Battle Cry

by Jack McKinney

  Khyron signed off. Exedore continued to plead the case against using him, but Breetai was already looking forward to the plan. The prospect of a trap excited him. Furthermore, real sport required the unexpected, and in this contest for Zor's ship and the precious cargo it held, Khyron would play the Zentraedi's wild card.

  Two Battlepods were right on his tail, pouring fire into the mecha. Rick

  didn't need gauges to feel the lock of those lasers; they might as well have been burning into his skull. He opened up the gap somewhat by hitting his afterburners, then tacked toward relative-twelve and waited for the pods to split up. He knew they'd attempt to pinch him, but he had plans of his own.

  Rick took his mind off the pod below him. He had number one haloed in his rear sights. Firing the forward retros to cut his velocity, he loosed a cluster of heatseekers. The missiles tore from beneath the right wing of the mecha and accelerated into a vertical climb, homing in on the enemy ship. Rick used the port thrusters to angle himself free of the debris and risked a brief look up and over his shoulder. The rockets caught the Battlepod in the belly, blowing off both legs and cracking the spherical hull.

  Scratch one.

  Number two was still below him, trying to roast the underside of Rick's mecha with continuous heat. A little more of this and he'd be cooked. Lateral swings were getting him nowhere, so he thought the fighter into a rapid dive, rolling over-as he fell. The enemy lasers were now tickling the back of the Veritech, and Rick had to act fast: He returned fire with is own top-mounted guns, training them on the hinge straps of the pod's chestplate.

  The enemy pilot understood Rick's move and arced his guns toward the more vulnerable cockpit of the mecha. But he was too late; the hinges of the chestplate slagged out, and the pod opened up like a newly hatched egg. Rick caught a glimpse of the giant flailing around in his cockpit before he completed his roll and engaged the boosters.

  Scratch two.

  He was headed away from the fortress now. The scene before him had to have been lifted from some nightmare: Space was alive with swarms of Battlepods...photon beams laced through the blackness, and silent explosions brought the colors of death and destruction to an indifferent universe.

  For three days now the pods had pressed their attack. There had been little sleep for the Robotech forces, even less for the SDF-1 flight crews.

  After the Daedalus Maneuver and their success in the rings of Saturn, there was some hope that the enemy had for once suffered a setback. And for almost a month, while the fortress crossed the Jovian orbit and the asteroid belt, there were no attacks. But that period of calm was behind them.

  Captain Gloval and Dr. Lang had reversed the modular transformation and disassembled the pin-point barrier system in an attempt to arm the main gun once again, but their efforts had proved futile. For the rest, the still slightly shell-shocked masses of displaced persons of Macross city, catapulted like himself from the southern Pacific to the icy regions of deep space, there was nothing to do but adjust to the reality of the situation, continue to rebuild lives and the city itself. Every now and again, they could marvel at the wonders of space travel, the stark and silent beauty of it, and forget for a moment that they were not tourists out here but unwilling players in a nonstop game of death, pursued by the seemingly limitless forces of a race of giant warrior beings who had dropped out of the skies and turned the world upside down.

  Only a month before, Rick had been face to face with one of those titans in an air lock on one of the alien ships. He recalled staring out of the cockpit of the transformed Veritech at the giant, who at first had openly feared him, then cursed and ridiculed him for not having the will to blast him away. The laughter of that alien still rang in his ears, followed by his guilt and confusion.

  But most of all the memory of the giant's fiery death. How could one ever forget?

  Two Battlepods were suddenly behind him, looking for laser lock. Rick executed a double rollover and dive to lose them. Peripherally, he saw the Blue Team leader swoop in and take them out.

  "Way to go Blue Leader!" Rick shouted into the tac net. "Just do the same for me sometime, buddy," came the reply. "You got it."

  Rick and the Blue Leader, wing to wing, led a frontal assault on yet another enemy wave. They launched themselves into the thick of it,

  dispatching several of the enemy. Lateral thrusters took them out of the arena momentarily, and the SDF-1 came into view, her main batteries, Phalanx guns, and Gladiator mecha issuing steady fire. The fortress, enveloped by a swarm of pods, looked as though it had somehow wandered into a fireworks display.

  Commander Hayes was calling for an assist in Fifth Quadrant, and Skull and Blue Teams were ordered to respond. Rick and Blue Leader were initiating course corrections when five pods appeared on Rick's radar screen. Three of them were quickly dispatched by Roy Fokker in Skull One, but the remaining two were hounding Blue Leader's VT with a vengeance. The enemy unleashed a massive volley of rockets that caught the mecha broadside. For a moment Blue Leader seemed to hang in space; then the fighter exploded and disintegrated, its parts scattered, its pilot a memory.

  Rick turned his face away from the wreckage. I could be next, he thought.

  How could one ever forget?

  The pods continued to press their attack. Death had a free hand.

  Then, as suddenly as they had appeared they were gone. The fighting was over and recall orders came in from the bridge.

  Rick followed Roy Fokker's lead into the docking bays of the Prometheus.

  Roy caught up with him in the hangar and slapped him on the shoulder.

  "You looked good up there, Rick. Keep it up."

