by Ava D. Dohn
* * *
Darla and Euroaquilo rested in two of the folding command chairs on the captain’s bridge, the surgeon having recently departed after tending Darla’s injuries. No one questioned the couple’s flimsy excuse of her stumbling against the elevator handrail. Long ago the ship’s medical officer learned not to pry into other’s business, not when they were soldiers like Darla and Euroaquilo. Besides, it would do no good. They had disclosed what was necessary to make out a report, and that was all there would ever be to it, ever.
With her ribs wrapped and having taken a mild pain killer, Darla relaxed with her steaming beverage, attentively listening, while Euroaquilo filled in details concerning the early days of the Rebellion just after Mihai’s being attacked by Asotos. There was a sudden explosion of blinding light that flashed through the portholes and across the bridge, instantly followed by crashing thunder that shook the entire ship, jolting both Euroaquilo and Darla.
When the rumbling subsided, Euroaquilo wryly commented, “These are really quite flimsy machines without their energy shields. In fact, I doubt the best of our dreadnaughts could hold up to the stresses of the jump portals without ‘em. When you’re all wrapped up in those protective swaddling bands, you forget just how fragile a world we have created should those shields ever fail.”
Darla nodded, saying nothing.
Lightning again flashed across the darkened bridge, quickly followed by another rumble of angry thunder. Euroaquilo smiled. “This storm will delay our departure. It gives us a little more time to chat before I have to get the crew up to do their preflight checks. Come on, let me show you something.”
Taking Darla’s hand, the two walked forward, stopping at a large porthole. Euroaquilo rocked back, supporting his weight on his heels. “The first time I stood here, in this very spot, I saw a tarmac filled with countless warships, hundreds of big cruisers along with thousands of smaller ships. For as far as the eye could see, there were ships preparing for war.” He rocked forward. “Yep, right here on this very spot.”
Darla slid her arm around Euroaquilo’s waist, asking, “So you have been on this ship before? When?”
Smiling, Euroaquilo answered, “This was the first big dreadnaught I captained. I also commanded a half dozen tenders and support ships, something typical back then for a capital ship of this size.”
He stared out the window, watching the lightning dance in the ragged sky, but his mind wandered to past events. “I was so nervous, being sure that every captain in the fleet was scrutinizing me, judging me as to fitness for such an important position. I wanted to do everything just right. Well, when I looked out across the gathering armada, I could not believe in anything but a swift victory. Nothing this big had ever been assembled, and it wasn’t just here. Why, we were collecting everything we had. At every port in the Empire, warships were assembling.”
Looking at Darla, he asked, “Do you recall hearing about Operation Willow? It was a grand operation staged in the latter part of the Great War, leading up to the Day of Tears.”
Darla replied, “No, I was serving in a combat platoon stationed at Mordem at that time. I had taken a stint in the army for a change of scenery. What was Operation Willow?”
Euroaquilo explained, “It was command’s idea that the war might be decided in naval combat if we could concentrate a large enough flotilla of ships in one general area. By hitting the enemy with overwhelming force we, it was believed, would decimate Asotos’ defending fleets with little loss to ours. Then, we would roll up the fence, taking out one after another of his scattered armadas, thus driving him out of our Empire. With the skies cleared of his intrusions, we could bypass his stranded, landed forces and proceed with our own invasion of his territories.”
He shook his head sadly. “It might have worked if we hadn’t been betrayed by spies. Asotos got wind of it in time to make counter preparations. The day we sallied forth into these skies, singing our victory songs as if the battle was over, the die had already been cast. We were sailing off into the biggest bloodbath in the history of all our wars.”
He asked, still looking out the porthole, “Do you know much about the Day of Tears?”
Darla said little. “A little… I was there for some of it.” Then, in the same breath, she requested, “Please, tell me about your part in it, you know, things you have never shared with me in your dreams.”
Euroaquilo raised an eyebrow, pondering. Darla’s interest concerning his part in the Day of Tears debacle was curious, seeing she already knew so much about it through their dream-shares. Still, he would fill in a few details first, and then probe for other answers after.
“As you may already know, our battle group of thirty-some fighting ships, under the command of Admiral Lonche, had been running picket duty to the Q South and West of point during the first three days of the contest. Action was light, mostly skirmishes among our outrider patrols. Well, just after midnight, we received distress calls from Admiral NachlieliTzach’s Fourteenth Fleet that it was under heavy attack and falling back with mounting losses.”
“Fully understanding the need to maintain our fighting line in that sector to prevent the main body from being flanked, Admiral Lonche ordered our battle group to advance to the Fourteenth’s aid. My attack group being the furthest south made contact with the enemy first. We joined the contest in support of two damaged carriers that were under heavy attack, flying right into a slaughterhouse. It appeared as if the entire enemy navy was upon us. We mixed it up as best we could but, by the time the remainder of Lonche’s battle group arrived, half my fighting ships were destroyed or disabled.”
