“Cease fire! All wings, launch your fighters NOW! Provide cover for us while the weapons systems are cooling down!” ordered Matheson.
Abruptly the fire from the Hercules ceased, providing the Jerrollite ship with a brief respite. Before the Jerrollite commander could respond, giant columns of flame began spewing out of the Hercules’s port side as the TAC-WING fighters were launched into space. They began swarming all over the Jerrollite ship like angry hornets.
Recovering from the initial onslaught, the Jerrollite ship began firing back at the Hercules, each hit delivering a staggering blow. The very core of the Hercules resounded like a gong. Several of the TAC-WING fighters were unfortunate enough to intersect the beam path and disappeared in small puffs of flame.
Matheson could feel his victory beginning to slip away faster and faster with each hit they took. Fires began to break out all over the ship, and warning sirens wailed in the background.
“Get those weapons back online, NOW!” Matheson bellowed.
“Trying, sir. We should be back up in—”
A cry from the comm officer interrupted the report. Matheson turned in irritation.
“What is it?”
“A message just came in, sir. From Colonel Hunter. He is ready to fire and awaits your order.”
“Tell him to stand by for my order,” said Matheson.
“Sending the message, sir.” A worried look crossed the comm officer’s face. “No acknowledgment, General. And it appears that his transmitter has gone offline!”
The frustration showed in Matheson’s face as he attempted to keep his anger in check. “Very well. Let’s see how well our Jerrollite friends can play poker! Open a channel to the Jerrollite flagship, now!” said Matheson.
The communications officer scrambled to comply.
“Weapons systems have returned to nominal operation, sir!” said the weapons officer.
“Hold your fire! I guess we’re going to have to do this ourselves.” Turning to the comm officer, he said, “Keep trying to raise Colonel Hunter. Inform me immediately if you have any success. Order all ships to cease fire and hold their positions.”
Every officer on the bridge turned and looked at Matheson, wondering if he had gone insane.
“Uh, y-yes, sir,” the young officer said as he relayed the orders to the rest of the fleet. On the main view screen, Matheson could see the fire die out as each ship obeyed his order, still hovering close to the flagship’s hull. An eerie silence fell over the bridge as the scene played itself out like an Old West gunfight with the two greatest fighters facing each other to the death.
“I have a channel open to the Jerrollite commander, sir,” said the comm officer. Matheson inhaled deeply and prepared to play out his hand. He nodded curtly at the comm officer and began speaking.
“This is General Matheson from Central Earth Military Command, commander of the USS Hercules. With whom am I speaking?”
The view screen wavered momentarily, finally resolving into a distinct image of the blue-skinned enemy they had all been fighting for so long. His gaze was fierce as he scowled out of the view screen at Matheson. His speech was thick and slurred.
“This is Commander T’chlo. Why do you bother me? Do you wish perhaps to beg for your life?” The Jerrollite’s face split open in a wicked grin as a rasping, harsh sound emerged from his thin lips that could only be the Jerrollite equivalent of a cruel laugh. Matheson steeled himself as he answered, suppressing the burning desire to smash his fist square into T’chlo’s mouth.
“On the contrary, Commander. I am offering you a chance for life.” The Jerrollite’s grin faded abruptly, replaced by an incredulous stare. “Cease your attack now and return to your world, or we will destroy your planet. The choice is yours.”
Every person on the bridge again looked toward Matheson, now sure that he had gone insane. Gales of rasping laughter again erupted from the view screen, although not as confidently as before. The commander was simply saving face now. Matheson stood there until the laughter subsided.
“You sniveling, weak coward! You have committed high crimes against our empire, and you would dare to threaten us!” said T’chlo. The Jerrollite’s eyes were bulging out of his head as the veins on his forehead stood out and his face flushed to an even deeper shade of blue.
“I don’t dare, T’chlo. I merely state facts. If you don’t back off now, we will destroy your planet. I will give you one minute to decide.” Removing a cigar from his pocket and lighting it, Matheson took a long pull and exhaled the smoke slowly,
At a signal from Matheson, the communications officer severed the link to the Jerrollite ship.
