Dawn of the Mad

by Brandon Huckabay

  The initial salvo hit The Emperor’s Fist hard, head-on. The massive, aging battle barge was most heavily armored in the front; it buckled under the impact but held together. Several computer banks emitted electrical sparks, and a few crew members were tossed to the deck. Immediately, alarm klaxons resonated throughout the ship. The helmsman turned the battle barge to starboard, exposing its deadly banks of laser batteries. Once the maneuver was complete, the admiral gave the order: “Fire!”

  The gunnery control officer immediately relayed the order, and gunnery crews stationed on various parts of the ship let loose with salvos, striking the enemy warship in several places. The enemy ship lurched to its port side and dived in a feeble attempt to escape the laser batteries. The gravitational waves from pulse space began to dissipate slowly, giving The Emperor’s Fist more room to maneuver. It increased its speed and completed its turn to port to expose its intact complement of broadside batteries.

  “Prep all weapons for concentrated fire on my command,” Admiral Raus ordered.

  The massive ships drifted closer and closer, starboard side facing port side. The enemy warship opened up with another volley. Again The Emperor’s Fist took several direct hits under the laser onslaught. Sections of armored hull broke free from the battle barge and floated off into space. The exposed sections began leaking precious atmosphere. Damage report alarms went off throughout the ship, sending crew members scurrying around to terminals, trying to get assessments from affected parts of the ship. Concussion booms reverberated throughout the ship.

  “Damage report,” Admiral Raus requested calmly. He stroked his chin, seemingly oblivious to the damage to the bridge and to the medics assisting wounded crew members.

  “A concentrated fire, sir,” an ensign reported. “They have created a hull breach on decks nine through eleven. They are trying to target the pulse core.”

  “Seal decks and return fire. All fire containment teams should be deployed.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The Emperor’s Fist groaned and creaked under the damage strain on its ancient hull, but it complied. The helmsman carefully monitored the crewman who was responsible for maneuvering the ship manually, now that it no longer was in pulse space.

  The two behemoths were now directly side by side, the gap between them growing ever smaller. The Emperor’s Fist loosed another tremendous, concentrated salvo. Anti-ship missiles streaked from its launch tubes as complementing volleys of multicolored laser fire ripped through the enemy warship’s hull, sending even more fragments floating off into space, adding to the increasingly dense debris field around the two ships. Long, thin trails of the coolant for the massive engines of the attacking ship leaked into space, signifying the end. Within moments, the enemy ship lost all thrust capability and was dead in space.

  “Ensign,” Admiral Raus ordered, “load boarding hooks, prepare for boarding assault.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The ensign activated a serious of switches and began shouting orders into a microphone built into his control console.

  Admiral Raus turned his chair to face Colonel Chuikova, who was standing by the blast door to the bridge.

  “Colonel, if you will take command of the boarding party, I would appreciate your help.”

  “Of course.” The colonel saluted and disappeared out of the bridge. He quickened his pace to the crew quarters, where he encountered Corporal Scotts, Captain Cruwell, and Roman.

  “We’re going to board the warship,” he told them. “Let’s move out.” Without a word, Cruwell and Scotts each grabbed his EMR and magazine bandoliers, which they had retrieved from the ship’s armory earlier. Roman got up to follow, but the colonel stopped him.

  “This is not your fight, Johnny.”

  “Like hell it’s not! I came with you, and wherever you go, I go.” Roman was still carrying his shotgun, the hand cannon was stuffed down the front of his pants.

  The colonel looked him over and nodded. “Fine. Stay with Cruwell and Scotts, and do as they say.”

  A loud crash sounded, and a concussion knocked everyone off balance. The ship listed to the starboard side. After a few seconds, it stabilized, and people regained their footing. The colonel headed out into the corridor, which was starting to fill with armed crew members, security personnel, and two squads of heavily armed Marines in battle armor.

  “Follow me!” he commanded.