“The DusmeAstron had taken several hits, but was holding strong. Then, about three hours into the fight, a missile tore into our already damaged port engine room, tearing the outer pod to pieces, killing everyone in the engine room and condensing chamber. Our boiler rooms and reactor went offline, leaving us with only our auxiliary backup systems.”
“With weakened energy shields, we became more susceptible to enemy missiles. The ship absorbed several smaller strikes, fouling our ventilation systems, damaging the gravity machines and starting fires. Then we took a hit right outside the hull, here, where I’m standing, sending a concussive blast filled with thousands of metal shards across the navigation bridge. Six of the crew were torn asunder from the explosion, several more severely wounded.”
“I was standing behind the navigation tower, back there, when the missile hit, saving me from death. Still, my eardrums were ruptured and I was in a daze, having hit my head on the bosun’s rail. I staggered to my feet, making my way forward to explore the damage and stopped here to catch my breath, glancing out this porthole as I did. What I saw made my heart sink. There, before me, while fire crews fought to save the ship and medics did the same to save lives, in silence I stared into the face of our coming doom.”
“What was it?!” Darla asked, eyes big with wonder. “You’ve never told me about this.”
With furrowed eyebrow, Euroaquilo stared at Darla. “I guess we all have our little private secrets…” and he returned to his account. “There, I’d say about five miles out, the ancient carrack, Ambrosia, was making steam for the DusmeAstron. That old capital ship was designed for slow speed ramming, and it was bearing down on us at about the speed of a horse’s trot. I could count the seconds until impact, seeing in my mind’s eye its jagged ram ripping a hole the size of a house through our already weakened hull. Death would be quick. But the living - as I waited for the coming end - was nearly unbearable. I could only stand there, helpless, and watch. No calling ‘abandon ship!’… no time… no running or fighting back. Just stand there and wait to die.”
Euroaquilo leaned forward, placing his hand on the porthole. His head sank in thought, remembering that day many years ago. Darla believed he again stood his post, seeing his coming doom. Or was it something else, an understanding of future events suddenly becoming c
lear in the man’s mind? Before she could utter her trepidation, Euroaquilo lifted his head and looked into her eyes.
A sad smile crept across his face. “I learned a most important lesson that day, one that I hope to never forget.”
Euroaquilo sighed, looking out the window again. “My Dear One, the true heroes drink not from the victory glass, nor do they tell the tales of their adventures. The true heroes lie moldering under the grassy glade or ever drift aimlessly amongst the frozen stars. The true hero, with free will, surrenders up all for souls in his charge, the broken and helpless who have no choice over life or death, but have only hope - a fool’s hope - a hope for a hero to come rescue them.”
Darla began glancing out the portal as if she, too, might see the giant carrack pressing ever closer. Excited, she asked, “Tell me, please! What hero happened by you that day?”
As misty eyes stared through the portal into distant memories, Euroaquilo answered, “The Ambrosia was maybe a quarter of a mile away and approaching, having maintained its speed. Suddenly, our of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Admiral Lonche’s flagship, the LorrieMay, as it flashed past our hull, back-drafting its engines to overload its reactors as it went over us. An instant later, I was blinded by a horrific firestorm when the LorrieMay tore through the Ambrosia.”
He looked over at Darla with tear-filled eyes. “Admiral Lonche blew that son-of-a-bitch into a million pieces!”
Taking Darla’s hand, Euroaquilo added remorsefully, “We were as good as dead, useless for battle, no one of any importance aboard. There was no reason to save us. The LorrieMay was still in fighting trim, we, just sitting ducks. Admiral Lonche surrendered up everything that day for us, because he could. He gave to us life when we had no life left within ourselves. Now that’s a real hero...”
He shook his head, puzzling. “To this day, I ponder his reasons for saving us. He had so much to give, being an Ancient, among the first to sit the Council of Twenty-four, even a healer. Why he wasted it all on us, I don’t know. I sometimes wonder if the Empire would be in such a pathetic mess as it is today if we had not lost so many heroes like the good admiral…”
The loss of Admiral Lonche had been a blow to Darla, too, she having served under his command aboard the escort carrier, DamonShoals, during the Persian Insurrection, some fifteen-hundred years before - another major defeat for the Children’s Empire which ushered in hundreds of years of darkness for the Second Realm. Little had been chronicled up to this time as regards to the Day of Tears other than the roster of those killed, wounded and missing. So Darla knew only that the admiral and his entire crew were killed during the battle.
*
(Author’s Note: Finhardt, Copeland, and Sandevar’s exhaustive work, The Slaughterhouse Chronicles, details the six day battle, events leading up to it, and the aftermath. It is the most comprehensive account to date, the University of Memphis listing it as one of the ten most important histories of the Great War.)
