Chapter 13 is now complete. The story has taken on its own life, everyone seems to have gone romantic, which I never saw coming and certainly wasn't in the plan!
Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12,
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Chapter 13 – Recuperation
Biskhas N’etesh hurried to the fighter bay aboard the space born Satellite factory in Ghinn’s Escape. The station commander had been more than willing to hire Biskhas’ apparently lord less mercenary squadron. With the current tension between the Spilt Empire and the Argon/Boron Alliance defence squadrons were in high demand. The commander had barely believed his fortune in finding one so ready to agree favourable terms. Of course he had not known about Biskhas’ ulterior motives.
As he buckled himself into the cockpit of his Scorpion medium fighter he ran through the pre-flight checks. All systems seemed nominal. He needed everything to be ready, soon he and his wingmen would be fighting for their clan and taking the first step to destroying the hated Argon and Boron.
The hanger lights lit up to show that departure clearance had been given. Biskhas activated his engines and manoeuvred into the launch tube. His squadron lined up behind him. The main door opened and his ship shot out. As his pilots flew into formation, he led the way in a circuitous route. He targeted the east gate and flew the patrols in a slow spiralling pattern. No one would be suspicious of his motives as his squadron moved inexorably closer to the gate.
Far in the distance, a pair of ancient looking Mule transports hung lazily near the gate. The ships had been taken out of service jazuras ago, but many could still be seen in the hands of the occasional intra-system independent trader. On cue, the leader of the pair activated its distress beacon.
“This is flight leader Biskhas N’etesh to Sector Control.” He signalled to the military wing of the Split trading station. “I am heading to assist the stricken freighters.”
“Very well, I can’t see anyone else who would bother.” The snide reply came through from the station. The Split were not know for their compassion.
Biskhas led his fighters towards the freighters. As the distance rapidly closed between the ships, he slowly began to edge the squadron’s vector towards the gate. The ships hurtled past the twin nacelles, which flanked the ring, guiding his ships through. The wormhole enveloped them for a moment, and then spewed them out into the Boron sector of Hila’s Joy.
His squadron faced a glorious panoramic view of a sector prepared for war. A dozen heavy capital ships were dotted around the various stations. Two commander carriers sat motionless alongside the spinning coil of the central trading station. Squadrons of scout fighters flew endless patrols around the two ships. Half a dozen Argon Titan class destroyers were flying an intricate circuit between the core stations. Finally patrolling the gates were two pairs of the fast Boron Rays, ready to pounce on attacking forces.
Biskhas scanned the sector rapidly, examining the layout of the enemy forces. The only immediate significant threat was a pair of the Rays, which were heading towards this gate from the south. There was one perfect target. The argon had set up a temporary supply position near to this west gate. There were only a handful of freighters, surrounded by a weak ring of laser towers. There was little hope that the slow argon fighters would catch his ships before they had succeeded in destroying the depot.
A transmission came over the communicator. “The Boron Kingdom politely requests you leave this sector now, we regret that Split are not welcome here at this time.” Clearly they were used to frequent intelligence probes from Split fighters, as there was no serious attempt to intercept them.
“All Split pilots,” Biskhas called to his squadron. “Our target is the re-supply depot let none stand in our way.” As his squadron sped into action he activated a multiple frequency transmission. “FOR THE GLORY OF SPLIT.” He cried, screaming defiance at his foes.
In the lead of the attack it was he who reached the depot first. Energy beams from the laser towers stabbed through space about him. One of the beams went close across his cockpit window, the searing light burning into his retina. For a moment he was transfixed and then he was through. As a hail of Dragonfly missiles shot by, the towers began to wink out one by one, the multiple shockwaves caused by the powerful missiles began to tell.
Biskhas gave a sigh of relief; he had never enjoyed this manoeuvre. He hated playing bait for the low AI systems of the laser towers. As squadron leader he could have made one of his wingmen take point, but he was already asking enough of them.
