by Ellis,Tripp
The security team gave him the heads up, and Tyvelon boarded the gunship.
“Where to, sir?” the pilot asked.
“Take me to their capital city. I want to stand amongst the ruins.”
“As you wish, my Lord.”
The pilot took a seat, and the Emperor strapped in. A few moments later, the gunship lifted from the flight deck and lumbered into space. The craft banked around, offering a sweeping view of the Decluvian fleet. Aggressive warships hovered over the frail blue planet.
The gunship began its descent into the upper atmosphere. The turbulence shook and rattled the small craft. The gunship plunged into the stratosphere, and the pilot headed for Nova York.
By this time, the Decluvian’s had achieved almost total air superiority. UPDF fighters and gunships had all been blasted out of the sky. And anything that tried to get airborne met an untimely fate.
Tyvelon surveyed the destruction with great pleasure. Even from space, you could see the fires and billowing smoke. As they drew closer, the devastation became even more apparent. Nova York soon appeared on the horizon. The once glorious city was nothing more than smoldering ruins.
Tyvelon found the level of destruction inspiring. All of this had been accomplished with non-nuclear weapons. The planet would be available for whatever purpose the Emperor saw fit. There would be no long-term damage to the ecosystem. It could be resettled or harvested for resources.
“Bring us in close. I want a good look as we approach.”
“There are still resistance forces within the city. Terrestrial Army with heavy artillery and antiaircraft weapons,” the pilot said.
“Savages with primitive technology. Bring us in low and slow.”
“As you wish, my Lord.” The pilot dropped their altitude, and the gunship swooped in over Nova York, barely clearing the remains of rooftops.
Tyvelon unbuckled his safety harness and moved to the side door of the gunship. He clung on to a handgrip and pressed a button on the bulkhead, opening the door. It slid aside, and the wind gushed into the fuselage. Tyvelon hung in the doorway, admiring the destruction as they flew over. It reminded him of his days as an infantry soldier before he became Emperor. He recalled those days fondly. It was a simpler time.
Tyvelon knew from an early age that he would never be respected as Emperor if he had never been battle tested. As an heir to the throne, he could’ve lived a life of privilege. He could have been sheltered from the horrors of war. But instead, he enlisted and chose to fight as any other soldier. It endeared him to his people. And he became the most popular Emperor to ever rule Decluvia.
The pilot landed the gunship at a forward operating base on the north side of town. It was far from the front lines, but nobody wanted to be the one responsible for getting the Emperor killed. The pilot had been instructed by the security detail to show the Emperor what he wanted to see, but to do it as safely as possible.
The Emperor stepped off the gunship and was greeted by General Certeris. He was in charge of ground operations on New Earth.
“Excellent work, General,” the Emperor said
“Thank you, my Lord. We should be wrapping up operations soon. The enemy is retreating to the south. We met with some mild resistance that impeded progress. But we are ahead of schedule.”
Tyvelon marveled at a tank that rumbled by. “How far is the fighting from here?”
The general smiled. “Several miles, at least. You’re perfectly safe here.”
“Take me to the fighting.”
The general’s jaw went slack. He stammered uncomfortably. “Excuse me, my Lord?”
“Take me to the fighting.”
The general’s nervous eyes glanced to the head of the Emperor’s security detail—he responded with a subtle shake of his head.
The general cleared his throat, then muttered, “I think it would be more advisable to stay within the perimeter of the outpost.”
Tyvelon gritted his teeth and leaned in. He spoke in a low, slow voice. “I don’t care what you think, General. I want to take a tank to the fighting, and I want to blow something up.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Tyvelon stood tall, and his voice boomed. “I did not come halfway across the galaxy to conquer the human’s without firing a single shot myself. The next person who tries to coddle me will be executed. Is that understood?”
The general swallowed hard. The security detail squirmed. Everyone answered in unison. “Yes, my Lord.”
37
New Earth
“This is it, kid,” Sergeant Miller said. “I’ve waited as long as I can.”
