The outer hull groaned as it strained against the forces of reentry into Earth’s atmosphere. The thick air shrieked as it whipped around the transports, buffeting them severely. Johann could feel the temperature inside his cabin begin to rise in response to the bright red glow surrounding the ship. The front end of each transport had been fitted with a special heat shield for this maneuver, but they had not had time to test it before launch. Johann muttered a prayer as their hellish descent continued.
Checking his long-range scanner, he could detect no enemy activity. At least that part was going right, he thought. Johann continued the descent, his entire being focused on performing the difficult maneuver. Suddenly a loud warning klaxon began screaming for his attention, accompanied by a flashing red indicator on his panel warning him that his approach speed was too high for a safe landing, Johann silenced the alarm—there was nothing to be done at this point. It was what it was.
Pushing to the very edge of the performance envelope for the ships, Johann waited until the last possible instant before yanking the throttle back and engaging the air brake. Everyone in the transports was thrown forward against the safety harnesses, breath crushed out of lungs by the sudden deceleration. The transports shuddered violently against the drag induced by the extended air brakes, rapidly losing airspeed. Johann had a fleeting thought that the air brakes could easily be torn off by the extreme forces pounding on them. If that happened, he would deal with it.
The stick was like a bucking bronco in Johann’s hand, threatening to leap free at any moment. Every muscle in his body was stretched taut like piano wire. He pulled back with all his might, applying as much pressure to the stick as he could. The ground was coming up fast. Too fast.
Painfully slow to respond, the transport’s nose crept upward, creating a cushion of high-pressure air that did nothing to soften the sudden deceleration. Each ship came within one hundred feet of the surface, barely completing the maneuver just before slamming into the ground. As each ship began to level out and stabilize, Johann relaxed a little more. He wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief. He made a mental note to look up the designers of this ship and thank them for building in the excessive tolerances that had allowed him and his men to survive. The airframe of each ship had endured forces that far exceeded the design limits of the spacecraft.
He reached forward and activated the communications link with the other ships.
“See? No sweat, mon!” he said, trying to maintain his facade of calm. He could hear groans from the other ships as each pilot realized he had survived.
“You are one insane SOB, sir,” came a tentative transmission from one of the transport ships.
“Somebody mus’ be to survive,” Johann said, his accent now firmly back in place. “Remember that in the comin’ battle.”
Johann placed his hand on the switch that would disengage the control link with the other ships. “Okay, boys, this is it. Maintain radio silence while approaching the target. You all have your assigned courses. Any questions?” Receiving no response, he continued, “Well, then. Here we go.”
He brought his hand down on the switch to deactivate the link. There was a slight jar as each of the ships broke free of the link, breaking formation and speeding off in its assigned direction. Within seconds all that was left to mark their presence were a few drifts of swirling snow and a fading rumble in the distance.
T’lal sat in his favorite spot in the building that had become his headquarters. He contemplated the series of events that had led to his assignment here as governor of the human population. This observation room on the roof of the Pentagon building provided him with the peace and quiet he longed for. From here he could see for miles in any direction, his solitude disturbed only by the whisper of air coming through the ventilation system. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he patted his ample belly.
Yes, indeed, he thought, I definitely could have pulled worse duty. He took a long drink from a container of an Earth beverage he had acquired a taste for. While ransacking the building, he had found a supply of it in one of the sleeping quarters on the lower floors. He suspected it had been illegally stockpiled by one of the human soldiers that had been here before. He was sure his own men did the same at times, but he really didn’t care. They had nothing like it on their own world. He looked at the label, not understanding what it said, but knowing enough of the humans’ language to sound it out. “E-e-v-e-r-c-l-e-a-r G-grain Alk-e-hol,” he slurred. He shrugged his shoulders as he took another long pull from the bottle. Although it burned like fire going down, it made him feel pleasantly unconcerned, the worries of his command temporarily forgotten.
He turned his head at the sound of footsteps coming in his direction. His subcommander poked his head into the tiny chamber where T’lal was lounging. The disgust in his eyes was evident. He was very dissatisfied with having been left behind and blamed T’lal. Saluting as a show of respect, an action performed out of duty that made the subcommander cringe, he reported, “Sir, we have detected unauthorized aerial activity in the vicinity of the North Pole.” T’lal’s hazy mind failed to comprehend the situation, so he simply dismissed the subcommander’s statements.
“Track the targets and let me know what happens,” he said, dismissing the subcommander with a wave of his hand, again raising the bottle and drinking long and hard. The subcommander clenched his jaw, seething as he repressed a stinging reply that had brought itself unbidden to his lips. Turning quickly, he closed the door and left.
“Overeager whelp!” T’lal said as a raucous belch escaped his lips. He satisfied himself with another long pull from the bottle of grain alcohol. Sinking back into the oblivion that he cherished so much, the commander failed to notice, off in the far, far distance, a tiny black speck on the horizon that was streaking toward a rendezvous with destiny.