With their defences gone, the freighters began to fall rapidly. The mercury transport had very powerful shields, yet in their current stationary position they were easy targets. They three ships were dispatched rapidly.
Biskhas looked for a new target. Much of the defence fleet was still trying to comprehend what was happening. How inept he thought, such basic mistakes were being made.
“All ships, it seems are foes have been caught off guard and much of the sector is ripe for devastation.” He called to his pilots. “Find a target and kill it. Keep fighting until you ship is falling apart, then you can depart with honour.”
Biskhas targeted a new transport, this one a slow moving Boron dolphin. It was limping its way from a staging post in the north of the system. He sped towards it, revelling in the speed of his fighter. No ship of comparable size could travel so fast. The slow moving transport tried vainly to dodge his shots, but with his high-powered particle accelerators he was soon flying through an expanding debris cloud.
Enemy fighters began to enter the engagement zone. The lumbering fighters of the Argon could not keep up with his fast moving squadron. He laughed with the glee of the thrill. The complete abandon of the Split attack was causing mass disarray. Through out recent history, Split craft had fared badly in most engagements because they had tried to mimic the tactics of their enemies. Now using the enhanced speed of his fighter he was running rings around the slower enemy ships.
The battle became more tense as the carriers launched several flights of Discoverer and Octopus scouts. Although less well powered than the heavier Scorpion fighters, they had a edge on speed and began slowly to drive his squadron onto the guns of the heavy fighters.
In a scant few mizuras, Biskhas watched as half his fellows were destroyed by this herding tactic. Perhaps he had been premature in his delight at his successes. “All ships, it is time for us to leave.” He called to his squadron.
As the ships began to head towards him, he aimed for the gate, destroying a pair of Octopus scouts as they flew past. The remaining Scorpions formed on his wing as he headed for safety.
The strong formation formed by the six remaining Split fighters deterred any attacks by the scout fighters. The few who tried were destroyed or driven off by the fighters as they turned at bay pouring massed fire into the light fighters.
“I think we are going to make it.” Cried one of his pilots with hope.
“Perhaps we shall,” Biskas agreed.”
“No we will, look the pathetic craft of the Argon and Boron cannot hope to match our speed.” The pilot added.
It was true, the enemy heavy fighters were slowly falling behind. The powerful Argon Novas and Busters were far to slow to keep up. Even the faster Boron fighters were unable to catch them. The gate loomed invitingly before them. The remaining scouts tried one last time to take out the Scorpions but were beaten back once again.
Biskhas has succeeded in his mission; he would soon be home to receive his reward. As he lined up to the gate, the swirl of an opening exit wormhole began to appear. Perhaps the Split had decided to capitalise on this attack and drive away the Argon.
As a ship slowly began to emerge, he could see that it filled much of the gateway, it must be a capital ship. Biskhas could see that it was not a Split destroyer, it did not have the glorious twin hulled shape of those mighty ships. It had the aquatic design of a Boron destroyer, it was one of the Rays from the Sector fleet, jumping to cut off their escape.
“We are trapped,” cried one of his pilots.
“Do not fear, my brave warriors, we have served our clan well this day, let us rejoice in whatever fate the great Thurok serves unto us.” Biskhas declared.
The six Split ships began to pour their fire into the destroyer as they tried to loop around it. The particle accelerators barely scratched the powerful shields of the Capital ship, whilst its return fire was murderous. Ion disruptor bursts danced over the shields of the Split ships, draining them of their energy. Plasma fire tore about them shredding the light hulls of the fighters. Within sezuras there were only two left. Biskhas ordered his remaining wingman to escape whilst he flew a collision course for the bridge. Energy busts buffeted him, he was going to make it, but before he made it, his ship finally gave way, the battered hull finally losing integrity as his ejection system launched him into space. As he fell into unconsciousness he thought he could see blue lights dancing around his visor.