Levi looked frazzled. There was still no sign of Presley. Levi’s face tensed. His eyes snapped back to the manhole cover, then back to Sergeant Miller. “I’m staying.”
“You sure about that?”
Levi nodded.
Miller grimaced. “Alright, kid. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Miller spun around and headed for the Hedgehog. He climbed inside, and the engines spooled up. Just as the skids were lifting off the ground, Presley’s head poked through the manhole cover.
Levi’s eyes bulged. He ran to the sewer and helped her out. Tim climbed out after her.
The Hedgehog was in the air. It was about to bank around and streak away.
Levi raced toward it, flailing his arms.
The pilot caught sight of him, and set the Hedgehog back down. But the Decluvian’s had broken through the perimeter. Plasma projectiles streaked through the air. Tanks blasted at the tarmac.
Levi, Presley, and Tim raced for the Hedgehog. The side doors slid open and they jumped in. They scrambled for a seat and buckled their safety straps. The Hedgehog smelled like metal and grease, and the unmistakable oder of ion exhaust. Canvas webbing lined the bulkheads behind the seats. The door gunner manned an M369 mini-gun—a 7.62 mm, 6 barrel rotary machine gun that could blast off 6000 rounds a minute. It was a serious piece of equipment. By the constant smirk on his face, you could tell the gunner loved firing it.
He blasted away at the approaching Decluvians. Brass casings spewed from the ejection port as the weapon rattled off a blistering flurry of rounds.
The craft lifted off and banked away.
“Don’t worry,” the gunner said to Presley, in between bursts. “We’ll get you to a secure location in no time.” He gave her a reassuring smile, then squeezed the trigger again.
Presley tried to smile back, but the small arms fire pelting the hull wasn’t doing anything to settle her nerves.
The Hedgehog was armor plated. So far, it was holding up. But every time something impacted the hull, it sent a chill down your spine and made you pucker. It didn’t matter how many times you would come under fire, the disconcerting feeling never went away. The gunner and the pilots were just better about hiding their uneasiness.
Presley watched the plasma projectiles blaze through the sky, streaking toward the Hedgehog. The city below was in ruin. Hundreds of amber flames dotted the cityscape. Clouds of black smoke billowed into the sky. It was surreal.
On the ground, a Decluvian soldier slung a Light Anti-Armor Weapon over his shoulder. It was older technology, but it was hard to beat a guided smart rocket. He prepped the LAAW, checked the back-blast area to make sure none of his comrades were in line with the exhaust port, lined up the Hedgehog in his sights, and fired.
The rocket screamed across the sky. The ass end was spitting sparks and propellant. It left a billowing white streak in its wake. The rocket locked onto the Hedgehog.
Inside the vehicle, the proximity alert sounded. It went from a frantic beeping sound to a steady tone as the missile locked on.
The pilot flipped the switch on the console and deployed electronic countermeasures. Four incendiary ECMs ejected from the rear of the craft. They were blistering hot, simulating the temperature and emissions of the Hedgehog’s thrusters. They hung in the air. With any luck they would draw the focus of the rocket.
The
missile veered toward one of the ECMs for a moment. Then it recalibrated its guidance system, locking on to the Hedgehog again. It blazed past the ECMs, racing toward the dropship.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” the pilot muttered to himself. Then he yelled. “Hang on!”
The rocket slammed into the port side thruster. A blinding orange explosion blossomed. The thruster splintered. The blast tore a gash in the armor plating on the side of the vehicle. White-hot shrapnel cut through the cargo hold. It seared through flesh, snapping bones and severing arteries. Blood sprayed throughout the cabin, splattering the bulkheads, the deck, and the canvas webbing. One of the soldiers arms was severed clean off. A splinter of white bone protruded from his meaty stump that used to be a bicep. Screams of agony echoed off the bulkheads. The bodies of dead soldiers shifted in their seats, only held up by their safety straps. Their limp heads and appendages bobbled and dangled.