Johann monitored the progress of his ships closely on his own sensor displays. Each ship was precisely on course and would converge over the Pentagon in less than three minutes. He brought his weapons systems online, removing all safeties, going hot and preparing to fire. As he made his preparations, identical actions were being taken on all the other transports. Men were readying themselves, making sure they had everything they needed, gripping their weapon controls tightly in anticipation of the upcoming battle. For many it would be the first taste of combat. Unlike other soldiers in the past who had been forced to fight for unclear goals and vague objectives, these men knew this fight was for the survival of the human race. There would be no losing this battle today. Each and every man knew that one of two things would happen. They would either emerge victorious, or they would die. Either way it was going to be finished—today.
As T’lal continued to drink, he noticed a small black spot on his bottle. Pulling the bottle down to examine it more closely, he was surprised that the speck had disappeared. Confused, he looked up at the sky and almost choked at what he saw.
Seen clearly now, unobscured by distance, were eight Earth military transports blazing toward his location, each leaving a clear vapor trail in the blue sky. They came from four directions at once, relentlessly homing in on the Pentagon. As realization finally made its way through the haze surrounding his brain, he made an attempt to shout for attention but could only manage a guttural scream. The bottle dropped to the floor, shattering into shards. T’lal fled the observation post and headed toward his command center, moving his huge body as fast as he could in his drunken state. He cursed himself for not listening to the subcommander when he’d tried to inform him of the incursion over the North Pole.
As he passed a window, a sick feeling came over him when he saw one of the ships under his command sitting unattended outside. He had allowed all thirty ships to come to the command center for a celebration of victory. That meant all thirty ships were parked outside in close proximity to one another. If one ship blew, it would take out several more. Staggering down the hallway, he burst into the command center, screa
ming, “Alert! Alert! There are human ships converging on our location! Recall all pilots to their craft for immediate launch!”
The subcommander displayed an open look of hatred and contempt for his commander. His incompetence would surely get them all killed. He resolved to do something about it. He placed his hand on his sidearm and prepared to take matters into his own hands.
The Jerrollite command center erupted into a flurry of activity as everyone realized what was happening and frantically began issuing orders to comply with T’lal’s command. They halted in their tracks as they heard the low rumble—they were too late. Each member of the Jerrollite staff looked at the others, eyes wide with the realization that they were about to die. T’lal looked at the subcommander, who met his gaze and spat on the floor in disgust. The subcommander began to draw his weapon from its holster. T’lal recognized what was happening immediately. The alcohol in his system had long since been burned up by the adrenaline coursing through his veins; it in no way impaired his response to the subcommander’s attack. T’lal was able to draw his own weapon and fire, striking the weapon and knocking it from his hand before the sub-commander could pull his trigger. This elicited wide-eyed surprise in the subcommander’s face as his weapon clattered to the floor. T’lal was nothing if not prepared for the uncontrolled desire of a subordinate officer to ascend the command hierarchy.
“Count this as your lucky day, Subcommander. If I did not need you right now, you would be dead. Control your ambitions and focus on the task at hand.” The subcommander’s face flushed a deep blue. He had been humiliated, and he knew his career was ruined. Even though assassination was accepted in Jerrollite society as a means to advance, if the attempt failed, there was no recovering. He had been bested by an old drunk at the end of his career.
“Yes, Commander,” he said between clenched teeth. He would wait for a more opportune time to exact his revenge. He spun on his heel and retreated to the back of the command center. Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, he realized that his reprieve from death might have only been temporary.
The human attack had begun.
From the viewport Johann could see the other ships’ vapor trails standing out in stark contrast to the brilliant blue sky. They were all converging on the Pentagon like fingers of God come down to smite unbelievers. Johann’s fingers flew over his control board, preparing to attack. He reopened ship-to-ship communications.
“Transports Two through Five, land on the South Concourse and disembark your troops. Six, Seven, and Eight, converge on me to begin an attack run.” Johann looked up through his front view screen to see the transports veering off to implement the instructions he had just given. As the other three ships converged on his position, he scanned the area surrounding the Pentagon. His eyes almost bugged out when he saw all thirty Jerrollite battleships parked neatly in a row outside. It was an impressive sight but a severe tactical error on the part of the Jerrollites. He couldn’t believe they were naïve enough to leave themselves so vulnerable to attack. It spoke to the level of contempt in which they held the human forces. They believed themselves to be untouchable. It was an underestimation they would sorely regret very shortly.
As the transports approached, they could see Jerrollite flight crews scrambling toward their ships in a frantic attempt to get airborne before the attack could begin. Johann smiled grimly to himself as he brought his finger down on the stud that would fire his missiles. His ship lurched violently as three incandescent arrows of flame shot out from underneath his ship, to be joined a split second later by several others from the other transports. The other pilots had seen the same opportunity and added their missiles to his own. Johann heard shouts of exultation over his communication link.
