by GARY DARBY
Watching the anxious flitting of Sami’s hands, Dason murmured, “Sami, calm down, we’re going to get cleared. They’re not going to shoot at us.”
“Uh huh,” Sami returned. “That’s easy for you to say, but after being shot at by every Prowler, Predator, and Marauder between here and Earth over the last couple of days, I’m not taking any chances. If they even twitch one of those laser cannons, I’m punching us out of here.”
Over his shoulder, Dason gave Shanon a small smile that she returned with her own.
In seconds, the voice returned, “Zephyr, this is the Aspire, you may proceed to Sarpens Two. General Rosberg asks that you contact him once you’re in planetary atmosphere and he sends along a ‘welcome to the party’ message as well.”
“Thank you, Aspire,” Dason replied.
He nodded at Sami and gestured toward the distant tan and brown coloring of Sarpens Two, “Let’s go, pilot. You heard the man; we’ve got a party waiting.”
Long minutes later, Sami had the Zephyr coasting through the planet’s upper atmosphere. The ebony dark of space changed to a light turquoise as the Zephyr swooped in closer to the surface.
Over the communicator, Dason uttered, “Command Six, General Rosberg, this is Team Thorne inbound in Zephyr One with six scouts aboard.”
Instead of Rosberg’s voice, Dason heard, “Lieutenant Thorne, this is Colonel Tuul. The general gave me a heads-up that you were inbound, and we can certainly use you and your team.
“Make your landing at planetary grid alpha Romeo, one-six by two-eight. I’m sending you the topo grid map and coordinates now.”
A holographic image of the planet flashed above the pilot’s console. Dason zoomed the image down on a lighted square, studied it for a second, and then replied, “We have the coordinates, colonel. ETA is three minutes.”
“Good,” Tuul responded. “I’ll meet you on the ground. Tuul, out.”
Minutes later, Sami brought them up and over a looming, snow-capped mountain range and then dropped them down to the rolling brown plain just beyond.
Peering ahead, Dason spotted what he was looking for and pointed. “To port Sami, at our ten o’clock, there’s the transports.”
Sami swung the Zephyr to the left, dipped its nose, and brought it low to the grass-covered and undulating ground. A few seconds later, he engaged his forward thrusters, flared the ship’s bow to kill their speed, and then lowered the craft to the ground.
Dason slipped from his chair and called out, “Stay here until I get the word.”
Slipping through the airlock, Dason ran down the ramp. He hesitated as he scanned the terrain before he spotted Colonel Tuul waving at him from the crown of a low, knobby hill a short distance away.
He sprinted over and snapped his superior a quick salute that Tuul returned just as fast.
“Here’s the skinny, lieutenant,” Tuul explained in a rush of words. “These are the last of the transports for loading and time is growing short.”
He brought his hand from pointing at the troop ships to gesturing skyward. “We just received word that a large Faction fleet is inbound. Coming at us from different directions and they’re loaded for bear this time. There’s no way that Admiral Stannick is going to hold them off.
“We’re going to get these last transports filled and then wait for the general’s orders. He’s hoping that the Faction will be so intent on destroying Stannick and her ships that we can sneak these transports by them.”
A brisk wind came up that caused him to twist away from the flying dust before he turned back to Dason. “A long shot, but if we send the transports out now, the Faction will probably pick them off one by one.”
Pointing toward a distant transport that sat squat and snug against the ground, he ordered, “I want you to take your team to the furthest transport and help load up.
“We’ve got a lot of wounded and injured that are having a heck of a time making their way to the ship. Leave three of your scouts at the ramp’s base to help the Navy corpsman with the wounded.
“Take the rest of your team and your Zephyr to the end of the line. That’s where the most seriously injured are. Load them into your ship and fly them to the load-up point. Got it?”
“Got it, sir,” Dason replied. “After the transport is loaded, what then?”
“After that,” Tuul answered, “get your Zephyr up in the air, fly cover until the transports are away.”