+++
Marcus Gromwell rubbed his eyes blearily. What was that beeping noise? As his head cleared he realised that of course it was the chime on the door to his quarters. He dragged himself off his sofa and quickly tidied up his clothes. The chime was insistent.
“Enter.” He called through the door.
“Not disturbing you am I?” a woman in a glittering silver cocktail dress was standing in the doorway.
Gromwell was sure he knew her. “Dureena Fielding, is that you?” He whistled. “Wow your dressed up, what’s the occasion?”
“We are having a little celebration of your rescue, Marcus.” She replied, adding. “Although really its just a chance to unwind and do something fun for a change.”
Fielding walked over to Marcus’ wardrobe and began rummaging around. She started to throw items at Marcus. Black trousers, shirt, bowtie, a dinner jacket.
“Black tie? Perfect. Though a little unexpected.” Marcus said as he began to pull his boots off. “Oh a little privacy would be nice.”
“What oh sorry!” Dureena replied turning to face a wall. Gromwell changed hurriedly, keeping an eye on her.
“So who is coming?” He asked.
“Most of the pilots and officers, Commander Dentill, I guess also that Petre will attend at some point.” Dureena told him.
“You don’t like Rick much do you?” Gromwell asked.
Fielding turned around, watching him skilfully do up the bowtie. “Oh it was a professional dislike, he has my job. Now, I envy him, he is leading a combined force against a powerful enemy, it’s the stuff of legends.”
“Wow, I never thought you so deep.” He said, then exclaimed in a shrill voice. “Oh No! Those damn Split have ruined my scarf.” He held in his hands a torn scarf covered with several bloodstains and caked in ore dust.
“I thought you would eventually notice. Here I got you this.” Fielding offered him a long thin blue box. As he bent to take it she gave him a brief kiss on the cheek.
Marcus began to blush as he opened the box. It was of course a brand new scarf, however this one was a perfect white and made from the finest Paranid silks. “It’s brilliant, thank you Dureena. This must have cost a fortune.” He said to her. His tone could not help but betray his pleasure at the gift.
“It’s a kind of welcome home gift. I’m glad you like it.” She replied as she began to straighten it out around his neck. “Now come on we don’t want to be late.” She linked arms and dragged him towards the door.
The pilots had invaded one of the main function rooms in the executive area of the station. Dureena led Marcus into the room, He looked about along the walls were set round tables with various people sitting in groups around them. At the opposite wall was a stage with a large number of seats, although they were currently empty. Through the centre of the room was a large space, filled with even more chatting groups of pilots, ground crew and other GDI staff. Standing by the door was one of the junior pilots. Marcus nodded in greeting trying to remember his name.
“Mr and Mrs Marcus Gromwell.” The pilot announced to the room like a servant at an ancient ball. Those nearest began to laugh loudly. The pilot had been doing this all night but the joke was not old. The laughter swelled once people saw the look on Gromwell’s face.
“Don’t look so grim Marcus dear.” Dureena said, batting her eyelids playfully. “Its all in jest.” She added as she placed a hand on each of his cheeks and kissed him on the lips. The room filled with cheers, whoops and catcalls. Dureena just smiled.
“Wow, what was that for?” Marcus asked.
“I think we are all beginning to realise what is important in life, that’s all.” Dureena replied, grabbing his hand. “Do you dance?”
On the stage at the other side of the room several GDI employees sat down in white jackets. They had a variety of instruments in their hands. It was clear that someone had decided to form a band. The musicians began to play a fast paced music. Several pilots paired up and began to dance together. Dureena forced Marcus to join her on the dance floor.
+++
Rick Dentill sat in a chair beside the bed where Daryl Schmidt lay attached to a variety of medical devices. The monitors showed that Schmidt was stable, yet he had not regained consciousness since their return. Dentill felt responsible he had agreed to bring Schmidt along for his technical skills rather than for combat.
“Excuse me commander.” One of the nurses said to him.