This was the wrong dropship to catch a ride on.
A smoldering chunk of metal was embedded into the bulkhead next to Presley. It had missed her head by an inch. Her heart was pounding. Her eyes were wide, and her body was covered in sweat. She clutched onto the seat. Her eyes darted to her brother. The look on his face was one of pure terror. But he wasn’t bleeding. He didn’t look injured. Tim was okay, for now.
Presley’s eyes found Levi. He looked the same—scared shitless and clinging on for dear life.
“I’m guessing right about now you’re wishing you hadn’t waited for me,” Presley said.
“The thought may have crossed my mind,” Levi stammered. He tried to smile.
She reached out and took his hand. They interlocked their fingers, and Levi gave her palm a gentle squeeze.
“I wouldn’t change a thing,” he said, looking into her eyes.
She was scared and afraid and trembling. But she had found a guy who was never going to leave. Who was always going to be there for her. It was a major bummer that they probably only had a few minutes left to live, she thought.
Klaxons sounded. The hydraulics drained from the lines. The pilot fought against the controls with all his might, trying to get the ship under control. But it was no use. The Hedgehog was plummeting like a brick.
The dropship spiraled down, shaking violently. It was enough to rattle the teeth out of your skull.
“Brace for impact,” the pilot shouted.
38
New Earth
The Hedgehog plummeted down. Wind rushed through the gash in the hull. Metal creaked and groaned. Alarms blared from the cockpit. The pilot fought the controls, trying to exert some type of influence over the angle of descent.
The dropship slammed into the remains of a demolished building. Bricks and concrete blasted apart. Plumes of dust engulfed the area. Metal crumpled and twisted and squealed. The multi-layer acrylic cockpit windows fractured. The ship plowed through the rubble and ground to a flaming halt. Black smoke billowed from the craft.
The deafening roar of the crash evaporated to near silence. Hot metal popped and pinged. The flames crackled. The ship’s automated voice repeated a warning over and over again. “Critical system malfunction. Please seek immediate repair at a qualified facility.”
Presley’s vision was blurred. It took her a moment to focus. She glanced around the cabin. The air was filled with haze. The pilots were dead. Their bodies lay limp in their seats, impaled by debris through the front windshield. Blood was oozing down the console.
Presley’s eyes found Tim. “Are you okay?”
He gave a thumbs up. “Let’s do it again,” he said, his voice full of sarcasm. He was covered in dust.
Levi coughed, hacking up dust and dirt. He didn’t look injured. But the others weren’t so lucky. The six soldiers on board had either been killed in the initial blast, or during the crash.
Presley’s whole body ached. Her temples pounded. Every pulse of blood made her head throb. She reached down and unbuckled her safety harness. She stood up, and it took a few seconds to feel steady on her feet. Her back was stiff and sore.
She helped Tim out of his seat. His knees wobbled as he stood, and Presley steadied him. Tim still had his plasma pistol. Levi found his plasma rifle—it had been tossed across the cargo area. Presley stumbled to the weapons locker, and grabbed an RK 909 and some extra magazines. She also stocked up on a few thermal grenades.
The trio climbed out of the twisted wreckage. The dropship had plowed through the ruins of several buildings, leaving a groove behind it a hundred yards long. It had come to rest in what was left of the lobby of the JP Norman Clark building.
Glass crunched under their feet as they stepped out of the Hedgehog. Piles of rubble and twisted I-beams were strewn about.
“Did I mention, I hate to fly,” Levi said.
“I like flying,” Presley said. “It’s the crashing I don’t like.”
The trio scurried away from the burning wreckage. They dashed from structure to structure, hiding behind tattered walls and piles of debris. Tim hobbled along, struggling to keep up.
After several blocks of running, they stopped to catch their breath. Presley crouched down, taking cover behind a wall. The other’s joined her.
Her eyes began to fill. “We’re not going to make it out of here,” she said, defeated.
“Don’t say that.” Levi tried to put on a good front, but he was skeptical as well.