  Rick grunted, removed his helmet, and kept walking, increasing his pace.

  Roy caught up with him again. "You can't let it get you down, kid. We sent them home, didn't we?"

  Rick turned and confronted his friend. "If you believe that, you're a bigger idiot than I am, Roy."

  Roy draped his arm around Rick's shoulders and leaned in. "Listen to

  me. You're beat. We all are. Get yourself into town after the debriefing. I'm sure Minmei would like to see you."

  "That would be a surprise," Rick said, and stormed off.

  Monorail lines now ran from the Prometheus and Daedalus arms into Macross. A central monorail line ran through the body of the fortress, through enormous interior holds originally meant for creatures ten times human scale-a vast forbidden zone only a portion of which was understood by Dr. Lang's teams of scientists-and through that area where Rick and Minmei had passed two weeks together deep beneath the present streets of the city.

  Each passing day brought changes here. There was even talk of using EVE, enhanced video emulation, to bring sunrise and sunset, blue skies and clouds, to the place. Already there was a grid of streets, carefully arranged according to the dictates of the modular transformation schematic, multiple-storied dwellings, shops and restaurants, a central marketplace, even a few banks and a post office.

  The city went on living through the war, almost oblivious to it except when energy drains through diversion led to power shortages or when the enemy fighters and Battlepods scored direct hits. Even the ubiquitous uniforms didn't signal war-uniforms were worn by everyone to denote job and detail, a carryover from the island where most of these same people had been connected in one way or another to the reconstruction of the SDF-1. A public address system kept the residents of the city informed about the ship's course through the solar system but was seldom used to report accurate battle results. In fact, it was speaking to the population now, as Rick meandered in vague fashion toward the Chinese restaurant, hoping for an accidental encounter with Minmei. Passersby paid the message little mind, but it caught him off guard.

  "News from the bridge: We have been attacked by one hundred twenty enemy pods, but our first, fourth, and seventh fighter squadrons have succeeded in completely destroying them. Our casualties have been light,

  and our astrogational syste
m has not been affected. That is all."

  Incredible! Rick thought. He was looking around for someone to talk to, someone he could grab by the lapels and awaken with the truth, when an arm caught hold of his. He turned and found himself looking into Minmei's blue eyes.

  "Hello, stranger," she said. "I've been worried about you." She embraced him like a brother.

  He had rehearsed how he was going to play this, but standing here with her now, the half-truths from the bridge echoing inside him, he just wanted to hold and protect her. But he managed to keep some distance, and she caught his mood.

  He explained about the announcement. "It wasn't true, Minmei. They're misleading everyone. We didn't hit half of them, and our losses were-"

  She put a finger to his lips and looked around. "I don't think it's a good idea to talk about this here, Rick."

  He broke from her hold. "Listen, Minmei-"

  "Besides, everyone's doing all they can for the war effort, and I don't think you'll accomplish anything by getting them-or me-depressed. Especially with my birthday right around the corner."

  He could only stare at her and wonder where her mind was, but she was way ahead of him already. She smiled and took hold of his arm.

  "Come on, Rick. Let's get something to eat. Please?"

  He gave in. How could he make her understand how it was out there? In here she was doing what they all were: going on with life as if nothing had happened, as if this were home, as if there were a wonderfully blue ocean just over that rise. As if there were no war out there.

  On the bridge of the SDF-1 there was little else but war to talk or think about.

  Captain Gloval removed his cap and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. What were the aliens planning now? Obviously their

  constant attacks were not meant to turn the tide but to wear him down, perhaps in the hope that the SDF-1 would be surrendered. The attacks were like sparring matches; it was as if the enemy was feeling him out, trying to gain some insight into his tactics. Psychological warfare conducted with an inexhaustible supply of ships and no regard for the pilots who flew them. Gloval wondered what his counterpart might look like, what kind of being he was. He recalled the video warning the fortress had broadcast to his small band of explorers some ten years ago...One thing was becoming clear: The aliens did not want to damage the SDF-1. They hoped to recapture it intact.

  The attacks had thrown them drastically off course, and although closing in on Earth's orbit, they had months of travel ahead of them.

  Gloval asked for information about the aliens' retreat. The only thing Claudia and Lisa could be certain of was that there were no longer any traces of enemy pods on the radar screens. Gloval was pondering this when Kim Young announced that incoming data was being received on one of the open frequencies.

  Gloval stepped down from his chair and walked over to take a look at the transmissions.

  "...'If mice could swim,"' he read, " 'they would float with the tide and play with the fish. Down by the seaside, the cats on the shore would quickly agree...' What is this nonsense? Where is it coming from?"

  Vanessa Leeds tapped in a set of requests and swiveled in her seat to study a secondary monitor. In a moment she had the answer. "A transmitter located sixteen degrees off our current course."

  "That would put it at Sara Base on Mars!" said Claudia.

  Lisa Hayes turned from her post in a start. "What?! That's impossible!

  Are you certain of those readings?"

  "Sara Base is deserted," said Gloval. "All life there was wiped out during the war. It just can't be."

  Lisa and Claudia exchanged a conspiratorial look. "No, Lisa," said Claudia. "Don't get your hopes up."