  “This is Star Admiral Raus, Commander of the UCP warship The Emperor’s Fist,” the admiral broadcasted over several common radio frequencies. “Surrender your vessel and prepare to be boarded.”

  The panoramic window on the bridge turned partially into a video transmission screen, on which the enemy warship’s commander appeared. His bridge apparently had taken a direct hit. Several crew members lay dead or dying in the background. Electrical conduits dangled from the ceiling, sending sparks showering onto the floor.

  “Raus. Old friend, we meet again.” The opposing commander’s voice was hoarse, and blood streaked his worn face. He stood straight and brushed off his uniform.

  “Admiral Horth,” Raus replied. “A valiant attack, but it has failed. We are preparing to board. You have sustained much damage. Surrender and we will treat you as prisoners of war accordingly.”

  Admiral Horth nodded wearily, his face clearly showing signs of defeat. He glanced behind him at the carnage unfolding. He turned back around and faced the screen.

  “Yes, we have sustained major damage, but the honor of dying in battle will be achieved. I am going down with my ship. This war will end for me today. I pray it ends soon for you, my friend. Surrender is not an option, as I know you are well aware.”

  Raus nodded slowly in understanding. He switched off the video feed. The screen reverted to the view of the enemy warship precariously attached to The Emperor’s Fist by many harpoon cables. Raus slumped back into his chair, longing for home.

  “This brings back memories,” Cruwell said as he watched the cutting team breach the airlock of the enemy ship from the umbilical. When the circle was completed, the massive airlock door crashed into its ship with a deafening roar. The cutting teams and the soldiers behind it braced for an attack from the other side, but no resistance was forthcoming. The boarders could see that the enemy warship was full of internal fires and rapidly filling with smoke. Screams of the wounded reverberated throughout the main corridor.

  The colonel turned and faced his complement of heavily armed marines. “Make way to the bridge before this ship breaks up. The ship’s engine core has been damaged, and we do not have much time. Look for intel and the ship’s commander.”

  The marine leader nodded and moved into the warship. Roman stepped into the breach and looked around in awe.

  “Damned Star Wars battle. This is crazy.”

  Scotts followed him in, powering up his pulse rifle.

  “Keep on your guard,” Scotts warned.

  Cruwell brought up the rear of their little group, as they followed the Marines toward the bridge. They occasionally encountered small arms fire, but it was quickly suppressed. The warship’s crew were quickly taken prisoner and sent to the rear without their weapons. Many simply walked toward the boarders with arms raised in surrender, sensing the futility of prolonging the battle. Crew members from The Emperor’s Fist helped the wounded evacuate the doomed ship, protected by the ship’s security detachment. Within minutes, resistance had ceased altogether. The loudest sounds were occasional sparks of electricity and the constant drone of the alarm klaxons.

  The colonel and his men reached the bridge. Its massive blast doors were open, revealing many dead. Admiral Horth was slumped in his chair; a pistol had fallen onto the floor from his outstretched hand. A thin trickle of crimson ran down his face from a single hole in his temple. The colonel closed Horth’s eyes.

  “Scotts,” he ordered, “uplink the main computer to The Emperor’s Fist. Once you have initiated the upload, we will fall back.”

  Scotts nodded and set to w
ork. Roman and a few Marines roamed the bridge, checking for survivors. Upon seeing none, they waited for Scotts to finish. Cruwell watched the main corridor for any signs of resistance. Roman knelt down besides a dead female lying prone on the grated floor. He retrieved her sidearm from its holster and eyed the elongated silver weapon with curiosity.

  Ray gun.

  “Got it!” Scotts said from the terminal where he was working. He got up and headed toward the door. The colonel looked around one last time and double-timed down the corridor back toward The Emperor’s Fist behind his men. He activated his wrist comlink and spoke. “Admiral, we are returning. Only light resistance encountered. Prisoners and wounded being brought on board.”

  “Understood. Make haste. The enemy ship is beginning to break apart. We must break contact as soon as your party is back on board.”