“Sorry I was light-jazuras away, can I help you?” He replied.
“I was just thinking you ought to take a break, you have been sat there for hours.” The nurse answered.
“Everyone has gone to the party. Someone should sit with him.” Dentill was adamant.
“There’s’ plenty of us about, we will come an eye on him.” The nurse assured him.
“I know. I just, well, I feel responsible.” He replied.
“If I may say sir, it wasn’t you who pulled the trigger.”
“I wouldn’t give him a break. He tried to be friendly but I treat him worse than I did the Split.”
“Oh sir, don’t say that.” The nurse sounded concerned.
“Its true, I blamed him for our set backs. Especially our debacle against the carrier, but I think it was to hide my own failings.” Dentill sounded morose.
“I’m not a military person myself but I understand you have been outnumbered from the start. You have all been fighting hard.” The nurse replied. “You need to get some rest.”
“I can’t sleep knowing that its my fault that Daryl is here because of me. He’s a good man, and I let my prejudices cloud my judgement of him.”
“We all mistakes Commander,” the nurse reassured him.
“He called me a hero when he first arrived. That’s when I started to dislike him. The truth is he is the hero, not me. My men are free because of him. I should have taken the shot.”
As they sat in momentary pause, the nurse could see pain his gaunt eyes. It was clear to her that the commander was tearing himself apart over the many losses that had occurred during the conflict. He was using Schmidt’s condition as an outflow for the pent up emotion. Dentill was clearly close to breakdown from the unaccustomed responsibility combined with lack of sleep and stressful hours.
A thin, weak and shaky voice suddenly interrupted the silence. “Great, then I don’t suppose you would not mind trading places right now. I think the Doc forgot to take out one of the bullets.”
“Daryl” Dentill shouted. “You are awake. We thought we had lost you. You have been unconcisous for Tazuras”
“Yeah I am. Now let me get some sleep I must have missed a few days worth. You get to the party and have some drinks for me. We heroes need to keep up appearances.” Schmidt replied.
Dentill laughed aloud. Relief began to flood through him. He put his hand on the nurse’s arm. “Thanks for your support I really needed it, sorry I was so pathetic.”
“It’s my job Commander.” The nurse replied. “And its nice to know that the CO has a heart after all.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Juliette Swift.”
“Well Nurse Swift, when do you get off shift?”
“Not for another three stazuras.” The nurse answered Dentill’s question.
“Well I am making an executive decision, you are being transferred to special duties.” Dentill said grinning. “It would be unseemly for the boss to be seen at a party unaccompanied.”
Nurse Swift looked into his eyes and amused expression on her face. “I guess you have twisted my arm. I would not want people to think I failed in my duty.”
“Will you two get going already.” Schmidt grumbled. “You are making me queasy.”
The pair laughed. “Its good to see that you are on the mend Daryl. Give me a shout if you need anything.” Dentill said as he led Juliette away.
Dentill dropped Juliette off at her small quarters and headed for his own. He stood under a hot showeer for several mizuras
He thought it best to wear his dress uniform, as he new most would be in evening wear. The CO must stand out, or so his old friend Group Captain Dafidson has told him jauzras ago. He pulled on the uniform and began to fasten his tie. As he fumbled over the knot he felt a pang of regret for all the times he had spent doing this before navy functions.
His door chimed and he went to open it. Standing framed by the bright lights of the corridor stood Juliette Swift. He had not realised until that moment how attractive she was. She was only about average height, but was perfectly formed, slim and yet shapely. She was dressed in a long black gown. “Put that tongue back in.” She said laughing at his drop jawed expression. “Are we going to the party or not.”
Dentill composed himself and replied with a wry smile. “Yes of course, I was just momentarily transfixed by your...” He meant to say beauty but felt suddenly self-conscious.
Juliette laughed and waved her arm slowly. “My watch perhaps. Come on this was your idea.” She said as she stepped back into the corridor.
