* * *
The blatting squawk of the warning sirens and the glaring red flashing of emergency lights blasted Apollonius awake. A voice shouted on the overhead, “This in no drill! This is no drill! Battle stations! Battle stations!”
Apollonius hurried for his station, struggling to pull on his pants as he ran along corridors filled with sailors and Marines doing the same. Several had already put on their safety suits but a few were still naked, having been too far from their cabins to retrieve their clothes. He puzzled how anyone could find their post in all this bedlam. But soon enough he found himself at his own post directly below the ship’s battle bridge issuing orders to his platoon.
The cruiser, GoshStock, shuddered as its catapults shot fighters into space. Four times Apollonius felt the ship shake off the g-forces of those machines. In five minutes the GoshStock’s three fighter squadrons were on line, two speeding away to intercept enemy ships, the third circling nearby, protecting the fleet. The cruiser’s flight doors closed as the ship heeled hard to starboard, pulling away from the convoy and steaming toward the enemy invasion fleet.
Apollonius wasn’t sure when they first engaged in combat. Other than the whoosh of torpedoes being fired, or the occasional roar of the cruiser’s projectile cannons, there was little to indicate death was waiting so close at the door.
The most difficult thing for a Marine officer at these times was the waiting. There was nothing to do at the moment other than keep out of the way and let the sailors do their jobs. Apollonius stayed busy by running from one location to another, checking on the welfare of his Marines. His thirty-man platoon was scattered around the forward hull of the ship serving as fire and medical crews.
He was on an emergency ladder, having just sealed its hatch, when the GoshStock received its first blow, one of many that came in rapid succession nearly crippling the ship. The concussion of the missile tore the ladder away from the wall, sending Apollonius into opposite bulkhead, breaking his nose as he smashed to the floor, face down.
Struggling to his feet, Apollonius looked up to see the red decompression sign flashing its warning. Looking around, he found a fire suit and hustled to put it on. Twice more he was knocked to his knees from violent impacts against the outer hull. After several exhausting minutes, he managed to get to an emergency hatch leading down to the next deck. He was not prepared for the chaos awaiting him there.
The forward torpedo room located on this deck had received a direct hit from a plasma missile, tearing a hole in the hull the size of a deuce-and-a-half, killing everyone inside. A few seconds later, a charged torpedo in one of the tubes blew up, tearing away or buckling the two upper decks and rupturing the lower.
The bulkhead directly behind the torpedo room collapsed from the concussion, being flung across a narrow hallway into the next bulkhead, impacting it with such force the inner wall blew apart sending death and destruction into the crowded waiting station. Two fire-fighting crewmembers standing near it were riven to pieces, becoming deadly broken missiles of flesh and bone hurtling through the air. Apollonius looked down from the opened hatch upon shredded bodies of both living and dead.
The GoshStock’s outer energy field had been newly upgraded, making it more elastic. Like an invisible blanket, it covered the gaping hole in the hull, sealing the atmosphere inside. Powerful pumps rushed fresh air back into the torn chambers saving dozens of lives.
Apollonius worked his way down the twisted ladder and onto the ruined deck. Blood flowed in rivulets from the torn and broken bodies scattered about, gathering in dark red pools that lazily slopped one way and then the other as the ship lolled from side to side.
‘This must be a dream! I must be having a bad dream!’ Apollonius thought. He stopped to fight down a growing panic, counting aloud to fifteen in order to get control of his thoughts.
Apollonius forced himself to step away from the ladder only to fall to the floor, slipping in a lake of blood. With a great deal of effort he managed to get on his hands and knees, crawling back and forth through this charnel house of carnage and debris to assist the others.
What seemed like hours was really a matter of minutes. Emergency rescue crews converged on the scene. Apollonius looked up to see three of his Marines hurry in with medical kits. Recognizing their commanding officer, they rushed over.
He looked a sight, with a torn fire suit and covered in blood. It was difficult to tell them he was all right, especially when he tried to speak. Blood from his broken nose ran into his mouth, spattering his face shield with crimson slime. Finally getting his helmet off, Apollonius told them to help the others. Accepting a gauze bandage and holding it to his face, he worked his way to the exit hatch and up another emergency ladder to the deck above.
For the next two hours, Apollonius directed the rescue efforts of the members of his platoon. There were fires amidships that forced the evacuation of the main triage center. Bulkheads had collapsed and floors were buckled, trapping dozens to the whims of fate. Fires burned out of control, oxygen systems being ruptured, fueling ever-hungry flames. Everywhere he turned there was nothing but death and destruction facing him.
Somehow the ship stayed together. It had eventually been able to withdraw from the engagement, retreating to a safer distance. Early the next day they caught up with the convoy now making its way toward Desiah. There was little the captain could do but sidle up to a fire tug and follow along.
Apollonius couldn’t believe the good news. Everyone in his platoon had survived the battle. Over a dozen were injured, some seriously, but over all they had done quite well. Other Marine platoons had not been so fortunate. All together, twenty-four Marines and thirty-seven sailors had died and over one hundred were injured.
Damage to the GoshStock was extensive, it taking seven torpedo hits with better than a score of others from bombs or guns. Over half of the ship’s fighters never returned. It had not been a good day. If they made it to the Desiah star system, Apollonius wondered what they would find. If they made it there… That was the crew’s first concern. He went in search of his captain to receive new orders.
Some time the following day, Apollonius found his way back to his bunk. The officers’ quarters was a jumbled mess with the contents of drawers, shelves and anything else that wasn’t tied down scattered on the floor. He was exhausted but try as he might, sleep avoided him. Finally he got up and started gathering whatever belongings of his were strewn about.
He discovered a short note scribbled on a cut piece of packing paper. It was from Alba, received only the week before. It said:
‘My dear sweet Apollo,
Hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. I have been busy of late and have not kept up with my letter writing. Just wanted to let you know I am safe and well. Our arrival here was a little stormy, but things are better now. Sure is a beautiful place. Reminds me of the wilderness in the Sharon Mountains. I think you would enjoy exploring some of these ancient forests.
I made a new friend the other day, Corporal Kfir. He is really a lot of fun to be around, always is able to lift my spirits. We had some adventures together. He told me that I should make a good officer. I hope so. I want so much to play my part, hold up my end, if you know what I mean. I think you would like him, too.
It must be fun flying all over the universe. Have you made many friends? You’re good at it, you know. I miss you and your laughter. Hope to see you soon.
Love,
Alba’
Apollonius smiled. At least Alba was having a decent time of it.’ He leaned back on his cot, holding the letter close. Soon he was peacefully snoring away, dreaming of the forests of MueoPoros.