  The colonel stood together on the bridge with Admiral Raus and watched as the massive grappling hooks and the boarding umbilicals from The Emperor’s Fist were disengaged from the enemy warship. The distance between the two ships increased, and Raus gave the final order.

  “Open fire.”

  The Emperor’s Fist opened with a last concentrated salvo from its laser batteries and missile tubes, targeting the rear of the ship, which contained its volatile power source. Within moments, the enemy ship erupted into a huge ball of fire and debris.

  Raus slumped back into his chair. “Helm, set course for Hellenheim,” he ordered. “Full power.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The mighty engines of The Emperor’s Fist roared to life, and the massive battle barge headed for home.

  CHAPTER 30

  “This is truly impressive,” Roman said as he stared out the view port of his quarters. Corporal Scotts, standing next to him holding a small cup of water, nodded his head. “I’ve imagined such things, but I never thought they could be reality, at least not for a few centuries. I thought the space shuttle was cool. But this …”

  The Emperor’s Fist had entered friendly territory, and the industrial planet Hellenheim laid below them. Hundreds of small space faring craft, some merchant, some navy, surrounded the planet like bees surrounding their hive. The planet was dull gray and seemed to be covered almost entirely by a thick black cloud cover.

  “Do you have oceans here?” Roman asked.

  “No,” replied Scotts. He continued, “Water is brought from off world, and because of the war, it is strictly rationed. There are water-bearing planets in our empire, but the oceans are very dangerous places.”

  Roman continued to take it all in. “It’s just so dark and gray.”

  Scotts nodded. “It’s our industry. Since the early days of the war, almost all of the factories are producing arms and equipment, as quickly as possible, and with the best resources devoted to production for the war. Our shipyards are here also, but they no longer produce commercial vessels, only warships. We had to resort to archaic forms of energy such as coal for basic necessities.” Scotts sighed heavily before continuing. “We’re running out of resources. If we don’t find a solution soon, the situation could get a lot worse.”

  Roman took a step back and sat down on the edge of the metal bed. “Maybe I should have stayed home,” he mused. “It seems like I traded one hell for another. At least I wasn’t facing extinction back on Earth.”

  “There is a bright spot, in that the enemy is in the same predicament. The war has been equally hard on them. There have been rumors of peace negotiations.”

  The two were interrupted by the flash of the video screen mounted by the view port. The image of Captain Cruwell took form.

  “You two come down to the hangar bay. We’re taking a shuttle down to meet the marshal. That means your dress blues, Scotts,” Cruwell said.

  “Damn! I hate that uniform,” Scotts protested.

  “Deal with it.” Cruwell looked like he was about to sign off, but he resumed. “Roman, you’re going to have to wear one of our uniforms. I hope you don’t mind. You will be meeting our top military commander, and your clothes are, well …”

  “Well, what?” Roman looked down at his crusty Levi’s. His brown leather jacket had developed some kind of odor he couldn’t identify, and his T-shirt had several blood stains on it.

  “Your appearance is unacceptable. Also, if you wouldn’t mind taking a shower, that would be good.”

  “OK. What do I do with Morris?”

  “What?”

  “My cat.”

  Cruwell thought for a moment. “Right, that furry thing you have. I am getting you temporary quarters at the training academy. We will take you there first to get settled in, and you can drop your cat there.”

  Cruwell lastly turned and faced Scotts through the video monitor. “Don’t be late, Corporal.”

  Scotts came to attention and saluted the video monitor as it powered off. “Well, that’s that,” he said. “I wonder if we’ll meet the supreme chancellor himself.”

  “Who is he? Your leader?”

  “Yes, he’s our leader, although he’s only a shell of the man he once was, say twenty years ago. The war was his idea. Our planet was overpopulated, and the only way to relieve the pressure was to seize surrounding worlds.” Scotts strode over to the food dispenser and programmed a request for another glass of water. “Our war is actually a civil war. Technically, we were part of the same empire many millennia ago. I guess eventually somebody just gets too ambitious, and not everyone can get along any more. Peace doesn’t last too long around here.”