“Comm, have you raised Mark yet?”
“No, sir. His transmitter is still offline.”
“Damn. Keep trying. Without his help, I don’t think we’re gonna make it out of this one.”
As the clock ticked toward the deadline the general had set, the comm officer frantically tried to establish communication with Mark.
“Sir, incoming communication from the Jerrollite ship,” the comm officer said.
Matheson recovered quickly from his surprise as he turned to face the view screen. The comm officer completed the connection, and once again the Jerrollite face appeared on the screen.
“Matheson, this is Commander T’chlo. I thought you just might be interested in seeing this,” said the Jerrollite as he turned and gestured toward a crew member in the background. The image of the Jerrollite was replaced with a stark, barren view of some dead planet.
“This was just received from the home system, taken on one of the moons orbiting our planet,” the commander said, providing a somber narration to the scene before them. Matheson could feel his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach as the view panned to the left—there, in all its glory, was the singularity generator, with several figures clad in pressure suits standing off to one side. Two of the figures were being held apart from the rest of the group with weapons trained on them.
“One of our regular patrols spotted your ship and apprehended the crew. Although I must admit that I am somewhat surprised by your ability to get as far as you did, as you can see, you are no longer a threat to contend with.” Once again the Jerrollite commander erupted into a fit of laughter. When his rasping laugh subsided, he continued. “Because I am a generous being, I will grant you one hour in which to make your peace with whatever gods you worship. In one hour your ship will be destroyed. If you attempt to move your ship in any way, it will be destroyed immediately. You have one hour. T’chlo out.”
The view screen snapped back to a dismal view of the Jerrollite flagship looming in front of them like the grim reaper waiting for a victim to die before claiming the soul. Matheson sat down heavily in his chair and placed his head in his hands.
“Damn it all to HELL! I can’t believe this is happening,” he said, finally allowing despair to set in. As he was indulging in a well-earned fit of self-pity, he felt a hand on his back. He raised his head to see the young comm officer nervously standing beside him.
“We don’t want to go down without a final fight, sir,” he said, while the other officers on the bridge nodded their agreement. “We want to go out like warriors, not like a bunch of whipped dogs waiting to be executed. If we have to die, we want it to be on our terms, not theirs.”
Matheson looked around the bridge into the eyes of his crew. He saw a firm resolve just below the surface, with no fear present in any crew member. In each face he saw the millions of people who had perished in the Jerrollite attacks and knew without a doubt that every man and woman on his crew wanted the same thing—to go down fighting.
Matheson stood up and walked around the bridge, looking each crew member in the eye to see if he could detect any regrets, any dissenting opinions. He could find none. Turning from the last member, he walked back to the center of the bridge and clasped his hands behind his back, facing the view screen. His heart swelled with pride.
“All right, people
. Let’s show these bastards what we’re made of!” Matheson said. With a cheer the bridge crew returned to their stations with renewed vigor. “Shields on full,” said Matheson.
“Shields up, sir. Weapons systems are online and functioning at full capacity.”
“Very good. Comm, open a channel to the Jerrollite ship.”
“Channel open, sir.”
Matheson waited until the Jerrollite commander came into view before beginning. When the commander was seated, he queried Matheson.
“It has only been twenty minutes since we last spoke. Are you that anxious to die?” T’chlo asked, the same evil grin splitting his face.
“We just received our orders from headquarters, T’chlo,” said Matheson.
The Jerrollite commander cocked an inquisitive eyebrow and unconsciously leaned forward in his chair, waiting for Matheson’s next comment.
“We are hereby ordered to…kick your blue ass all the way to the Orion Nebula! FIRE!” Matheson bellowed.
Cannon and weapons fire erupted in a massive blaze from all defense pods on the Hercules as they hurled brilliant bolts of energy at the Jerrollite ship, again almost totally obscuring it from view. The TAC-WING fighters, momentarily idle, leapt back into action, again buzzing all over the flagship. The Jerrollite ships surrounding the area launched several groups of their own single-man fighters in an attempt to combat the Earth forces.
