Starhawk s-1

by Mack Maloney

25

  Jubilation quickly turned to panic as word spread throughout Qez that a second xarcus was approaching.

  The defenders of the embattled city rushed to positions along the north-facing wall. From here, the view of the second xarcus was all too clear. It was about a dozen miles away and tearing up the no-man’s-land at a slow but relentless pace.

  And at first it appeared that this xarcus was spewing a thick cloud of black smoke in front of it as it made its way toward Qez. It was only after the defenders were able to get their long-range viz-scanners keyed in that they realized the awful truth: This dense “mist” was actually an army of Nakkz soldiers marching in front of the huge tank.

  There had to be at least forty thousand of them, probably more. Some were on foot, others were riding in Bolts, dozens of them, flying about five feet off the surface. The foot soldiers were heavily armed with blaster rifles and electric swords and moving steadily in loose formations across the heavily cratered battlefield.

  This xarcus was also of a slightly different, if no less dastardly design. Instead of a huge gun sticking out of its massive turret, this supertank was carrying an enormous semi-circular assembly held in place by two arms extending up on either side of the chassis. This assembly was studded with huge steel teeth so sharp, they were gleaming in the quick-moving sun.

  It was a saw — a gigantic cutting device obviously conceived as a means to slash through even the highest, thickest walls. Like those surrounding Qez.

  Once again, every person looking out at this second monster was astonished that the motley collection of pirates, mercenaries, and assorted star trash known as the Nakkz had the means and the know-how to possess not just one of these absolutely enormous machines but two!

  Had the first xarcus been a diversion? Or half of a two-prong attack? It made little difference now. This second gigantic weapon was coming right at Qez — and this time there was no magic pellet on hand to hurl at it. The only defense left would come from the depleted guns of the outnumbered Home Guards and the Freedom Brigade. And while no one doubted the gallantry of these two groups, their numbers appeared puny in face of the huge tank and its forty-thousand-man army.

  So Qez and its people had not been spared after all.

  Their fate had simply been delayed.

  The combat warning sirens began blaring throughout the city. As the Home Guards solidified their positions along the north wall, the troopers from the Freedom Brigade hurriedly loaded up what was left of their power ammo and rushed out of the city toward a massive set of trenchworks a half mile from Qez’s north gate, a position the brigade had previously designated Light Number One.

  The Freedom Brigade had two captured Bolts at their disposal. This allowed them to lug two medium-power Z-gun artillery batteries out to this forward position. These guns had a range of about ten miles; soon enough they would be able to fire on the vanguard of the approaching army. The brigades’ infantry squads dug into positions along this trench, each man setting up his own gun station complete with blaster rifle and double-barreled ray guns. A special operations team from the brigade gathered together some high-incendiary devices and began moving swiftly in the direction of the oncoming army.

  The big Z guns were put into place. Communications were established with the Home Guards back in Qez. The spirit among the mercenary group was high.

  But not one man among them, or among the home defenders inside Qez, had any illusions about what would soon take place. None of these measures would do much good. Forty thousand enemy troops were heading their way. If the Freedom Brigade’s Z guns were able to kill even a thousand of them, that alone would be miraculous. And if the Home Guards were able to duplicate this effort, that, too, would be good.

  But there was no way they were going to stop the oncoming juggernaut.

  For both the brigade and the defenders of Qez, this would be their last stand.

  The enemy was now about ten miles away.

  Already the massive size of the xarcus was beginning to blot out the midday sun. The huge saw was slowly lifted high above the turret and began turning slowly. This thing was so massive, it would take some time for it to run up to full speed. Still, the noise made by its gigantic teeth began tearing across the smoky battlefield. It began as a low-pitched cry but quickly built up to a frightening high-pitched wail.

  On a signal from their officers, the Freedom Brigade soldiers began blasting away in the direction of the onslaught. Even though they were still out of range, the columns of flames caused by each Z bolt kicked up huge amounts of dirt and debris, turning most of it into microscopic subatomic dust.