“We should get back in the subway, or the sewer,” Tim said. “If they are going to nuke this city, at least that will provide some cover.” He looked at their somber faces. “If we can survive the initial blast, we’ll have a chance. If we can get to a med facility in time, take some anti-radiation pills… who knows, we might survive.”
Presley dried her eyes and forced a smile. Her little brother wasn’t going to give up. Despite everything that had happened, he wasn’t going to wallow in his own grief. She couldn’t help but be proud of the man he was becoming. If he still had hope, then she could too.
Presley peered over a wall of rubble, looking for the nearest sewer entrance. Her eyes caught sight of the bombed out remains of the Clayton-Hubbard Hospital. Amidst the debris was a life flight transport shuttle—a Hughes & Kessler MAC 626 (Mobile Air Care). It was painted red with a white cross, and had the same chassis and engines as the Hedgehog. But instead of being fitted with armor plating and weapons, the craft was outfitted with state-of-the-art medical gear. It was a flying trauma center.
It was going to be their ticket to get off the planet—if it still worked.
Presley glanced up and down the block, looking for enemy soldiers. The street was clear, but she could hear the Decluvian’s advancing from several blocks over. She dashed across the street. Levi and Tim followed. Presley weaved through the rubble and climbed into the MAC 626.
A wall had fallen over on the vehicle, and an I-beam was laying across the top. Presley had no idea if the ship was functional. But even the civilian versions were built like tanks.
She crept to the cockpit and slipped into the pilot seat. Tim climbed into the vehicle, but Levi stood by the doors. His apprehensive eyes surveyed the dusty craft.
“Get in!” Presley yelled.
Levi hesitated. “I’d almost rather take my chances on the ground.”
“Relax. I’m a decent pilot,” Presley reassured him. She flipped a few switches and powered up the MAC 626. The displays flashed to life, and the system began its preflight checks.
“Decent? I’ve already been in one crash today. I’ve met my crash quota.”
A platoon of Decluvian’s rounded the corner, several blocks away. They opened fire on the MAC 626. Bolts of plasma streaked through the air, impacting the ship’s hull. Even though it lacked the same armor plating as the Hedgehog, the MAC was holding up. The composite metal was pitted and charred black, but the plasma projectiles didn’t puncture the hull.
Levi leapt into the craft and pulled the door shut—nothing like enemy fire to motivate you.
Presley engaged the thruster
s, and the MAC lifted off the ground. Metal screeched and squealed as debris slid from the hull.
Plasma projectiles peppered the craft.
The heavy vehicle pitched and rolled as Presley tried to get it under control. It drifted wide and the port thruster took out the wall of a neighboring building. Presley struggled against the controls and finally straightened the vehicle out. She throttled up and rocketed away, leaving the platoon in her engine wash.
Presley pulled back on the controls and climbed toward the stratosphere. The craft rumbled and shook. An alarm sounded. It took Presley a moment to figure out what it meant—a Decluvian fighter was on her tail.
39
Revenant
The LRADDS display lit up instantly as the Revenant emerged from slide-space near New Earth. Decluvian warships surrounded the planet. Swarms of fighters launched from their flight decks. In a matter of moments, the Revenant would be surrounded.
“We’re not going to be able to withstand too many direct hits,” Zoey said.
“Hopefully we won’t have to,” Slade muttered. Her voice was full of concern.
Multiple nukes streaked across the star field, blazing toward the Revenant.
The turrets of the Mark 25s swung into action, peppering the incoming threats.
“Violet, are you ready?”
“I think so, sir.” She had spent the last several hours pouring over every line of code in the virus. With any luck, she’d be able to transmit the virus and infect the Decluvian warships.
“Start transmitting,” Slade commanded.
“Aye, sir.” Violet sent the virus across all frequencies. It was like sneezing on someone when you had the flu.
“How long will this take to be effective?” Slade asked.
“Once it breaks through the firewall, it should propagate through the system relatively quickly.”
