundred rockets landing among the defenders was devastating. Still, return fire was heavy and casualties began to build up. Dozens littered the ground behind the onrushing Edoan force.
They swept over the first line of defense and pushed the Third Division defenders back, with horrific losses on both sides. The attackers moved up to the second, more heavily defended line, just short of the airfield.
The second line managed to hold. Attack shuttles lifted and added their fire to the defense, even though half of them were knocked from the skies by the concentrated fire of shoulder-launched rockets. By now the entire northern sector of the airfield was under heavy attack. Vipers had just started spooling up and taking off when the signal was given by Yoshida for the second phase of their attack to begin.
Within minutes a flurry of missiles knocked the rest of the Alliance shuttles from the air, to include most of the Vipers. Just as the six remaining Vipers turned to start an attack run, they were strafed by two Wasps appearing in a clap of thunder and lightning. The two surviving Vipers turned and fled the scene fast as their afterburners could push them.
The crew-served six-millimeter pulsers located within the defensive perimeter began taking their toll of Edoans, as well as knocking down five of the attack shuttles before they could move to safety. A blizzard of missiles and rockets overpowered the gun emplacements and left little more than twisted wreckage. At that the Edoans surged through the second defensive line and created a breach the defenders couldn’t close. Yoshida, trotting forward from several hundred meters behind his onrushing force, sent a call to Aosi.
“It is time, my son. May you enter Oneness with the Way.”
“Thank you, father. May you als
o enter Oneness with the Way.”
* * *
The first doorway upwards into the Wolfshead Division HQ was blown asunder by a shape-charge. Pointy and Two Eagles charged through. No one was present, the basement having been turned into a barracks for the divisional staff. They stood aside and waved on the flood of Edoans, marines and army troops that sprinted for the stairs. Within seconds the first sounds of combat were heard, along with multiple explosions of grenades. Pointy rushed upwards, on Two eagle’s heels. Everyone on the first and second floor was already dead and dying as they forced their way up.
“Don’t kill their commander,” Two Eagles shouted, and redoubled his efforts to reach the third floor, Pointy still close behind.
Most of the fight moved on to the fourth and fifth floors by the time the Scouts had reached the Operations Center on the third floor. Four Alliance soldiers cowered on their knees, held at gunpoint. Abruptly Two Eagles lunged forward and grabbed the closest one by the front of his uniform as he jerked him to his feet. “Who’s your commander?” he snarled. Pointy was taken aback at the feral look in Two Eagles’ eyes, but wisely kept silent.
“I–I am General Lambert, Wolfshead Division commander. I protest…”
“Fuck your protests. Did you get the message I sent you? How about the package?”
Lambert turned white, his knees turning to jelly. “You! Y-y-you sent those ears!” He ripped free and flung himself backwards, tripping and falling over the other prisoners. “Don’t let him near me! He’s a madman, a wolf! He wants to cut off my ears!” He scrambled to his feet and continued to backpedal until brought up short by the edge of his desk.
Two Eagles stalked forward, unhurriedly pulling out one of his knives. His eyes glowed with inner fires of hatred. “I made a promise to you. If you didn’t surrender I was going to add you to my collection. Are you ready, you miserable bucket of puke? You killer of innocents?”
Before Two Eagles came within reach, General Lambert had slipped a small blaster out of a hidden panel on the side of the desk and pointed it at Two Eagles, causing every weapon in the room to be aimed at him.
Two Eagles’ face was drawn into a snarling rictus of loathing. “Don’t shoot him. This one’s mine. He declared war on the wrong people, and he needs to pay the price.”
General Lambert pointed the blaster at his own head. “To hell with you. To hell with you all,” he grated, pulling the trigger.
Pointy grimaced in disgust as the body fell to the floor, half of its head splattered against the far wall. “Damn! Now you’ll never get a complete set of ears for your collection.”
A voiceless roar caused all of them to scramble for the windows to see what attacked them now. Below, a steady stream of Edoans flowed by, intent on the next line of defenses hastily thrown up by the Alliance soldiers. Thousands of weapons fired into the mass, with hundreds of Edoans falling, dead before they hit the ground. Thousands more took their place, grimly moving forward as they fired. Within seconds the Alliance soldiers were overrun by the tide of civilians still pouring out of the underground from every conceivable opening.
The Alliance troops broke and ran. Instantly the front ranks of Edoans were among them, firing with guns if they had one, clubbing with whatever was to hand if not. The killing stretched on and on across the airfield and into the city, with no letup. Any alliance soldier who attempted to surrender died instantly, torn apart by the onrushing mob. For over an hour Edoans streamed by, joining the hunt for anyone in an Alliance uniform.
Finally Pointy felt his legs give out and fell to his knees, shocked eyes unable to turn from the spectacle of over fifty thousand Edoans in the process of killing every single enemy soldier on the planet.
“Damn,” husked Pointy. “I thought you were being a hard case, Two Eagles. Not compared to everyone else, though.”
Two Eagles remained standing, a smile on his face. “I think we need to make sure this planet stays on our side. I’d never want to fight ’em if they got mad at me.”
“Amen, brother. Let’s go make sure everything’s secure here and report in.”