The image of the Jerrollite commander once again appeared on the main view screen.
“Why do you do this? You cannot win!” he said.
“Learn a lesson about humanity, pig. We might not be able to win, but we sure as hell can take you out before we go!” said Matheson. The Jerrollite commander’s eyes grew wide in fear as he realized that the Earth commander was not bluffing. His comments were lost as the alien ship’s bridge erupted in flames before their eyes. The bridge crew on the Hercules cheered their momentary victory. The view screen faded to static and then snapped back to an external view.
The TAC-WING fighters were inflicting much more damage than Matheson would have thought possible. Fires were erupting into the vacuum of space as atmosphere spewed out from gaping holes in the hull of the ship. The alien ship seemed almost to wither under the onslaught of combined fire from every human ship in the area. As Matheson was almost beginning to believe they might really be able to take out the Jerrollite ship, one of his officers screamed out a report.
“SIR! The rest of the Jerrollite fleet is moving in to attack! Opening fire now!”
Wham! Before Matheson could even brace himself, the first beam struck from the attacking ships. The bridge exploded around him as debris went flying in all directions. Matheson himself was sent flying across the bridge to land in a pile of rubble directly underneath the view screen. The hammering that the Hercules was receiving at the hands of the Jerrollites was relentless.
“Concentrate all fire on the flagship! Ignore all other ships!” said Matheson to the young comm officer. Matheson looked up as he said it, only to realize that the officer was dead. He made his way over to him through what was left of the bridge. A large piece of metal had embedded itself in the man’s skull, leaving his brain exposed. Suppressing a gag, Matheson gently lifted the body away from the communications console so he could relay his instructions to the rest of his ships.
As he watched, shields all over the Jerrollite flagship began to buckle under the continuous onslaught, finally failing completely. The deck beneath his feet bucked as the Hercules continued to take a pounding from the other Jerrollite ships as they increased the intensity of their attack, sensing that their flagship was in trouble. Matheson’s teeth were rattling in his head as he fought to maintain his balance, keeping his eyes glued to the view screen. He glanced over at his weapons officer in time to see him launch several volleys of torpedoes toward the flagship in a final, desperate attempt to overwhelm the Razer’s defenses.
Looking again at the view screen, Matheson could see the torpedoes as bright pinpoints of light lancing through space toward the heart of the Razer. As the torpedoes reached their target, carrying with them the hopes of the Hercules’s crew, time seemed to stand still. Matheson and everyone on the bridge held their breath, waiting to see what would happen.
A blinding flash lit the view screen. Matheson winced at the brightness, forcing himself to keep looking at it so he could tell what was happening. As the flash faded, he was surprised and pleased to see the Razer listing to port, several gaping holes blown in its side. Several minor explosions continued to dance up and down the length of the hull, building in intensity. Suddenly a final, devastating fireball consumed the entire ship, ripping it apart and sending huge pieces of molten metal and Jerrollite bodies in all directions.
A debris cloud was all that remained of the Razer. Matheson blinked a couple of times, unable to believe what had just happened. Cheering broke out from the remaining crew on the bridge. His entire crew were rejoicing in the fact that they had exacted revenge for their loved ones who had been lost. Matheson smiled grimly to himself, satisfied at least that T’chlo would no longer be gloating at their expense.
He was startled out of his reverie as the Hercules was rocked by a renewed barrage from the rest of the Jerrollite ships. He ordered a channel opened to the other ships in his fleet.
“Commanders, break formation and attack one-on-one. All we can do now is try to stay alive long enough for Mark and Johann to do their jobs. Good luck!” He severed the link with an air of finality. He held no illusions about their chances.
Matheson moved to the communications console and typed in the order for Mark and Johann to fire the weapon immediately. His finger came down hard on the transmit button. He could only hope that they had been able to extricate themselves from the Jerrollites holding them captive. All he could do now was wait and try to survive.