He met Dason’s eyes with an intense gaze. “And after that, barring orders from the general or me, use your own initiative, lieutenant, to do what you think best.”
“Yes, sir,” Dason replied.
He hesitated for a second and then asked, “Sir, do you know how—”
“Your father and uncle are doing?” Tuul questioned.
Dason gave a quick nod in response.
“They’re fine,” Tuul answered. “They’re working with the wounded at another set of transports further down the line from here.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dason replied gratefully and snapped another salute before he hurried back into the Zephyr.
Once aboard he gestured toward the large transport that sat a few kilometers away. Like tiny ants, a disjointed line of bedraggled Star Scouts ran from the transport out onto the plain.
“Here’s the plan,” he announced, “Shanon, you, TJ, and Alena, work here to help those aboard who need the most help. Coordinate with the Navy medics on what they need.
“Sami, Nase, and I are going farther on to upload the more severely injured into the Zephyr and fly them back here.”
He took in a breath and met their eyes. “The Faction fleet is inbound to the system, and they’re really bringing the heat this time.”
“How much time do we have?” Alena asked.
“The colonel didn’t say,” Dason replied. “But not much from the gist of things, so work fast. We’re going to help load the last of the transports.
“Once done, Admiral Stannick’s ships are going to engage the Faction, keep them occupied while the general tries to sneak the transports off-planet and into hyperspace.”
“Pretty chancy,” Nase noted.
Dason nodded in response. “Yes, but to send them out sooner is even more so. Once we’re done here, we’re going to provide top cover over the transports until they lift, so the Zephyr is our rendezvous point.”
He glanced around and asked, “Everyone set?”
Quick nods all around assured him that all understood their assignment.
Less than a minute later, Sami set the Zephyr down near the transport supply ramp that led up into the ship’s cargo hold. Shanon gave Dason’s shoulder a quick squeeze and a wave of the hand as she headed for the airlock.
Once Shanon and the others were clear, Sami lifted the Zephyr off the ground and headed toward a large group of scouts who lay on the grassy ground over a kilometer away. After landing, Dason led his two companions at a quick trot toward the scouts.
Several of them were trying to crawl, in a feeble attempt to make their way to the transport. A Star Scout moved in and among the injured, tending their wounds. A smile swept across Dason’s face, and he called out, “Doctor Stinneli!”
The young doctor jumped to his feet and spun around. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for the three to join them.
“Boy, am I glad to see you,” the doctor gushed as he wiped the sweat away from his forehead. “I can really use your help.”
“What can we do, doctor?” Dason asked.
Stinneli swung his arms around at the massed scouts. “Most are unable to walk; their injuries are too severe. The only way they’re getting to the transport is if we carry them.”
“Then carry them we shall,” Dason answered, and hooked a thumb toward the Zephyr. “We should be able to squeeze about ten at a time in there.”
“Great,” Stinneli answered with a grateful smile. “But before you get started, you need to know that I ran out of pain meds some time back, I don’t have anything le
ft to give them. So, when you move them—”
Dason gave a quick nod in reply. “We understand, doc, we’ll be as gentle as we can but the most important thing is to get them into that transport.”
Stinneli was quick to confirm, “Exactly.”
“Doc,” Sami inquired, “you wouldn’t happen to have some of your Torther Ape thingees in that transport, would you?”
Stinneli looked confused at Sami’s question. “No, why?”
Sami shrugged in response. “Oh, I just thought that one of them could carry two or three scouts at one time. Save my aching back.”
“C’mon, Sami,” Dason replied and pulled Sami toward the nearby scouts. “Your back’s not aching—not yet, anyway.”
Dason stepped over to the nearest immobile scout who lay on the flattened grass. Both legs had temporary splints over broken bones. Dark bloodstains marked the splints’ edges where the bones had poked through flesh and skin.
The scout opened his eyes as Dason knelt next to him. “Hey, scout,” Dason said, “I’m going to get you aboard your lift outta here. Sorry, I’m afraid this is going to hurt a bit.”
