Richard then turned to Franks. “Major, get your marines ready, they’ll be expecting us.”
“Aye, Sir, but I think it will be more on the lines of them fearing us,” Franks commented and then walked away.
A smiled came to Wakinyan’s lips. He then glanced back to Benson. “Captain, you think you’ve got things covered here?”
“Don’t worry, Sir. This is Martian Marine property now. And the only people were handing it over is to you and Commander Paladin!” the marine officer spoke with an unmistakable conviction.
Wakinyan’s jaw jutted out with pride. He knew he commanded the finest space soldiers in the galaxy. Placing a hand on the marine’s shoulder, Wakinyan gently squeezed the man’s flesh in approval. He then released Benson, and treaded off after the marine major.
“ALL RIGHT MARINES, LISTEN UP!” growled Major Franks. “THE EARTHERS ARE HOLDING COMMANDER PALADIN PRISONER ON THE BRIDGE! ARE WE GOING TO ALLOW THESE GARBAGE SUCKING MAGOTS TO GET AWAY WITH THAT? ARE WE GOING TO TOLERATE THEM ANY FURTHER?”
“NO!!!” shouted every Martian Marine in unison.
“WHAT DO YOU SAY THEN?” Franks inflamed his men.
“OOH-RAH!!!” they yelled back at the top of their lungs.
“THEN LET’S TAKE THE BASTARDS OUT!” Franks inflamed further. “SEMPER FI!”
“SEMPER FI, SIR!!!” the marines chanted like the ringing of huge church bells.
With Wakinyan and Major Franks leading the way, the Martian Marines charged out of the security room ready for another fight.
* * * * *
Damon nervously loaded a power-pack into the electron pistol he held in his hand and set it to kill. The administrator had never used a weapon before, and the realization of the seriousness of the situation totally frightened him.
Khalid was the leader now, but his controlled was limited to the bridge of the Morning Star. He hastily fortified it with whatever could be found and used for protection against the assault he knew would come.
The mood of the bridge crew steadily deteriorated since the power to all instrumentation was shut down from the security room. Even more alarming was the total loss of all communication beyond the chamber’s walls. The situation was pessimistic at best.
Still Khalid held some hope. His ship—the Mir—was on its way and was expected to arrive soon. Omar was also ready to play his ace in the hole: Commander Paladin. The prisoner was a good bargaining chip. Omar Khalid, however, was a realist, and if a deal was not struck, Khalid was prepared to kill the old Martian officer.
After the defenses were set, every ion handgun was aimed at the hatchway—the only way in. Khalid and his followers then settled back and waited. The emotions of uncertainty and fear churned the air in growing apprehension, for time was running out. Abruptly, the whine of electric motors interrupted the long silence on the bridge, startling many of the crew.
“THE BLAST SHIELDS ARE CLOSING!” an unknown voice yelled out.
Omar jerked his head to gaze upon the steel shutters closing over every one of the bridge’s portholes and windows. He knew this was an ominous sign. His heart raced in his chest as he began to sweat.
Next, all power to the bridge was cut off, and the room fell into complete blackness.
“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” a woman sobbed in the background.
“SHUT UP!” shouted Khalid to silence the coward before she started a panic.
Suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the bridge in a burst of light and a surging wave of torrent force. The hatchway slammed against the bulkhead with a clang, denting the metal wall as it was blown open. A shroud of blue smoke then slowly choked the room. It rolled in like an ocean’s surf and hung as a translucent curtain.
The lights of the bridge then flickered slowly, eerily for many long seconds before coming back on. It was followed by a foreboding calm that was soundless and still. It spooked all of the defenders, some more than others. A few more women began to cry, while a terrified Colonel Galler sat, covering his head with his hands and rocking back and forth.
“I don’t want to die!” the man pleaded. “Please, I don’t want to die!”
Captain Jacobs agreed heartily, as he crouched next to Khalid and Commander Paladin. He realized the folly of his part in going along with Damon’s scheme, for nothing ever good came from money tainted with blood. It was all stupidity—and he had nothing but his own greed to blame.
“This is crazy,” he mouthed his complaint to Khalid. “How the hell are we suppose to fight off heavily armed troops with body armor with these things?”