  Still the huge army kept coming.

  Now Z-gun fire started up from the walls of Qez itself. Again, most of it fell about half a mile short of the advancing army, but at the very least, it let the enemy know they would be making it as difficult as possible to overrun their city. Like the blasts coming from the Freedom Brigade’s position, this blaster fire kicked up enormous amounts of fire and dirt, igniting just about anything in its path. Soon a wall of flame was burning about nine miles out from the city — it temporarily blocked the view of the advancing enemy from the defenders. But then, after just a minute or so, several enemy Bolts popped through the fiery wall. They were followed by the advance guard of the foot soldiers; their bright green battlesuits apparently gave them adequate protection against the inferno.

  Indeed, the enemy soldiers appeared to be walking right through the flames.

  A gust of apprehension swept across the devastated plains now, blowing right over the heads of the dug-in Freedom Brigade and through the walls of Qez. The first Bolts were now but seven miles away from the brigade’s trench lines. Already their massive nose guns were letting loose enormous bursts of X-beam rays. These were so powerful, they actually flew over the mercenary lines and landed in the area behind the brigade and just before the walls of Qez.

  The brigade let go another volley from their Z guns. Again a wall of fire was thrown up right on top of the lead elements of the advancing army. And this time the Z blasts found some marks — many soldiers in the first line of Nakkz went up in the distinctive blue flame of a direct Z-gun hit.

  But still they kept coming. Those watching the action through their viz-sensors were appalled at the lack of camaraderie being shown by the enemy soldiers for their fallen comrades. Though a Z-gun blast usually resulted in the quick disintegration of its victims, some not hit directly could be severely wounded.

  Yet the advancing army was marching right over these fallen souls, and in some cases pushing them farther down into the soft and bloody mud.

  And this is where most of them would stay, mangled and dying until the gigantic xarcus came along and finished the job.

  The advance units of the enemy were now within four miles of the brigade’s battle line.

  The vanguard was being led by a dozen Bolts, their nose guns firing massive X beams more or less indiscriminately across the wide arc of the battlefield.

  Behind them were the survivors of the enemy’s first wave, probably two thousand men in all. Between them was a small river, appropriately nicknamed Bloody Water by the defending troops. This river was barely flowing these days, clogged with the detritus of war — machines, expended weapons, bones. What had once been a twenty-two-foot-wide ribbon of sparkling water was now not much more than a ditch with a trickle running through it.

  It was an important place nevertheless.

  A five-man team of brigade sappers had stolen their way up to the stream and were planting Z charges in its shallow, putrid water. At this distance, the sound of the huge saw atop the xarcus’s turret was loud enough to cause the ears of these men to bleed. Still they went about their mission, setting down more than a hundred charge packs in all before quickly heading back toward their fragile lines.

  Just moments later, the first wave of Bolts reached the opposite side of the bloody river’s bank. Seeing this through his long-range viz, the brigade’s gunnery o
fficer gave his left-side artillery battery a signal.

  This gun opened up with one long, well-placed Z-beam blast. The bolt of artificial lightning tore across the battlefield and hit one of the Z charges placed in the river.

  The charge went up — along with fifty pounds of extremely high-explosive superhelium gas. The result was an explosion equal in brightness to a ton of magnesium going off. The first blast detonated the dozens of other Z charges lining the river; the chain reaction brought yet another wall of white-hot flame down upon the lead elements of the advancing army.

  A dozen Bolts were vaporized immediately, along with their crews. Several more were caught in the updraft of the inferno; they went screeching straight up into the smoky air, exploding in unison some five hundred feet above the river of fire.

  Now the first of the ground troops stumbled into the river itself. These men were immolated by the hundreds; some were falling directly into the fire, others were running in fear, completely engulfed, touching off their comrades’ battlesuits with super-white-hot flames. Two more Bolts were disintegrated.

