Four tanks burned on the desolate airfield behind, Morgon rockets having claimed the first Trevakian victims, burning and scorched crew members tumbling from smouldering hatches as combat medics lunged forward between the advancing marines. Wounded enemy soldiers were despatched mercilessly amongst the forward trenches, grenades tossed into crumpled dugouts or muzzles thrust into melted and burnt armour, the laser fire at close range severing heads and tearing through torsos, the grey snow below soaked in blood.
As the forward tanks and armoured quads surged into the obliterated village, rear doors creaked and swung open, red and blue laser flashes filling the ember filled churning air as fires burned out of control on either side, hardly a building left standing. The marines surged out across the hamlet, cutting down any Morgons too slow in retreat, engineers with accompanying body guards manhandling heavy equipment on sledges along the rubble filled streets, the new mechanisms deposited in targeted positions as marines lowered to protect the devices.
The heavy machines slowly opened, electronics surging in power as additional energy packs were attached, intense lights surging upwards and outwards at angles as the marine visors dimmed, the infantry then moving on at crouches to form a defensive perimeter on the village outskirts, the Morgons seemingly in full disorganised retreat as they relinquished the destroyed hamlet.
Fahimian fighters swept overhead, the drone of their engines filling the terrain below as airborne mechanical droids swept after the vessels, concentrated tracers rising as lasers crackled across the crimson wings, victory lights surging across the hulls as the hoarse cheers of marines rose behind, white lights smashing into the barren and jagged terrain, splintered rocks and bodies thrown upwards as defensive positions were destroyed.
Self propelled heavy artillery rumbled up behind across the smouldering pitted airfield, the raised barrels flashing upwards as smoke was discharged from the muzzles, potent high explosive shells sweeping into the valley beyond the village as the lumbering wide monsters negotiated the field, several of their crews noticing the intense lights spiralling upwards and outwards on either side of the desolate airfield.
The Morgon commander in the far ravine was screaming and shrieking at subordinates, the desperate request for air support denied by the now virtual fortress further east, the return orders simple, ‘hold his positions or face execution’. Striding from his underground sandbagged reinforced headquarters, he stared in almost disbelief towards the rising smoke in the distance, shrieking frantic commands at his artillery officer nearby, the Morgon subordinate lunging in fear towards his raised guns and mortars, his own shrieks causing the gunner crews to tremble. Fire flashed upwards, the heavy artillery firing out towards the hamlet as surviving mortars across the valley responded as ordered, the acid and high calibre shells sweeping upwards and towards the Trevakian forces.
The shells twisted and turned in the air, beginning to fall towards the burning hamlet and airfield beyond, the Morgon commander’s frame tensing in relish, readying to issue the order to advance…to slaughter the now recognised Red Leopards, culling the sister Trevakian Empire elite unit to the Blue Leopards, a trophy he already possessed…the ultimate recognition was perhaps within his grasp.
Heavy explosions erupted in the distance, green and black smoke rising and billowing upwards into the grey miserable foreboding sky as he raised a clenched fist in excited expectation, an armoured helmet turning to await the presence of his radio operator, then the reports that would invariably invoke the order to advance…a forked tongue running across scaled lips as red helmet eyes sparkled with relish…he and his Morgon soldiers would taste warm succulent flesh before the end of the day.
Lieutenant Malikkas thrust his sweating thin body upwards, his head smashing against the overhead screen painfully as he screamed, the contorted expressions of the escaping prisoners fresh in his mind, their faces filled with fear and pain in a void darkness, briefly illuminated for his sight only, their last cries of terror echoing in his ears as their limbs were torn from their bodies by sharp snapping jaws and claws, each seeming to tauntingly demand why he had deserted them.