“Would you rather hang?” Khalid retorted angrily. “Because that’s what happens to mutineers! Ask Paladin if you don’t believe me!”
Paladin, however, seized upon the opportunity to drive a wedge between the captain of the Morning Star and Khalid.
“Jacobs, listen to me! Up to this point, you haven’t cost anyone their life. If you and your crew surrender now, I promise leniency.” Paladin honestly guaranteed.
“Sure you do,” Omar mocked the Martian officer, “and afterwards, he’ll be standing on the scaffold next to me.”
“Jacobs,” Paladin continued. “You can either believe me or believe this traitor. The choice is yours. But how long do you think you’ll last against those marines?”
Khalid, however, was sure of the power he held over Jacobs. “Don’t waste your breath, old man. He’s in this too deep. And if we die, you’ll be right along side of us!” Omar said with a sadistic chuckle.
Moments later, smoke grenades were heaved through the hatchway, popping and fizzing to life. The room began to swell with thick clouds of gas that formed a gray screen of cover. And when all visibility was gone, the shuffling of hidden combat boots began to scuffle against the metal deck.
Martian Marines penetrated cautiously into the room in “stacks” of four. With weapons held at the ready, their numbers grew as each small group entered and moved forward, taking up their assigned positions.
Suddenly a frenzy of panic set in among some of the loyalist security guards who began firing at echoes and imagined phantoms emerging from the smoke as well as their own terror. But the heat signatures of their weapons and bodies betrayed their locations to the marines’ infrared equipment. The snipers were quickly targeted—and then neutralized.
Soon, the moans of the wounded and the dying guards joined the chorus of the crying women. It pervaded every ear with the promise of pain and violent death. In the weird atmosphere of choking smoke and the stench of carbon scoring, it multiplied the deepest fears among the surviving bridge crew.
“Enough!” admitted Jacobs. “We’re surrendering!”
The outburst caught Khalid completely by surprise. However, Omar swiftly swung his pistol at the Morning Star’s captain.
“You say one more word, and I’ll kill you!” Khalid threatened. “Now, drop your weapon!”
Paladin saw the submission and desolation in Jacobs’ eyes; the man did not want to die. Jacobs, however, was frozen in indecision of what to do next. It was then that Paladin chose to take a gamble. In a flash, he hurled his body into Omar with all the force he could muster.
As Sergeant Gagarin approached with his “stack” in the lead, he heard the sounds of ion guns discharging close by. The marines quickly dropped down, probing the smoke through their infrared scopes. However, the fire was not directed at them—and quickly ended.
“DON’T SHOOT!” a familiar electronic voice cried out from the veiled fumed mist.
“Commander?” Gagarin yelled back, recognizing the voice. “Commander Paladin?”
“Yes!” Paladin answered.
“Sergeant Gagarin, Sir, Martian Marine Corps. Are you alright, Sir?”
“I am now, Sergeant!” Paladin expressed happily. “I have a wounded and unarmed man with me, who wants to stand up and address the rest of the bridge crew.
For a moment, Gagarin paused, but he then cautiously agreed. “Tell
him to stand up very slowly, Sir—and make no sudden movements!” the marine warned sternly.
Gagarin motioned his team to form a skirmish line. He then looked through his scope and waited. An infrared image rose sluggishly up behind a piece of equipment seconds later. The figure was unsteady and looked injured. Still, Gagarin’s index finger tightened around the trigger of his weapon. He was not about to take any chances.
“THIS IS CAPTAIN JACOBS!” the man called out to everyone on the bridge. “CAPTAIN KHALID IS DEAD! I AM IN COMMAND NOW! LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS! WE ARE SURRENDERING!”
* * * * *
Aboard the Crazy Horse, Captain James Randall faced his own problems. The most notable being the Crazy Horse and Morning Star tethered precariously together by the air hoses welded to the space liner. Randall’s job was to protect these at all costs, lest he might be responsible for the loss of all life aboard the space liner.
