Fleet of Angels

Excerpt From:

Fleet of Angels

By: Carl R. Merritt

PROLOGUE

        The great void between the galaxies of Andromeda and the Milky Way had not been disturbed in countless millennia. No comets or asteroids had made the journey - no ships had dared to even try. The distance was so great, even light took over two million years to traverse the expanse.
        Eventually, tens of thousands of years ago, one race of beings made the long journey, losing many of their vessels and lives in the process. They called themselves the Umoxians. Upon their arrival in the Milky Way, these horned creatures used their highly advanced technology to construct two new worlds, Earth and zTurm. Then, using their own DNA as a foundation, they manipulated genes to a small degree and created the inception of life on those two virgin planets. If everything worked out as planned, the humanoid lifeforms that would eventually populate the new worlds would be slightly different from their creators, and from each other.
        Their mission complete, the aliens withdrew to the galaxy's edge to wait, watching to see what fruits their labors would bring forth. Regrettably, after several millennia of observing the growth and prosperity of Earth and zTurm, disease had struck their small, benevolent society. Within a generation, many of the Umoxians had fallen prey to madness and soon began killing one another off. Only a few had been spared the sickness and had escaped to parts unknown. By the beginning of mankind's twenty-fourth century, the population of noble aliens had dwindled considerably, time nearly erasing their very existence in the Milky Way.
        With the great distance involved, the Umoxians never knew that their homeworld in Andromeda had suffered a similar catastrophe centuries before. They didn't know their own culture - their own families - had been reduced to living in caves, using their bare hands to hunt for food.
        As the eons passed, the Umoxians in Andromeda began reaching for the stars again, using both new and rediscovered technologies. But this time things were different. As a result of the madness, the once-benevolent society had been contorted into a race of evil warriors, bent on the domination of every other world in Andromeda.
        It was inevitable that the void between the galaxies would once again be challenged by the horned aliens. With centuries of chaos and war having distorted their once-admirable values into those of unimaginable evil, the Umoxians were now driven by a new mission. When extremely old records were discovered, disclosing the probable existence of two other worlds - cultures they themselves had supposedly created - the Umoxians went on another rampage. Believing that those two worlds were somehow responsible for the demise of their own culture, the new Umoxian government opted for war. Sticking to security protocol by not revealing, even to their ship commanders, the reasons for the war, the Umoxian leaders sent two hundred of their most powerful warships on a grand mission. The objective of those ships was neither to investigate the efforts of their ancestors in the alien galaxy, nor to welcome their distant relatives on Earth and zTurm, but to locate the two new civilizations and utterly destroy them.
        When the Umoxian warships entered the Milky Way twenty earth-years later, weapons systems came on line and incredibly powerful sensor beams shot out in all directions, scanning the strange galaxy. Searching for targets.
        The war was on, a clash between the galaxies that would last hundreds of years and test the very essence of mankind's will to survive.

CHAPTER 1

Seventy-Five Years Later

        "Helm! Evasive! Maneuver the Titan to the far side of the fourth planet!" Commander Richard Keller ordered, studying the layout of the battle on the main viewer. "We'll use it as a shield from their batteries until the dreadnought gets here." The forty-two-year-old commander of the 2nd Fleet was sweating as though he were in an oven. True, with the fires burning out of control on the bridge there wasn't much difference, but still...
        "Sir, another enemy ship has entered the system. No, wait. Make that three more. Bearing 270 true."
        "Damn, that makes six of 'em again!" Keller swore, taking in ship status on the small viewer mounted on his command chair. The Titan had already destroyed seven top-of-the-line Satanian warships, but it had been costly. A third of the bridge crew was either injured or dead, defense field power levels were nearly bottoming out at zero, and three of the four main engines were off line, at least one of them beyond repair. In addition, all four fighter bays were either damaged or destroyed, and primary systems were failing throughout the ship. With the bulk of the 2nd Fleet not due to arrive for at least another forty-five minutes, Commander Keller knew he either had to think of something quick, or else help had to be very close by. "Ops, where in the hell is that dreadnought?" Keller asked, tearing his eyes away from the viewer. "If you don't bring her over here pretty damn soon... "
        "ETA for Devastator one minute, twenty seconds, Commander!" Major Elizabeth O'Toole, the bridge operations officer, yelled over the clamor of an exploding console at the engineering station. "I don't know how, but they were blocking my commands. I had to... "
        "Belay that, Major. We'll worry about how they did it later. Just get the Devastator here as soon as you can." Keller pressed a button on the arm of his command chair. It was a "condition red" message to the medical department. He knew one of the doctors would respond quickly by sending a trauma team to the bridge.
        The helmsman now had the huge battlecarrier tucked safely behind the fourth planet. For the moment at least, the vicious pounding on the ship had stopped, but Commander Keller knew this respite wouldn't last long. The instant the Satanians rounded the planet, they would again start firing with their powerful main weaponry. Taking in all the carnage on the bridge and the damage reports he'd received so far, Keller doubted if the Titan could take much more.
        Think, damn it. Think! Keller was aware that not much was known about the horned aliens, not even what they called themselves. The name "Satanians" was just a tag the officials back on Earth had placed on them. But if there was one thing he was sure about the horn-headed bastards, it was their battle tactics.
        "Helm! All stop! Stand her on her nose, zKalim, and come hard about. On my command, punch it and retrace our flight path. They're expecting us to show ourselves on the far side of the planet, and they'll have their sights lined up there. We'll go back out the way we came and maybe, just maybe get behind one or two of them. Weapons Officer, once we get lined up, give 'em everything we have left - including the anti-matter missiles. Concentrate your fire on the ships closest to us. Ops, bring the Devastator in from system center. That way the hornheads' scanners will be blinded by the sun. The moment the Devastator's in range, open up with her pulsars on the Satanians farthest from us. Let's see what those bastards think of a dreadnought's main batteries!"
        The communications board began spitting out audio beeps and putting on a light show, indicating that another ship was trying to contact them. Paula! Is she close? Keller looked over and saw what was left of his comm officer. He immediately felt the vomit threaten to rise up in his throat. That poor kid. He was so young. Eyes shifting to a chronometer, Keller estimated another twenty seconds before the Devastator joined the battle. There was no time to answer the message.
        "Helm! Floor it! Circle around the planet, and if they say prayers on your world, now would be a good time. Get ready, Weps. And somebody who's free - call around and get some replacements up here on the bridge. We're too short of people!"