Dropping backwards as his insulated body shook with fright, his lips trembled as anaesthetic surged through his veins, the shadowed silhouette of a medic appearing above him as he stammered in high fever, ‘G-Get me a uniform and assault rifle…’
Adrenalin swept through his muscles, the taste of the suppressants on his lips as he fought the urge to close his dilated eyes, the medic shaking her head, ‘You are too weak…maybe in a few days…’
The pain surged back through his body, the medical bed damaged from the impact as another senior orderly tapped above on the screen frantically, his voice rising in alarm, ‘The patient will go into arrest…we have no other free beds…sedate him immediately! Nurse!’
The female orderly shook his shoulders, her face next to his jolting head as she shouted, ‘Stay calm…become strong, you can re-join the fight soon!’
Screaming filled the last remaining Blue Leopard’s ears, reality and dreams blurring as his mind withdrew into itself, flashes of gunfire mixed with the shouts of combat, mortally and pained wounded around him in the hospital merged agonisingly. His arm jerked as a syringe was abruptly thrust into it, high powered sedatives surging into his bloodstream as he shook once more, his muscles finally relaxing as the perspiring restraining female orderly began to loosen her grip, tears in her eyes as she stared down at the tanned Herrakian, her condemning voice vaguely comprehended, ‘He needs to go back to the front…he wants to die in battle, to re-join his comrades…he is lost mentally.’
Her sobs went unheard, the male orderly physically ushering her away as emergency technicians stepped forward to repair the bed, one looking down at the twitching figure, his expression grim, ‘He is tormented by the demons of those that have fallen…I saw it before on Zaxon A…the slaughterhouse. He will never come back…or he will become a soulless hero, killing many of the enemy if he is ever declared fit for combat…more likely mentally declared and sent back to an institution, he has seen too much.’
The Morgon commander stared at the rising smoke, indicating for the artillery battery to fire again as the officer approached, his black armoured helmet bowing before turning, shrieking orders to his crew, the soldiers thrusting new black shells into the breaches in response, glancing round in nervousness as a dusted armoured radio operator ran from the underground bunker, stiffening to attention before his somewhat arrogant commander.
The senior officer turned to stare at the subordinate, red piercing eyes scanning his muscled definition as a shriek rang out demanding the report, the operator bowing his head, ‘(Translation) Sir…the enemy has deployed battlefield shields…our artillery was ineffective…we will need to destroy their defensive measures before we can advance!’
The subordinate bowed his head further as the muzzles belched flame, further shells streaming towards the Trevakian shields, the commander shrieking in anger and frustration as he clenched his fists, sharpened blades emerging along his arms as he struck the operator hard in anger, the Morgon radio operator falling back into the grey snow in stunned subservience, her helmet lowering in dismay to see the deep white score and scratch marks across a prized black chest armour.
Chapter Twenty Eight: Morgon Reinforcements
Sam’s eyes flickered open, excruciating pain surging through his nerve endings, the remains of a human body twitching in agony as he gritted his teeth, tears of torment filling his eyes, the lids struggling to blink as the body struggled to rise from a brief slumber, hydraulics whirring where limbs had once been, his armoured skull turning slowly to look to either side.
Several other contorted machines lay on steel sloped beds across the seemingly shimmering room, the whimpers of others reaching his enhanced hearing, his still human chest shaking in morose defeat as he stared towards the flickering reflection opposite, a speaker above crackling as two other bodies struggled upwards, the excited voice twi
sted in salivating excitement, ‘The pain will go soon…we are nearly at our destination…your earth. You should be grateful for our eternal generosity.’
The Silakian scientist seemed to relish their pain, reading from the numerous displays before him, understanding all his subjects in numerous rooms were in chemical withdrawal, none receiving anaesthetic for their injuries and psychotic states during the lengthy travel through space. The brain patterns and scans had indicated many had suffered from delusions and hallucinations as the mild sedatives had seeped through their cabins, his morbid and deeply psychopathic study of their behaviour exciting him as he had meddled with the sedations, sometimes depriving the elite soldiers of sleep altogether and on other occasions forcing their tired and battered bodies into fitful slumber for lengthy periods. The warped human doctor had sometimes adjusted the tension of their armour, embracing further pain as individuals screamed and shook in agony afterwards, his small staff of rubber gowned jailers torturing their subjects for sport, reporting back to the merciless disinterested Morgon masters on efficiency savings of sleeping gas and chemical additions, explaining this would make the soldiers far more vicious in battle.