It was not an easy task. To fend off several assaults, however, he had to reinforce the marines holding the juncture with armed crewmen from the Crazy Horse several times. In one instance, he even used the destroyer’s multi-barreled anti-missile lasers to break up a concentrated attack by over a hundred spacesuited security guards. At point-blank range, it was extremely dangerous—and messy. Bodies and body parts now drifted lazily about, along with some debris from minor hits on the liner. Some of the dead were shredded and burned beyond recognition, but this was the harvest of war.
Now a new threat materialized as Randall gazed at the ship’s tactical monitor. The Mir was moving on their position, and its weapons were fully energized. The big cruiser was unfortunately alerted to the boarding prior to the loss of communication with the Morning Star.
The Mir’s executive officer, Lieutenant Desh, was a contentious man who no bore no loyalty to anyone other than himself. He assumed that Khalid was either taken captive or dead. A once native of the Earth region of India before his migration to Mars, the tall thin man salivated at this thought. For it meant nothing to him other than a promotion in rank and above all—his own ship. Still, the situation needed to be handled just right, for the “fallout” from the wrong decision would be enormous.
Randall reviewed the few options he had. Retreating was out of the question. The hose lines and the welded plates were too fragile to chance a quick departure that would cause a fatal breach to the Morning Star, killing everyone aboard. The second option of initiating a reckless fight was sure to doom both tethered ships as easy targets. He chose, however, a third option: to sit, sweat, and wait.
With their captain and leaders aboard, he reasoned that all the cruiser could do was threaten them. However, there was no guarantee of that. James felt uneasy, regardless that it was likely the more prudent course of action.
“CAPTAIN!” the Crazy Horse’s sensor crewman called out.
“THE MIR IS WITHIN FIRING RANGE AND IS TARGETING US!”
“SHIELDS MAXIMUM, DOUBLE LAYER PORT SIDE! ALL WEAPONS ON MY COMMAND!” James ordered, hoping that this was a mere show of force by the cruiser. Yet in the back of his mind, he knew that things had an insane way of escalating.
The Mir closed rapidly on the two ships cinched together by the thin hose lines. Her scanners probed and canvassed the situation with great intensity. Desh was ardently searching for an excuse to open fire, but he was still wary of any accusations he might face at a board of inquiry. Killing Martian rebels was one thing, killing his own leaders was another.
As the two warships “squared-off” for a final showdown, they both neglected to notice that other vessels were moving gradually, but deliberately on their positions. Hidden in the anchorage of the fleet, another big cruiser and several destroyers converged seemingly from nowhere.
Unexpectedly, the unknown cruiser fired several small pulse energy weapons at the Mir. The weapons raked the Mir from bow to stern, but did very little damage.
“MIR!” a voice came over the PA. “THIS IS CAPTAIN WINSLOW OF THE MARINER! YOU ARE SURROUNDED—AND TARGETED! STAND-DOWN OR BE DESTROYED!” his words were firm and insistent.
Randall did not believe his eyes as he viewed the main monitor. Khalid’ ship was completely surrounded by the Mariner and the First Destroyer Squadron.
“REPEAT, MIR! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!” Winslow ordered. “STAND-DOWN OR BE DESTROYED!”
Moments later, the Mir’s weapons de-energized and the ship halted its advance. A cheer rose from the bridge of the Crazy Horse, while Randall sighed in relief. He thought that the present danger had passed.
* * * * *
The marines waited a few minutes for at least some of the smoke to dissipate before clearing the bridge of the remaining Earth loyalists. Still, the room was semi-clogged with smoke and presented numerous places for holdouts to hide trying to evade detection. This became an all too real and lethal peril for the marines, which was evident by the several small firefights that quickly erupted. The combat was very intense with the marines suffering occasional casualties. In the end, however, the resisting guards were all killed or captured. Yet, there was one who eluded the leathernecks’ search and apprehension.
Although he had no formal military training, Damon skillful dodged his uniformed pursuers. He crept behind instrument consoles, slithered over bodies, and scrunched in places where a human being should not have been able to fit. Marine patrols passed close by him, but not one caught a glimpse of the dangerous fugitive.
Damon was scared, but his mind was set to a single task: the destroying of the Martian rebellion in one bold stroke. He realized what the cost would be, but he was already a dead man. Still, there was no other choice: he would either be executed by the Martians as a traitor or by The Order for the failure of the mutiny. Through his own incompetence, his death was a surety.