  "Why couldn't there be survivors?" Lisa said excitedly. She turned to Gloval. "Isn't it possible, sir?"

  Gloval crossed his arms, "I don't see how, but it was a pretty big base, and I suppose anything is possible. We've all seen enough lately to convince me of that."

  "We have secondary confirmation on the origin of the transmissions, sir. The origin is definitely Sara."

  Claudia said, "Perhaps we should check it out, Captain. It would only mean a minor deviation in our course." Again she and Lisa exchanged looks. Gloval returned to his chair. He thought it unlikely that there were survivors on the base. And the possibility of an enemy trap had to be considered. But there were no radar indications of activity in the area, and the risk presented by a landing would certainly be justified if they could manage to replenish their rapidly diminishing supplies. It would be the last chance until Earthspace, and who knew when that might be. If that would

  be...

  Gloval turned to his crew. "How badly hurt are we?"

  Vanessa responded, "Astrogation and engineering sections report limited damage only, sir."

  "All right," said Gloval. "Change course and head for Mars."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The destruction of Sara Base on Mars was in some ways typical of the setbacks experienced by the newly formed World Unification Alliance, the unfortunate result of suspicion, misinformation, and manipulation by an unnamed collective of separatist factions. That the Northeast Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere could be so easily duped into believing the base a military installation was all the more cause for concern. But more than that, the attack upon the base marked the first instance that humankind had taken warfare off the planet and brought it to the stars.

  Malachi Cain,

  Prelude to Doomsday: A History of the Global Civil War

  Mars!

  Lisa stared at the barren world as it came into view through the forward bays. Arid, lifeless, named for the ancient god of war, it was like an angry red wound in her heart. Eight years earlier her love had died here, on this world that she was destined to visit, one that had visited her so often in tear-filled dreams. But even so she couldn't suppress the belief, the hope, that one of the many survival scenarios she had played endlessly through these lost years would run to completion. The last time she had seen and held Karl Riber was the evening he had told her of his assignment to Mars Base Sara.

  "The Visitor" had crash-landed on Macross Island three years earlier, and the Internationalists-men like her father, Admiral Hayes, Senator Russo, Gloval, and the rest-were doing their best to bring about world unity, centered on the restoration of the SDF-1 and the potential threat to Earth posed by the arrival of that ship built by an advanced race of intellectual and physical giants. But peace and unity were not so easily secured. Factionalism was rampant and borders changed overnight, sides were drawn and redrawn, bombs were dropped, and the killing continued

  unabated.

  She had known Karl only a short time but had loved him from the start. He had been assigned to her father as an aide and was doing his best to be the soldier Admiral Hayes expected at his side. But through and through Karl was a peace-loving man, a sensitive scholar who, like others of his type, was looking forward to a day when the bloodshed would end and humankind would begin to focus itself on its destiny, its true place among the stars. The arrival of the SDF-1 had further inflamed his passion for peace; but when even that event failed to put an end to the reigning madness, there was nothing left for him but cynicism and the need to escape.

  That farewell night found Karl and Lisa together at the Hayes estate in upstate New York. They sat together under a grand old tree under star-filled skies, and Karl told her that he had been reassigned to Base Sara, a scientific observation post on Mars. He had pointed out the planet and confessed how torn he was to be leaving her. But there was no place on Earth for him any longer; even the Robotech project had been co-opted by the militaristic power wing of the Alliance. Instead of profiting from the miraculous find, they were merely gearing up for an anticipated war, a projected war.

  She knew it was the right move for him, even if it was the wrong move for there. But that night her young mind had seized on a plan she hoped would keep them together: She would enlist in the Defense Force and would apply f
or an assignment to Sara Base.

  She had confessed her love for Karl. And lost him to the stars.

  But she made good her promise, and with her father's assistance had received a security clearance and an assignment to Macross Island to work under Dr. Lang aboard the SDF-1.

  She and Karl never saw each other again. But there were letters and tapes and the occasional transworld calls. Karl was in his element there, and all signs had pointed to her being able to join him soon. Until war had

  reached out its long arm and seized on the one place humankind had yet to spill blood. Sara Base became a graveyard overnight, almost a symbol of humankind's need to take war with it wherever it set foot in the universe.

  The SDF-1 became her future from that moment on. She had thrown herself into the project with a fever born of forgetting that meant for rapid advancement but left little time for personal growth. Vanessa and Claudia chided her for her attachment to the ship, and sometimes she knew that she did come across as cold and distant.

  The old sourpuss!

  It was left unfinished between her and Karl, as if emotional time had been frozen on the night she learned about Base Sara's destruction.

  This planetary touchdown then was more than a mere landing to her; it was an emotional pilgrimage. Karl Riber was alive in her heart, moment to moment; to her it meant that he could really be alive, one of a group of survivors here. He had said to her, We'll be together again someday, when the Earth is at peace. Love was simply not meant to perish in angry flames; love couldn't be extinguished by war!

  Gloval was shouting her name; she turned a confused face toward him, caught between past and future in a present that was of her own making.

  "Lisa, what's wrong? Are you sure you're feeling all right?" She composed herself and awaited his command.