Consoling his twisted mind that he was punishing the contorted slaves for the lack of fighting on Zaxon B that was beyond their control, he had increased steroids and electrical charges through their muscles and frames in only the last few days, building the bodies up once more for an oncoming war of annihilation. He was convinced this time they would serve their new masters, tearing human soldiers to pieces on the battlefield with their enhanced armoured strength…a bloodbath he was longing to see through the body cameras of over one thousand enhanced nightmare troops of the Black Death Battalion, the spectacle able to be viewed from the safety of the orbiting station of death, the orbiting Black Star.
The large vessel was slowing, beginning to adopt a high orbit above earth, the vast lower circular section still spinning as it countered and adapted to the stressed environment of a new solar system, the immense ship’s computers deciphering and scanning the battle of extermination below. A request was immediately sent for several differing human victims to be transported as delicacies for the ravenous crew and new soldiers…they wished to determine which meat was the most suitable for consumption amongst their armoured soldiers, experimentation on the human subjects and an investigation of cloning to follow…a potential glory and prestige to be gained in locating the most suitable food for cloning and cultivation back on the Morgon home and conquered worlds.
The Silakian ‘scientists’ had been briefed only once, informed to have the Black Death Battalion ready for combat upon reaching earth…the Morgons needed soldiers for further brutal expansion and to finally conquer the Trevakians…no matter where these combatants came from. Only the Morgon overall commander knew the full details, his Silakian scientists, mentally contorted by radiation and psychological experimentation had been busy around the clock, the torment of the super soldiers only providing a side motivation to their perversions. They had been fully engaged on an even more gruesome project, something to be yet unleashed…human flesh to be the ultimate target…something yet to be revealed.
Alongside the ‘Death Station’, a Morgon Decimator Warship had slowed and then gradually halted to offer protection, the warship orbiting opposite expected to assume a similar orbit, initial communication challenges expected.
On the planet’s surface below, hundreds of dropships and fighters arrived from the warships, depositing supplies, further resources prepared to be also despatched from the Black Star, supplies and fresh troops landing across the globe as the Morgons readied to attack at will…to destroy and liquidate the resistance of billions of terrified people as soon as possible, then return to a war of attrition several galaxies away.
The shattered blue planet below would be brutally colonised for mineral and meat resources…many of which would come from the surviving defeated and enslaved populace.
The Morgon commanders were also under pressure to achieve the ultimate result…and quickly.
Chapter Twenty Nine: Viper Onslaught
Flight Officer Anjara stiffened uneasily in his cockpit, the cushioned suit attempting to quell the pain it sensed through his frame, potent anaesthetic seeping through his pores as his muscles and body ached irritatingly, his mind conflicted as if faced with continuous itching he could not scratch. His senses spiralled as the agony continually surged through him, the points of tension and muscle spasms only countered after the reinforced suit located the next area of dull rising strain.
Staring upwards through the reinforced clear resin above, his chest filled with longing, warm emotions surging through him as distant stars sparkled above, the intense void blackness of space always seeming to merge with his inner psyche, taunting him as if a mischievous lover, the tinges of adrenalin twitching in his stomach and limbs. Pushing himself painfully upwards, he looked down, the flickering outline of the silver craft emblazoned with a snake’s face about to strike, fangs extended outwards, the vision below stealing his breath away as he saw the deep blue planet outline ahead, clouds and the outlines of continents barely visible along with grey lower formations, the dust clouds from the planet’s obvious sustained damage and human pain invoking gritted teeth and determination.
Glancing across the flight instruments as he winced, an irritated smile gradually formed across his face, one of the small screens displaying the outline of an enhanced and highly powered fighter, the working networks flashing, the image to indicate possible damage or recommend diversions of power. The considerable journey from Zaxon B had provided adequate time for the small fleet of newly designated Viper vessels to be upgraded, all now equipped with the latest laser guns, newly designed torpedoes and nose cannon along with a powerful cloaking device and enhanced engine power.