Anger and bitterness fueled the politician’s drive, while revenge became the life-blood of Feoras Damon. It was all that he had left.
In the distance, he heard the voice of the man who was responsible for his dilemma. Rage set upon Damon’s heart as a great fire, and it burned hotter as the voice became a haughty insult to him. The politician crept slowly closer with his ion pistol in hand.
Paladin stood rubbing his freed wrists as he chatted openly with Wakinyan and Major Franks. A toothy smile was caste on the man’s face, while exhilaration filled his soul. “You two have got to be the craziest officers I have in this entire fleet!” Paladin pronounced with a chuckle after hearing of their daring exploits. “I’m not sure if I should decorate or court-martialed the both you!”
“We’re just adapting and overcoming, Sir,” Major Franks offered. “Besides, it was all his idea,” the marine said nodding to Wakinyan.
“Well, Deputy Commander?” Paladin asked. “What’s your excuse?”
But Wakinyan, although happy, was serious. “No excuses, Sir! It’s just good to have you back!” Richard’s voice softened to the confession with the lovingness of a son.
The genuineness of warmth coming from his favorite junior officer infused a glad heart within Paladin. The old Martian officer with a proud grin reached over and grabbed Richard by the shoulders in a welcoming grip.
However, a hazy shadow appearing ten feet beyond Wakinyan’s back and caught Paladin’s eye. The apparition became a man standing straight and unmoving in the mist of billowing smoke that was gradually clearing away. He was as a statue, cold and unblinking. Hate transfixed the very air around him, while his hand crushed an ion handgun. There was no question; he was there to kill. And from his observed position, his target was Wakinyan.
Paladin’s face transformed into utter fear. He frantically yanked Wakinyan off his feet and around with all the strength he had, throwing the junior officer to the floor. As he did, an electron bolt caught Alexander Paladin, Martian fleet Commander, directly in the back. A low and hollow gasp for air escaped from the man’s mouth as it penetrated to a lung. He then fell mortally wounded to the floor next to
Wakinyan.
For Major Franks, however, training and instincts took over. The marine spun and dropped on his left knee, blasting the armed figure with automatic fire from his plasma rifle. Other nearby marines at the same time joined in, setting up a deadly crossfire. The heated tracers saturated area as the smell of burning carbon fumed every nostril.
Damon shuddered and jerked from the murderous barrage, finally toppling over thoroughly dead. His chard and shredded body made a soft thump as it impacted on the metal deck, while his released pistol clattered away into the mist.
“CEASE FIRING!” bellowed Major Franks, sure that Damon was longer counted among the living. The marine then turned to Wakinyan, who sat on the floor tightly holding Paladin in his arms.
“MEDIC!” Wakinyan tearfully yelled. “MEDIC!” he again screamed, but more urgently.
Weakly Paladin voiced “Forget it,” knowing that he was dying.
The sharp pains in his chest told the officer that his passing was mere minutes away. Only one thing now absorbed his thoughts: a single last duty to be performed.
With a trembling hand, Paladin reached up and removed the two-star rank from his own collar. Gasping for each breath of life, Paladin held out the stars to Wakinyan.
Wakinyan began crying with a steady stream of tears running down his face. “No!” he choked back, vigorously shaking his head in refusal in accepting Paladin’s inevitable death. “NO!” he reiterated louder, denying the rank he was being offered.
With a gentle nod and a loving fatherly smile that was spotted with his own blood, Paladin convinced Richard to take the twin stars of metal. As Wakinyan picked up the emblems of absolute Martian military authority in his own hand, he swallowed hard. He didn’t want any of this, but the finality of Paladin’s life made it a certainty.
“God bless you, Fleet Commander Wakinyan!” Paladin managed to gurgle out with his last breath. The old officer then died quietly, peacefully, as if going to sleep.
For a moment, Richard was frantic as he tried shaking Paladin to wake him from his eternal rest. But the old man was gone. Suddenly Wakinyan exploded in uncontrollable and grief-stricken wails. They pierced every ear with their tones of great lament, filling all with their heavy sadness and the deep sorrow they contained. Through it all, Richard still held Paladin tightly in his arms, unwilling to let go of him.