  “I know about civil war,” Roman said. We had one where I am from.”

  Scotts walked over to the view port and looked out toward his planet, slowly sipping the water. “I forget how the war started, to be honest. But we all followed the chancellor and still do … well, most of us anyway. Our empire has begun to fall into ruin. What was promised to last only a year or two has dragged on for twenty more.” He drank the last of the water and set the glass down on a nearby metal table. “Perhaps it will end soon.”

  Roman stared at him in silence. Scotts stood motionless for a moment, absorbed in his own thoughts. Turning to Roman, he flashed his smile and said, “Get your cat. Not all is bad on our planet. After this little meeting, I’ll take you to my favorite club. They have the best spirits in town!”

  Roman scooped up Morris, who was lazily resting on the bed. Scotts put his arm around Roman, and the two exited the room, heading toward the hangar bay to board the shuttle that would take them to Luriana, Hellenheim’s capital city.

  CHAPTER 31

  “I hate this damn thing,” Scotts said as he pulled the high collar of his seldom-used dress uniform away from his neck. “And these damn pants are too stiff.” Gold stripes ran down the sides of his pants, and his rank was displayed on both sleeves of his tunic. His left shoulder displayed the infantry patch of the United Consortium of Planets ground forces, and he also wore the silver winged insignia indicating his status as a pilot, although he was primarily an infantry grunt now.

  “Corporal, shut up.” Sergeant Matthias sipped from a glass filled with a bright green liquid, holding a cigar in his other hand. His right arm was in a clear sling that suspended his healing arm. He was doing much better, albeit still very sore. Like Scotts and the others, he wore his dark blue dress uniform. Medals from various campaigns decorated the jacket, rivaling those of Colonel Chuikova. Captain Cruwell and the colonel stood just outside the oaken doors that led into the office of Marshal Von Jesonik, with Matthias, and Scotts close behind them. The colonel casually smoked a cigar, pausing every few seconds to look at it and inhale the smoke. He was the only one wearing battle armor, as he often did, just in case he were to be called away at a moment’s notice. Roman stood by himself, looking out through the window over the industrial landscape. The dominance of the grey buildings in the landscape shocked him. Most were devoid of any architectural significance, just plain, block buildings. Scotts had explained that the society was now based on functionality, as opposed to ae
sthetic beauty. Some buildings, such as those of the national university, remained worth visiting, and Roman made a mental note to take a tour whenever he got settled in.

  Everything that had happened to him since leaving Earth had been something straight out of a science fiction book. His situation reminded him of old Doctor Who episodes he used to sneak downstairs to watch late at night on public access television while his parents slept upstairs. Regardless of the outcome, he was happy to be on this adventure; it truly was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He raised a glass filled with bright green liquid to his lips and let the smooth contents run down the back of his throat. Ernst, Von Jesonik’s attendant, had said the strange brew was called Torol, for its origins on the jungle planet Torol, and that it was the finest ale he had to offer. Both the planet and the drink were said to be named for an ancient explorer who had charted many of the worlds that made up what once was all of the United Consortium of Planets. The drink’s main ingredient was derived from a toxic plant. Whatever it was, Roman already felt a heavy buzz coming on, and he was only on his third sip.

  The massive doors opened suddenly. Ernst stepped out in traditional robes, with golden symbols embroidered on the sleeves.

  “Please, come in. The marshal will receive you now.” Ernst bowed deeply as the men filed past him into the grand office. Roman set his glass down on a table before going through the doors, and he straightened the blue dress uniform issued to him from the training academy supply room. It briefly brought back memories of his time served in the Army back home.

  “Gentlemen! Please come in.” Marshal Von Jesonik stepped out from behind his desk and shook everyone’s hand, pausing after shaking Roman’s. “You must be Mr. Roman. It is an honor to meet you. I hope we can make your stay as comfortable as possible.”

  “Thank you,” Roman replied humbly.