        First Lieutenant zKalim sent all available power to the last remaining engine as ordered. And since prayers were indeed a way of life on his homeworld of zTurm, he began reciting a short, silent one. He prayed that Commander Keller took into consideration how slow Titan was going to move with only twenty-five percent drive capability. Like everyone else, he knew the dreadnought would arrive before the Titan could circle the planet. Also, like all the other officers who had served under Commander Keller, he thought uniting to fight the enemy was always the best idea. The little alien wasn't quite sure what his boss had in mind and found himself hoping that speed wouldn't be an issue.
        With the sun at its back, the automated dreadnought, Devastator, dropped below light speed and immediately began unleashing its full arsenal. Under the direction of Major O'Toole, pulsar beams ten meters across tore into three of the Satanian warships. At the same time, dozens of anti-matter missiles exploded against their defensive shielding, breaking down their main protection. Secondary batteries opened up, firing high-energy lasers from hundreds of heavily armored turrets, causing even more damage to the alien vessels.
        Moments after the Satanians had discovered that the attack was coming from their blind side and had turned to meet this new challenge, the Titan emerged from behind the planet and fired its missiles and secondaries. The aliens were caught in a cross fire and had their backs to the Titan, just as the commander had planned.
        "Commander, there're only two left!"
        "Keep pouring on the fire with our lasers. The missiles will take out their force fields any second now."
        Just then, seven of the missiles slammed into the remaining enemy ships, destroying one immediately. The last Satanian ship, with little or no defensive force fields left, couldn't withstand the punishment the lasers were dishing out. Within seconds, it too exploded into an expanding ball of pure white energy.
        "Yes!" the weapons officer, Captain Steven Simms, yelled just before his console erupted into a massive fire. Blue flames licked at his face, searing hair, burning away his handsome features . . . sucking away his very life.
        "Someone find out why Medical isn't responding," Keller ordered as he rushed to help one of his closest friends. Heart pounding, the commander tore off his thin flack jacket and used it to smother the flames engulfing the captain's head. It was a difficult fire to extinguish, being fed by highly flammable lubricants pouring out of the console.
        As Keller dragged his screaming friend away from the fire, the replacement officers began arriving on the bridge by way of the only three conveyor chambers that were still operable. After they fully materialized, the junior officers quickly surveyed the damage and assumed the unmanned stations. One, a young ensign named Wanda Collins, took over communications. She had to stand, as the chair had been ripped away by flying debris. Feeling her feet slipping on the slick floor, she looked down and almost gagged. It was the decapitated head of First Lieutenant Sean Burke. It was oozing blood through the shredded neck . . . and staring straight up at her.