The older man waved a hand and mumbled in a feeble voice, “Thanks, but try to help those who stand a chance.”
He gestured toward his broken legs. “And standing isn’t something I’m going to be doing anytime soon.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Dason responded in a no-nonsense tone. “But I do know I’m going to carry you over to that Zephyr whether you like it or not.”
The man wheezed in a choking laugh. “Okay, but I don’t think I’m going to like it. The doc ran out of fuzz-brain.”
“I know,” Dason replied with a grimace. “He told us. However, he also told us that the important thing was to get you to the transport. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. So, scream all you want, I’m not listening.”
He straddled the man, reached down, and pulled him up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The man gritted his teeth but couldn’t stop the piteous groan. “Thank you,” he murmured in a low, pain-filled whisper, “just don’t stop, keep moving.”
Bent over from the weight, Dason began moving toward the Zephyr in a half-run, half-walk motion. The man’s heart-rending moans kept him moving, his eyes focused solely on the short ramp that led up to the Zephyr’s open airlock.
Being as gentle as he could, he carried the man through the hatchway and into the troop bay. He laid him on one of the reclining seats and started to turn away as he thought the man had passed out from the pain.
Instead, the man opened his eyes and reached out to grip Dason’s arm. “Thank you, scout,” he whispered in a hoarse, but grateful voice before he lay back and closed his eyes.
For the next several minutes, the three young scouts loaded up the Zephyr with as many wounded as they could before they flew back to the transport.
Once there, Dason called Shanon over the comms and explained their situation. A minute later, she, Alena, TJ, and two Navy corpsmen came running up to the Zephyr.
Within minutes, the Zephyr was unloaded of its desperate human cargo and headed back on its mission of mercy.
The planet’s terminator, heralding the approaching night sky was speeding toward them when Dason landed the Zephyr with its last load of injured scouts.
As the medics carried away the last of the injured scouts, Stinneli turned to Dason and held out his hand.
“Lieutenant,” he said in a tired, but thankful voice as he and Dason shook hands, “we might not make it off-planet, but you and your team gave a lot of scouts a fighting chance today, and for that I thank you.”
“Thank you, doc,” Dason replied. “Now, you best be going, you don’t want to get left behind after all this.”
Stinneli smiled and with a wave trotted off toward the darkened transport. “Speaking of,” Shanon called from behind him, “we’d best get going too, don’t you think?”
“I think yes,” Dason responded and followed her through the airlock and into the Zephyr.
Just as he slid into the pilot’s seat, General Rosberg’s voice came over the communicator, “This is Command Six,” he stated. “All Zephyrs, the transport commanders have reported that they’re loaded and ready to button up.
“Before they do, I want you to do one last air reconnoiter around the transports, make sure we haven’t left anyone behind.
“But make it fast because Admiral Stannick is reporting that the Faction fleet is minutes out, and Stannick is deploying her flotilla to engage.
“Report when you’ve finished your recon. Rosberg, out.”
Dason’s fingers flew over the controls, bringing his thrusters online. Intense flames of blue plasma splashed against the ground, and the Zephyr rocketed skyward.
“Everyone listen up,” he called over his shoulder, “snoopers on and pointed at the surface, we’re looking for any stragglers that we might have missed.”
Dason pushed the little craft through a series of low passes in a systematic pattern, making sure that they covered every centimeter of ground out to ten kilometers on each side of the transports.
In the distance, he could see other scouter craft zipping above the darkened earth, searching for any stragglers that might have been inadvertently overlooked.
At last, he slowed the craft and hovered near the dark blobs that marked the transports. “What do you think?” he asked Alena who sat in the copilot’s chair.
She nodded at him. “I think we’ve done what we can. Besides, I think we’ve run out of time. Look.” She gestured upward.
Dason glanced skyward, and his eyes widened. Far out in space, intense flashes of light erupted, spreading from one horizon to the other. It was obvious that the two fleets had engaged in battle.