* * *
When the Confederation fleet surged inward, Admiral Butler checked the tactical position of his ships in the holographic tac net. Two superdreadnoughts on either wing, eight dreadnoughts between. Six heavy and six light cruisers half a light second behind and ahead completed the picture.
“Five minutes until contact with the enemy,” said his navigator.
“Let the cruisers have the wounded ships. We’ll concentrate on those still holding in formation.”
Ahead of them the Alliance wall of battle looked very thin without either of the battleships present. Whoever had knocked them out of the upcoming slugfest had all but guaranteed the outcome, a fact for which the Admiral was thankful.
“Signal from the Alliance commander, Admiral,” his Signals officer said. “You can raise him on the all call frequency.”
“Admiral Butler here. To whom am I talking?”
“This is Admiral Langer. What are your terms for surrender, Sir?”
“Unconditional, Admiral. All of your ships will turn off their force screens and turn broadside. Any not complying will be destroyed.”
There was silence for a moment, in which Admiral Butler could hear ragged breathing. “Understood, Sir. We’re at your mercy.” Within seconds all Alliance ships had turned to the side and lowered their screens. Edo was once more free.
* * *
Floating through space in what suspiciously felt like a coffin, Ian observed the surrender through the electronic eyes of the Confederation Carrier Northampton, the closest ship to his present location. Immense satisfaction and a growing feeling of sorrow filled him. So many dead, friends as well as enemy. He shuddered at the report of slaughter being done in Vanport. How could anyone live with their conscience after doing something like that?
The crystal on his chest pulsed, and he found himself…
Back on the dark plain, with the Guardian moving toward him. Its face seems older, more careworn.
“I’ve come to say goodbye, Ian. They have just gotten a fix on you. Thank you for what you have done for my world.”
“You seem preoccupied,” Ian says. “What could possibly distract you of all entities?”
The Guardian smiles. “You grow in perceptive powers, Ian. A good trait to have as a leader, something the Confederation will need in the years to come. Yes, I am greatly disturbed by what has happened to my people. They lost all control of their individuality when they attacked. So many died, from both sides. Even now the last of the Alliance soldiers is being torn apart by normally peace-loving humans. It saddens me to see this.”
Ian smiles. “How interesting. The one creature mankind fears the most in all the galaxy, and you are the first to show an abhorrence for what war does to us.”
“I thank you for that, Ian. Could you do one last favor for me?”
“Last?” Ian reaches out in concern. “What do you mean?”
“This day, plus the others in which violence was done one human to another, have caused me great pain. I cannot stay and participate any longer and expect to retain my sanity. Tell the Elders I have gone. They will understand.”
The Guardian begins falling in upon himself, until nothing is left but an empty robe.
“Goodbye,” whispers Ian, feeling intense loss.
ALAMO (THREE MONTHS LATER)
Ian trotted over to the base hospital, feeling almost cheerful for the first time in weeks. In fact the last time he’d laughed had been at Pointy’s wedding the month before. He’d been right, Lissa did have a big nose. In her case it enhanced rather than detracted from her beauty. Pointy’s father had given the bride away, as well as bringing hand-delivered orders that transferred his son to the Diplomatic Corps. It was something they’d all expected since the Edoan government had stated quite firmly they would allow an embassy on their planet only if Pointy was a part of the retinue. Being an Assistant to the Opera
tions Officer didn’t sound like much, but according to Pointy it had cut about ten years off his junior level status.
Ian slowed to a walk when he approached the reception desk. “Hi, Maggy. She still asleep?”
“That she is, Ian,” the perpetually cheerful head nurse said. “The doctor visited her this morning. Said she should wake up within the next day or two.”
She’d said this to his back as he hurried towards the room in which they kept Brita. He managed a hurried “Thanks,” before disappearing inside.
He slipped into a chair next to Brita’s bed and marveled again at how beautiful she looked. Once back on Alamo she’d been taken out of stasis and operated on, several times. Reconstructive surgery had been done to her entire face and upper body, and nerve reconstruction had been accomplished for the damage that didn’t show. Unfortunately the neural damage to the brain and spinal column had been too extensive. She would face an uphill struggle even to walk again.
He slumped back in the chair, reviewing again like he did every evening what he would tell her when she awakened. She’d get a kick out of Pointy’s getting married. It would also tickle her to find out Captain Stanton, soon to be Major, was the new acting Operations Officer for the Regiment. That plus he’d received the Galactic Star medal for his heroism and bravery. Captain Stanton had made sure several others received awards for their heroism, and Ian was flabbergasted when he received his own medal, the Orion Cluster. Second highest award you could get after the Galactic Star.
Luckily his orders for flight school had been delayed. Something about thinking he was dead. It had let him stick around long enough to visit with Brita, even though she’d been in a coma the entire time. In two weeks, though, he had to report to the newly established flight school right here on Alamo. At least he’d lucked out there.
Sergeant First Class Franny Smith had taken over the platoon, once it became official that Warrant Boudreau was being medically retired. It seemed Warrant was in the process of buying a working share of their favorite pub, The Pelican, so they’d see more of him than before.