  An ammunition supply went up somewhere. Enemy soldiers by the thousands were marching blindly into the mi-croholocaust.

  The sheer number of dead finally extinguished the flames on Bloody Water. In all the tactic had killed more than a thousand of the enemy. But it had held him up barely five minutes, no more.

  The gruesome advance continued.

  The brigade’s strategy now was grimly simple: Start firing on the enemy troops as soon as they got within range, and keep firing until the power ammo ran out. After that, hand-to-hand fighting would undoubtedly ensue, but no one expected that to last very long. The second xarcus would arrive shortly after the thousands of enemy troops hit the defenders’ lines.

  After that, it would be only a matter of time before the real slaughter began.

  The enemy was soon just three miles from the brigade’s lines. The xarcus was about three miles behind them.

  The ground was shaking now beneath the mercenaries’ boots — with every foot it traveled the xarcus sent out a tremor powerful enough to cause the walls of Qez to sway.

  The brigade now brought every weapon it had forward. They were strung out along a main trench about two thousand feet long, again very close to the point they had christened Light Number One. The xarcus was heading directly toward the center of this line — with the main wall of Qez just half a mile beyond.

  The huge saw was now moving at near-supersonic speed. It sounded much louder than the worst thunderstorms to sweep the tiny moon. The reverberations of blasters going off, explosions coming from the incendiary shells being fired from the walls of Qez, the howls coming from thousands of advancing Nakkz soldiers. These were things nightmares were made of. Real-life nightmares.

  The Freedom Brigade had faced dire circumstances before, but none compared to this. There was no panic — no letting up of fire at all. But most of the mercenaries had come to accept this as the end. All that was left was to go down fighting.

  “We must hope that future generations will speak well of what we do here!” one officer yelled up and down the trench, “and not forget that we made our last stand here.”

  The enemy was now just two miles away. There was one last communication between the front line and the defenders inside Qez. The Home Guards realized that the brigade was gallantly providing them with a few more minutes of life — just enough to make peace with themselves before the bloodthirsty army and giant tank crushed their ancient city.

  It was the most valiant of gestures imaginable.

  “Be proud, brothers, for lives well led,” one Home Guard officer communicated out to the mercenaries’ line. “The freedom-loving people of Qez thank you.”

  The enemy was now just a mile away.

  It was getting more difficult to see the brigade’s lines from the ramparts of Qez. The smoke and dust kicked up from the approach of the huge army was obscuring the visibility more than any storm that had ever swept the tiny moon. Pervasive above it all was the now supersonic screeching of the gigantic saw, priming itself to cut through the battlements of the walled city.

  More than four thousand Home Guard soldiers were lined along the top of this vast wall or at firing stations built into its midsection. Even with the constant roar of Z guns and fire shells going off and the sound of the gigantic saw blade, the Home Guard soldiers still could hear the wails coming from the thousands of citizens — women, elderly, children — huddled in the basements of the buildings deep in the center of Qez.

  The men on the wall delivered as much fire as they could, aiming over the heads of the valiant mercenaries and cutting deep into the enemy ranks. The fire shells were particularly effective on the approaching troops, but their explosions were so intense, and the debris they caused so thick, they further obscured the battlefield.

  The Home Guards still could see the flashes of the brigade’s Z-gun muzzles. And now fierce hand-to-hand fighting was taking place. Flashes of light could be seen reflecting off the electric swords of the mercenaries.

  “They are displaying their colors!” someone up on the wall yelled. Sure enough, the brigade’s multicolored flag could now be seen flying above their position. Everyone knew this was the unit’s traditional signal that the end was near.

  The Home Guard’s commanding officer, the man named Poolinex, was himself on the north wall, watching the grim events unfold.

  His wife and children were back with the rest of the civilians, cowering in a basement somewhere, just as afraid of dying without him as he was without them.

  He looked out beyond the battlefield, off to the far horizon. The moon was so small, the joke used to go, that if you looked hard enough in one direction, you would see the back of your own head.