Dason slapped at his comm's button, “This is Team Thorne. We’ve completed our run, no stragglers sighted.”
“Very good,” Rosberg returned. “Remain on station.”
In rapid succession, the other Zephyrs reported the same. “I think we got everyone,” Alena suggested.
Dason pursed his lips and glanced over at Alena. “All the living, at least,” he murmured.
She gave a sober nod of the head, knowing that even among the group that they had helped, they had lost several scouts before they could get them to medical help.
Rosberg’s voice came over the transmitter, “All transports, all Zephyrs! Stannick is reporting that several Faction warbirds have broken through and making straight for the planet.
“Zephyrs, take up station and prepare to engage. Transports, button up. At my order, boost off-planet and make a run for it.”
“Uh oh,” Dason muttered, “that tears it. Get everyone locked down tight back there.”
As Dason brought the Zephyr’s nose up and engaged his main engine to head outward, Alena yelled out for the others to get their acceleration bars down, and tight.
She turned back just as Dason called out, “Weapons status?”
“Full charge on the cannon,” she answered, “torp’s in ready mode.”
She muttered as if to herself. “Seems as though we’ve done this somewhere before.”
“Doesn’t it though.”
Dason brought the Zephyr into a tight turn to starboard to link up with the other Zephyrs who had climbed into the stratosphere. “Anything on the scope?”
“It’s a mess,” Alena answered. “It’s as though I’m looking at a bunch of swarming bats chasing insects. I can’t tell if any are headed this way.”
“Maybe Stannick’s group managed to head them off,” Dason offered hopefully.
Alena didn’t respond and leaned forward to study her sensor. “No such luck,” she replied in a rushed voice. “Three bogeys inbound, and they’re not acting friendly.”
“Course?” Dason demanded.
“Mark two-one-two,” Alena called back, “up five.”
The little Zephyr leaped forward, gaining altitude and speed. It didn’t take long to
spot the onrushing Prowlers. “There they are!” Alena exclaimed.
“Got’em,” Dason replied and turned the craft hard to port just as the other Zephyrs peeled off to the left and right.
“Let’s see how good they are at swatting flies,” Dason said and threw the Zephyr into a series of teeth-grinding turns and closed on the nearest destroyer.
Flashes of scarlet beams flashed by, signaling that the warship’s gunners had opened fire. “Go for their engines?” Alena called out.
“Can’t think of a better place,” Dason replied as he corkscrewed the Zephyr through the air leaving bright, sparkling white contrails streaming behind the little ship.
Another volley of laser beams crisscrossed in front of the ship. Dason dove the craft down before pulling her up in a sharp, rolling turn to starboard.
“They’re not slowing down,” Alena muttered. “Whoever is driving those crates is hell-bent on pushing them for whatever they’re worth.”
Dason yanked the Zephyr to port just as several white-hot ion streams passed within mere centimeters of their starboard quarter. “Whoa!” Alena yelped. “That was close enough to almost fry your eyeballs.”
“Yeah,” Dason grunted and pivoted the ship on its tail before diving straight at the nearest Prowler’s stern. “I have to admit; these guys are good.”
Gunning the Zephyr straight ahead, he ordered, “Arm your torpedoes, your shot’s coming up.”
He dipped the Zephyr to one side, before whipping it back and aligning the Zephyr in firing position. “Now!” he yelled.
Alena punched the fire control panel; there was a slight shudder from the torpedo launch and Alena cried out, “Torps away.”
Dason slung the Zephyr to port, held the ship there for a moment. “Do we have a lock?”
“Good lock,” Alena reported. “They’re running hot and true!”
Dason aimed the Zephyr straight up before turning her on her back in a loop-de-loop before he straightened them out. There was a bright flash followed in an instant by a second burst of light.
“Impact!” Alena cried out.
Dason flipped the Zephyr on its side and brought it around in a screaming turn so that they could get a look at the Prowler.