The sleek craft swept forward in cloaked formation, newly upgraded engines humming in unison as Anjara glanced round, only glimpsing slight distortion in the dark space, the other fighter’s invisible to his sight as the nine other vessels surged towards the enormous Morgon warship ahead. Flicking a hand across the controls before him, he shuffled uncomfortably in the combat seat, feeling heat emitted from the padded resin behind to sooth his aching posterior and back, the covert communications channel opening as lights flashed, a warning with reducing timer indicating the short time he had to speak before the frequency was automatically readjusted to ensure continued concealment.
Clearing his throat as he winced once more, he felt the adrenalin levels beginning to surge through his frame as before, an old familiar excitement gradually returning, his breath becoming shallower as he spoke determinedly, ‘We uncloak just before the enemy vessel…strafe the target coordinates and then spiral downwards, readying to meet the Morgon craft that will surely respond. Stay with our predetermined coordinates…other vessels will be firing as we attack…deviate and we die!’
He glanced at the displays below, seeing the on-board reconnaissance computer report several smaller craft were leaving the target vessel, the flickering description denoting drop ships with several life signs aboard, his lips tensing in pain and rising excitement…combined with an old and familiar engulfing emotion, resolute hatred, ‘Complete the run and then close on their transports…blast them from space, every single one! Once they know Vipers are near, we will become very busy…we sweep into the lower atmosphere, keep going and let the following Fahimians destroy our tails…chase down and destroy every enemy craft you see!’
The covert comms line was cut as several clicks responded, another frequency immediately opening for a brief time, his voice deep, ‘Increase velocity…arm torpedoes…Our time is Now!’ The sleek craft swept forward, behind numerous cloaked Fahimian fighters and bombers, their pilots shrieking in gleeful excitement as displays flashed numerous colours, the distance before battle narrowing rapidly.
Space debris streams swept past Galactic Freedom, the commanding battle cruiser rapidly gaining speed as the
last few drop ships fell away from the open holds on either side, the reinforced dispersal doors slowly rising as maintenance crews slapped each other’s shoulders in relief as they stared through the shimmering green protection shield, their completed initial work rewarded with a small respite before many of the transport vessels would return for supplies and the reserve marine waves.
Behind in dark space, the last few small vessels jettisoned from the ships holds, the dispersal bay doors rising and falling as commanders tensed on their bridges, instructing fleet ensigns to increase velocity, frantic engineers and their crews on the decks below ensuring weapons were armed and any issues were immediately addressed.
The older portly admiral glanced round, one of the bridge ensigns shouting with excitement, ‘Commander! The Fahimians have requested permission to deploy the first mirror image…we are approaching ‘Empire Transition’…’ The ensign swallowed hard, immediately realising the military term for ‘point of no return’ on a large fleet and joint operations attack had not been openly declared for nearly two decades, three other shocked operators immediately rising to their feet abruptly and saluting, their uniformed frames trembling with excited energy as they realised the significance of the moment.
Then the rest of the stunned operators slowly rose upwards, collective pride swelling their frames as the admiral also pushed himself from his turned seat in rising awe, his eyes glistening as the disgruntled lead ensign smiled in defeat, rising abruptly and saluting, boots slamming together as the operators grinned. The admiral nodded, stiffening his frame as a fist rose to his chest slowly in pride, his voice strained, ‘Now we are beyond any point when we can return…this begins the last battle, we fight for humankind and defeat the enemy!’ He stiffened further, ‘Give permission to our new Fahimian friends…the fleet increases to maximum velocity. Convey the attack codes once the enemy fires on the Fahimian mirror image…’ The admiral grinned with rising excitement as his heart pounded, ‘We have new allies that have now suffered enough. Let’s attack this scum and drive them from earth’s space!’
Planet Genocide II: Galaxies Collide 5: Onslaught Page 31