After issuing the order, Matheson noticed that the link to Mark’s transmitter was still open. As he reached for the button that would repeat the message telling him to fire the generator, another explosion ripped through the bridge, spraying white-hot chunks of metal through the air. Matheson was struck in the back by a three-foot steel support rod. Penetrating his body like a spear, the rod shattered bone and ripped muscle, continuing until it protruded from the front of his uniform, dripping with blood. Stunned momentarily, he was in too much shock to realize what had happened.
“Damn,” he said, wincing at the burning pain in his chest, coughing spasmodically. He reached again for the button to send his message to Mark, but it was just out of his reach. Frustrated, he lunged forward. His hand came down on the button firmly, transmitting the message once again. A green light flashed in acknowledgment. Matheson grimaced in pain as he took a last breath of the acrid, smoke-filled air, hoping against hope that Mark and Johann would find a way to fire the generator as his world faded into deep black.
CHAPTER 27
Mark was beginning to sweat inside his pressure suit, even though the internal temperature was maintained at sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Beads of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he stood at the end of a weapon held by an alien soldier who looked like he would rather vaporize both of them than be bothered guarding them. The only reason both men were still alive was that the Jerrollite had been unable to determine the exact nature of the generator. Mark realized that if they did not fire the singularity generator soon, the Hercules, along with the entire Earth fleet, would be destroyed. That was a possibility that Mark did not want to even consider. He resolved to fire the weapon, no matter what.
Their captors continually circled the elaborate piece of hardware, gingerly touching it every now and then using some sort of sensing equipment to try to figure out its composition and purpose. It was clear from the angry motions Mark could see the Jerrollite commander making that their attempts to understand the weapon had been frustrated so far. Technical analysis failing, one of them had even gone so far as to taunt Mark and Johann, pointing at the generator and laug
hing.
“Man, I wish I could fire that thing. He wouldn’t be laughing for very long,” said Johann.
“Stay cool, Jo. We’ve got to think of something to create a diversion so that we can fire it. Got any ideas?” he asked, turning his head toward his friend.
The look of desperation in Johann’s eyes told Mark everything he needed to know. There were at least ten Jerrollites between them and the generator, each of them armed and looking mad. The situation was not very bright from Mark’s point of view.
“Johann, one of us is going to have to create a diversion so the other can have at least a chance of getting to the generator. Are you with me?” Johann’s eyes were round with apprehension but filled with resolve as he nodded his head in the affirmative. “Okay, get ready.”
Mark fell to the ground and began to writhe spastically, tugging at his restraints, making gagging faces. Their guard refused to budge, instead holding his weapon on both men, ready to shoot if either of them tried anything. The Jerrollite commander came running over to see what was going on. As the aliens gathered around Mark, the guard became distracted by the commotion and turned his back on Johann, who seized the opportunity to begin quietly inching toward the fire control panel next to the generator. As he stretched out his hand toward the lever that would fire it, he could hear Mark over his intercom radio, still screaming and creating a diversion. With a suddenness that almost took him unaware, the screaming stopped and a very clear statement came over his earpiece.
“JOHANN! WATCH OUT!”
Johann whipped his head around just in time to see a Jerrollite level an energy weapon at him and open fire. He jerked back as the beam narrowly missed his outstretched hand, scorching the ground where it had been. Scrambling up from his crouched position, he lunged toward the fire control as the Jerrollite fired again. This time the beam did not miss its mark and burned a hole in the lower back of Johann’s suit, passing through his body and out the front. Johann stared in horror as he watched his blood trickle out of the hole in large globs, floating slowly toward the moon’s surface. He slapped his hand over the hole in his suit in an instinctive but futile effort to stop the escaping air. As the pressure in his suit fell toward zero, his consciousness faded, and his body doubled over in pain and fell toward the generator. As he hit the ground, his body jerked spasmodically and came to rest only inches from the firing control.
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