* * *

        Admiral Paula Keller's stomach was in knots, her heart racing like a turbine. For the first time in months, her nerves were about shot. She knew her husband was in the middle of an impossible battle and it was all she could do not to go outside the Pisces and push, hoping to make it sail even faster than the speed at which it was now traveling. At L1000, a thousand times the speed of light, stars were streaking past on the view screen at an unbelievable rate. Still, it wasn't fast enough.
        "Comm, try raising the Titan again," she ordered, knowing it would do no good. If their mothership could answer, she would have already done so. Is the giant battlecarrier destroyed? she wondered. Is my loving husband and the crew of Titan dead? How can I go on without Rick?
        "She's still not responding, Admiral," the communications officer replied.
        "Is she in scanner range yet?"
        "No, ma'am. Another fifteen minutes."
        "Damn it!" Paula's heart sank. She knew all too well the odds of Titan coming through this in one piece. Please God, please let my husband be all right.
        What happened? Paula wondered. After the 2nd Fleet's victory in Sector 2170, this assignment was supposed to be a milk run, a little time off to rest and to make vital repairs. Defense Command had sworn that this entire area had been cleared of the Satanians over a month ago. There had been no dispatches stating the damned hornheads were anywhere near Sector 3417. Where in the hell did they come from? Who screwed up back at Command?
        "Admiral, message coming in from the Titan. It's a general broadcast to the rest of the fleet. Severe damage . . . heavy casualties. Ma'am, it sounds like Titan won the battle, but it cost her big time!"
        "Any word about . . . " Paula choked, unable to ask.
        "No, ma'am," the communications officer replied, already knowing what the admiral was going to inquire about. "But that doesn't mean anything. The broadcast is over now, but it didn't sound like Titan's regular comm officer. It could just mean that whoever's at the comm isn't experienced enough to know that you should be notified about the commander."
        "Or it could mean that almost everyone on their bridge is dead, too," the admiral whispered to herself. Paula hit the intercom. "Engineering, I don't give a damn what you have to do to get it done. Get this bucket of bolts moving faster!" she ordered.

* * *

        "I want a full damage report in five minutes!" Commander Keller shouted into the intercom. "Preliminary in one." Then, directing his attention to the newly-staffed bridge crew, he ordered, "Operations, keep the Devastator on full standby until the Pisces and the rest of the fleet arrives. Oh, yeah, speaking of the Pisces, Comm, did you let my wife know I'm all right? If you didn't, she'll blow her damn engines trying to get here. Tell Paula that I'm fine and to keep her girdle on. Also, tell her to try and keep the Pisces in one piece. If any more Satanians show up, we'll need her firepower."
        "Yeah, she'll love that response," Wanda mumbled, too low for the commander to hear. "Yes, sir," she said out loud.
        "Full casualty report coming in now," O'Toole said, listening to the summary coming through her earpiece. "Fourteen hundred twenty-one injured, seven hundred thirty-four dead or unaccounted for, including the entire main engineering department, sir. Most of them were killed when engine number four blew. From what Maintenance can determine, coolant and radiation leaks caused most of the fatalities. Other hard hit areas were Medical, the flight and landing bays and...   Oh, nooo. Commander . . . Father Sam! He was in Medical helping out with the casualties. He's dead!"
        Everyone on the bridge went stone-faced, their eyes wide in disbelief. Father Samuel McKamey had been a friend to them all. Whenever a crewman was feeling depressed or homesick, Father Sam would either put on a counselor's cap or, if the situation called for it, go into his "humor" mode. This would soon have the crewman laughing at his good-natured jokes. The Catholic priest had even married Rick and Paula two years before. Now he was gone, dying while trying to help others.
        While everyone thought about how their lives aboard ship would change without Father Sam, the Titan suddenly heaved and began listing to port.
        Now what? Clutching the armrest of his chair for support, Keller ordered, "Report!"
        "Helm not responding, Commander. Running diagnostics now," Lieutenant zKalim said from his station, his hands flying over the controls.

Just great, Keller thought, trying to will his nerves to settle down. If any more Satanians pop out of nowhere again before...

"Sir, long-range scanners show a ship coming in. Jesus! Fast! L1014! It can't be one of ours, not at that speed!" a young ensign who had replaced the downed tactical officer shouted.
"Bearing? ETA?" Keller asked, trying to remain calm as he watched the young man's eyes dart around in terror. The commander saw no reason to criticize the replacement at a time like this for not providing all the information. The kid just wasn't used to battle conditions yet, and he had absolutely no experience on the bridge. He would learn . . . if they survived.

        "012 by 221. ETA . . . Jesus! Now!"
        Suddenly, hyperspace seemed to explode outward on the view screen as a huge ship dropped out of high-light speed into space normal. Stars appeared to race towards them, just to snap back into place at the last possible instant. When the fabric of space and time settled, in place of the maelstrom rested the USS Pisces, the whole two kilometer length of her.
        As fast as the smaller battlecarrier had decelerated, Commander Keller half expected most of it to be torn off and still be lingering somewhere in hyperspace.
        The important thing was that the Titan was now safe from enemy attack. Between the dreadnought and the Pisces, enough firepower was available to repel a small enemy armada. With the rest of the fleet due to arrive within twenty minutes, further attacks from the Satanians would pose no problem.
        Keller sighed. They'd won this battle, barely, but the war was far from being over. The Titan was a mess, limping and faltering like a ship in a deadly black sea. Major repairs were needed, more than could be accomplished this far from Earth, Keller knew.
        When the view screen changed to show his wife, her hair in total disarray and sweat running freely down her face, Keller used the opportunity to lighten the atmosphere on the bridge. God knows we could all use a small lift . . . especially that ensign at tactical.
        "Hi, honey," he said with a wave of his hand. "Did you remember to pick up some milk?"

Genre - Science Fiction and Suspense

ISBN: 1-931402-33-7

Now Available