“What a bunch of dumbasses!” shouted one of the other pilots. Johann could not agree more, but right now he needed to maintain his pilots’ focus.
“Okay, guys, cut the chatter. This ain’t over yet! Stay focused on the objective. No mercy!” Johann said. He watched as each missile found its target, penetrated the outer hull, and disappeared inside the alien ship, followed immediately by a massive explosion, as each hull was consumed by a bright orange fireball. As the fire reached combustible materials in the ships, a final series of explosions rocked the surrounding area, throwing debris and Jerrollite bodies all over the compound. As each ship exploded, the ships parked next to it also caught fire and exploded in short order. Huge fireballs rose into the air from the missile hits and secondary explosions, scorching and destroying everything in their path.
“Watch out, boys!” Johann said as he pulled a hard right to avoid flying into the fire. The other ships in the attack followed him. They regrouped and began a flyover of the attack site.
As the smoke and flames began to clear, Johann and his team could see that most of the Jerrollite ships had been replaced by a smoldering black crater. Other ships that had not been destroyed directly by missile fire looked like sad, melted hunks of useless metal. Only four enemy craft were left intact. Johann swung his transport around as he sent orders to the other airborne ships.
“Seven and Eight, stay and finish off the rest of the alien spacecraft and mop up this mess! Six, follow me!” said Johann.
“Yes, sir!” came the quick response.
As the transports began a relentless pounding of the remaining ships on the ground, Johann and the other transport swung around and began an attack run directly on the Pentagon building itself, firing at and destroying any defenses that were visible.
“Bring your guns online. Take out any weapons you see on that building!” Johann said.
“Roger that.”
Three large openings appeared in the front of each ship, a very large Gatling gun in each one. Johann flipped his safety off and depressed the trigger. All three guns fired simultaneously, spewing out long lances of fire. Out of his left eye, Johann could see tracer rounds coming from the other ship, striking their target alongside his own. The airframes of the ships bucked and vibrated violently as the guns chattered away, pouring thousands of rounds into the building. Portions of it began to collapse under the relentless assault, sending up billowing clouds of choking dust and smoke.
In short order Jerrollite soldiers began pouring out of the building, firing their weapons at anything moving in the air or on the ground. It was obvious to Johann that there was mass confusion and blind panic in the Jerrollite ranks. They had no idea what was going on other than that they were in real trouble. Human soldiers began pouring onto the scene from the opposite side of the building where their transports had landed. Johann could see them clearly as they attacked and killed everything with blue skin in sight. Their anger and frustration fueled the fight as they avenged their friends and families who had been devastated by the Jerrollite invasion.
The air around the Pentagon was blanketed with thick, black smoke, making it almost impossible to see. Johann fired his cannon at the fortifications on the roof. His thirty-caliber, depleted-uranium slugs ripped giant holes in the roof, destroying large sections of the building with every shot. Jerrollites were scampering frantically from one cover to the next, desperately seeking shelter wherever they could find it. Checking his scanners, Johann saw that two of the Jerrollite ships had survived the initial attack, gotten airborne, and were streaking away up into the atmosphere. Confused at first as to why they had failed to counterattack, he quickly realized what was happening. Abandoning the silent running rules, he opened a communications channel to the Hercules.
“General Matheson, there are two Jerrollite battleships headed your way. Be ready,” he said.
General Matheson’s voice came over his comm link. “We have them on our sensors, Johann. Tracking now.” Johann closed the channel and returned his attention to the battle at hand. Sweeping high overhead, he brought his ship around the south side of the building, where he could see five of his troop transports continuing to disgorge their cargo of men onto the lawn. As the soldiers disembarked from the t
ransports, they scurried away, crouching low to avoid enemy fire coming from the rooftop. As Johann watched, one of his men went down, grasping what remained of his leg after it had been burned off by an energy beam. He shifted his gaze to the Pentagon’s roof in time to see a group of Jerrollites open fire with energy weapons. From their vantage point, the men from the transport were easy targets, and they were quickly racking up a large number of kills.
Anger filled Johann as he spun his ship on its axis and came in low and fast, heading for the enemy soldiers on the roof. Unaware that their lives were in danger, the Jerrollites continued to fire randomly into the men on the ground below. Hearing a low rumble, they turned their heads as one in time to see Johann’s ship erupt from the swirling black smoke, spitting lead death in their direction.
Johann watched impassively as the Jerrollites were cut to ribbons. As the hail of bullets subsided, nothing was left that was even vaguely recognizable. After circling around once more to make sure there were none left alive and his men were out of danger, Johann brought his ship down next to the others. Opening a communication link with the other airborne transports, he gave them their orders.
“Six, Seven, and Eight, stay airborne until you hear from me. Continue patrolling the area from the air. Watch for those two ships that got away!” He turned off his link and leapt out of the ship. Glancing around, he saw that his men had already unloaded. Raising his weapon over his head, he motioned to them.
Gravitys Hammer Page 13