  “We are so tiny,” Poolinex whispered. “And we are at the last end of the Galaxy. Why would anyone want to destroy us?”

  He felt a tug on his arm. He turned to see three young soldiers, one holding the flag of Qez. There were tears in their eyes.

  “Shall we run up our own colors, commander?” one of the soldiers asked.

  Poolinex looked back on the battlefield — the enemy was less than a mile away and had apparently overrun the Freedom Brigade’s lines with ease.

  He finally nodded. It was time for them to face their Maker, too.

  “Yes,” he said, “run it up the pole — for we have lost.”

  But then, suddenly a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky.

  It went right over the walled fortress, lighting up the dense and smoky battlefield. The crack it made was so loud, the crumbling walls of Qez shook yet again.

  No sooner had this happened than a sheet of flame shot up from a point on the battlefield just in front of the brigade’s line. Gigantic bolts of Z beams cut through the thick smoke billowing above the intense fighting, and a series of massive explosions walked right up to the vanguard of the enemy force, disintegrating them by the hundreds. The noise from these Z-beam blasts was deafening — yet none of them was coming from the walls of Qez.

  That’s when everyone realized that an aircraft of some kind was tearing through the air above the battlefield, firing a Z-beam cannon, and dropping high-explosive incendiary devices at the same time.

  What madness was this?

  On a world where nothing flew more than twenty feet off the ground, or any faster than five miles an hour, this airborne hellion was a frightening thing to behold. It was moving so fast and turning so sharply, soldiers on both sides stopped firing to stare up at it. The aircraft was sleek, sharp, all crazy angles with a brilliant color scheme. Its nose was lit up brilliantly — even in the confusion, the Home Guard soldiers could see six separate beams shooting out from the snout of this strange craft. It was traveling so fast it would have been impossible for the Nakkz troops to take a shot at it, never mind hit it.

  And there was no question about whose side it was on — the Home Guard soldiers on the wall could see that the e
nemy advance had been suddenly stopped dead in its tracks. Some of the Nakkz were even retreating — quickly — back to their main lines, leaving dozens of dead and wounded comrades in their path.

  Still the strange aircraft kept firing, killing many of the retreating soldiers and frightening those it spared.

  And it was only by a fluke of the wind that, as this flying machine went over the brigade’s line yet again, those behind the walls of Qez got a quick, clear look at it.

  That’s when they realized that the flying machine was painted red, white, and blue.

  At the precise moment this was happening, another strange thing was occurring, in Qez’s main square.

  This part of the city was a study in chaos at the moment — soldiers either running to firing positions on the wall, or laying wounded beneath it. Gigantic Z-beam blasts were flying overhead. The noise and confusion were incredible.

  In the middle of all this, two spacemen suddenly popped in.

  They appeared right next to the now-discarded catapult. They were carrying two halves of a hollow cylinder with them. Even in the middle of the turmoil, a number of Home Guard soldiers stopped dead in their tracks when the two figures unexpectedly materialized.

  One of the spacemen grabbed the soldier nearest to him and bellowed: “Go get your commanding officer… now!” He was sent off with a hearty shove.

  Then the other spaceman grabbed a second soldier and yelled: “Get twenty more guys and help us turn this thing around!”

  But the soldiers just stood frozen in shock. Zazu-Zazu was a tiny moon at the very end of the Galaxy — the outer fringe of the Outer Fringe. People didn’t just pop in here. Yet here were these two men, with bald heads and very long mustaches, wearing incredibly elaborate battlesuits, scars on their faces and tattoos on the arms, issuing orders as if they owned the place.

  No one moved for a long moment. Then, seeing only blank faces staring back at them, the two spacemen started moving the huge catapult themselves.

  By this time a senior Home Guard officer arrived on the scene. He was fresh from the battle on the wall and he looked it. He, too, skidded to a stop as soon as he saw the two strange men.