They made their way to the party. It was not far as Dentill’s quarters were in the executive section of the station. The party was in full swing when they arrived. The Imported alcohol was being consumed at a prodigious rate and mountains of food had been consumed. The band had begun to play slower quieter music, so everyone in the room heard the self-appointed announcer, the young pilot shout out. “Ladies and Gentleman might I present our supreme worshipful leader, Commander Richard Dentill the First.” This brought cheers from the assembled pilots and other personnel. “..and his lovely escort.” The pilot bawled. This announcement was met by whistles, and even louder cheers.
“Thank you so much, Mr Simms.” Dentill said embarrassed.
“Any time, Sir.” The pilot said.
As Juliette led Dentill to the dance floor she whispered in his ear. “You are very attractive when you are embarrassed commander.” He blushed an even deeper red as she kissed him on the cheek. Several of the pilots around him laughed and cheered. Dentill gracefully nodded in appreciation, he was glad that his pilots were at least full of spirits again.
The party went on for many stazuras. Staff came off shift and headed for the party, whilst others tired by all the revelry retired for the night. Eventually the band grew tired and so music was played through a synthesiser. Dentill was sat at one of the tables. Juliette sat next to him holding his hand on the tabletop. Marcus came over with his arm around Dureena’s shoulder.
“Hello Rick, great party although I guess I did deserve it.” Marcus said.
Dentill laughed. “Back from the clutches of hell and already suffering from delusions of grandeur. Maybe I threw it just for myself. It was after all me who rescued you.”
“Modest aren’t we Rick, single handily saving the world again. Seriously though, thanks for the save I thought I was a gonner.”
“I did not suspect you had religious persuasions.” Loralaminckstros said sitting down.
Marcus jumped, none of them has seen him come over. Dureena explained “Not a Goner a gonner, means someone lost without hope.”
“I know, I was trying to make humour, I fear I was unsuccessful.” Loralaminckstros replied.
“No matter Loral.” Dentill interrupted. “Did you enjoy the party?”
“It was interesting.” Loralaminckstros said. “It was not like a Paranid function, our celebrations are far more sombre and reflective.”
“Oh this was tame Loral, back home most of our parties involve the majority of people being carried out.” Marcus replied. “Talking of which, I am going to crash out before you have to carry me to bed.”
“Sleep well Marcus, make sure you are up early. As punishment for needing rescuing you get to clean up in here.” Dentill chuckled.
Dureena dragged the blustering Marcus out of the room by his arm. Loralaminckstros bowed his head as he said. “I fear I must depart too, I wish you well until is see you again Commander.”
“Take care of yourself.” Dentill replied as he watched Loralaminckstros leave the room. He looked around the room, everyone had left, leaving he and Juliette alone. “I guess it’s just us. Would you care to dance?” He asked bowing regally holding out his arm.
“I would be delighted to kind sir.” Juliette replied with a beaming smile and exaggerated nod.
They danced to a slow ancient tune the music continued for several mizuras. They held each other close. Juliette looked into Dentill’s eyes and could see that some of the pain had gone but he still seemed sad. She hugged him tighter trying to will comfort and support through the embrace.
The music drifted to a end but still they hold each other. Dentill looked down and said “I didn’t say before but you transfix me with your beauty.”
“I know, but it sounds like a poor chat up line.” She laughed.
Dentill looked hurt. “I…”
“Shhh.” Juliette placed a finger over his lips and then leant up to kiss him. “Your eyes tell me everything I need to know.”
Dentill bent slightly to kiss her back when he heard his name being called out. He looked towards the sound it was Petre Shacklock hurrying towards him. Dentill could see that Petre was shaken and flustered. It looked like he must have run from the other side of the station.
“Rick.” Schacklock gasped for breath. “We have a problem. The Split have invaded Hila’s Joy.”
Destiny's Dawn - Chapter 13 (complete)
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