In Her Name: The Last War (140 page)

Behind the wall, he knew with chilling certainty, would be the warriors. He switched to the corps broadcast frequency. “Marines, prepare for close contact! The warriors are going to be right behind that…” He was at a loss for words. What exactly was that thing? 

“General, fleet reports incoming fire!” The voice of his operations officer, coming to him over the staff channel, diverted his attention.

Sparks looked up as the contrails from the shells fired by the battleship guns signaled their imminent arrival. He raised his field glasses again, hoping he could see the shells when they detonated. They would be submunition rounds, the big shells nothing but containers for thousands of smaller bomblets that would turn any living thing in the target zone into mincemeat. 

The shells came in…and stopped in mid-air. Then they just fell toward the ground. He couldn’t see them hit because of the ever darkening wall that was racing toward him.

“Dammit!” To his crew, he said, “Be ready. There’s going to be a lot of pissed-off warriors right on top of us when that thing blows past. We’ll have to be quick.”

After one last look to either side, seeing that the crews in the other tanks and fighting vehicles had buttoned up, he reluctantly gave in to his own apprehension and dropped into the cupola, slamming the hatch shut above him.

The wall was racing at them now, so thick it was nearly black. He only hoped that his theory was correct and the thing would pass by them, rather than simply smashing them to pieces.

“Steady, now…”

Closer it came. 

Sparks could feel the big tank trembling as the ground shook, and tightened his grip on the handholds inside the turret, wondering what could possibly create such a phenomenon. 

“Steady…”

His last thought was that the dark, swirling mass looked as if it were alive.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

“That’s the last of them, commodore. We did it.”

Sato watched the last red icon representing a Kreelan warship blink and disappear from the tactical display as
Orion’s
final salvo echoed in the flag bridge. No Kreelan warships were left in the entire system, only tumbling heaps of metal and frozen bodies that even now clanged off of the battleship’s armor as she changed course,
Thunderer
still alongside, to rendezvous with their twin sisters.

“Yes, we did.” Sato’s voice held an air of satisfaction mixed with sorrow. The Confederation had won the battle and the new battleships had certainly proved their mettle. But the cost had been high. Eight cruisers and thirteen destroyers had been lost, most with all hands.

“Sir,” the communications officer called, “incoming from Admiral Voroshilov.”

“On the main display, if you please.”

The Saint Petersburg admiral’s bearded face appeared on the forward viewer. “My congratulations on a battle well fought and won, Commodore Sato.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sato bowed his head, wincing as he looked back up.

“You are injured, commodore?”

“Minor burns, admiral.” Sato gestured with his left arm, where the sleeve was still smoking and his left hand was heavily bandaged. An electrical fire had broken out on one of the command consoles, seriously injuring his engineering officer. Sato had dragged her away and batted out the flames covering the woman’s upper body with his hands while other members of the flag bridge crew extinguished the fire. His hand was covered with second degree burns, but he barely felt it now after the surgeon had injected him with painkillers. “It’s nothing, sir. We’ve lost far more.”

“Which brings me to the next question, commodore. What is the status of your ships?”

“
Monarch
and
Conqueror
suffered only minor damage and no casualties, and remain fully combat capable. I’ve ordered them to rendezvous with the munitions ships to rearm. That should take roughly four hours.”

Voroshilov nodded. “Very good. Go on, please.”

“
Thunderer
suffered moderate damage. Half of her main batteries are out of action and she’s lost her secondary sensor array. She’s also very low on ammunition. I’ve ordered her to detach and head for the resupply ships as soon as
Monarch
and
Conqueror
are finished. As for casualties, she suffered twelve dead and fifteen wounded, sir.”

“And your flagship, commodore?”

Sato’s expression hardened. “
Orion
is no longer fit for combat, admiral.” Those words hurt him, but he was buoyed by the knowledge that at least
Orion
had survived. “Two of our main batteries are out of action, along with half our secondaries and point defense lasers. The armor along the starboard side has been compromised, and the hull has been breached in five places. Damage control parties have contained the damage and are shoring up the hull around the breached sections.

“Casualties…” Sato paused, thinking of the smoking wreckage that was all that was left of the ship’s bridge, and the silent vacuum-filled tomb of engine room number three. “Casualties were high, sir. We lost eighty-seven members of the crew, including Captain Semyonova and the other personnel on the ship’s bridge. My condolences, sir.”

Voroshilov closed his eyes for a moment. Semyonova had served under him while they were in the Saint Petersburg Navy. “Thank you, commodore.” 

“Admiral, if I may ask, what’s happening on the ground? I know that
Monarch
and
Conqueror
conducted a direct fire bombardment, but we haven’t heard what happened.”

“Absolutely nothing happened, commodore.” Voroshilov’s mouth twisted as if he were about to spit. “The shells did not detonate. Tracking indicated they were precisely on-target. But optical sensors showed them simply…stopping, and falling toward the surface.”

“Impossible,” Sato breathed, knowing even as he said it that it that anything seemed to be possible for the Kreelans. He knew that better than anyone.

“Yes, just like neutralizing radioactive isotopes as they did during our battle at Saint Petersburg. Impossible. Yet it happened.”

“And there’s been no word from General Sparks?” 

“None since just after the bombardment commenced.” 

No one else on the flag bridge would have caught it, but Sato had worked long enough with Voroshilov that he could tell the admiral was worried. 

“The combat zone has become obscured and we have lost all contact with the general and his Marines.”

* * *

With a cry of agony, Ku’ar-Marekh collapsed. 

Selan-Kulir, her body tingling from the power of the priestess’s Bloodsong, still had the presence of mind to grab hold of the priestess’s armor and help to ease her fall. 

“My priestess?” 

Ku’ar-Marekh stared at the eerily darkened sky as the shield she had woven began to rapidly disperse. Blood now ran freely from her nose and eyes. She coughed, and droplets of blood sprayed from her lips. The pain in her body was nearly as bad as the fire that had engulfed her during the Change when she had become a priestess.

“I will get you to a healer.” Selan-Kulir closed her eyes to focus her need through the Bloodsong, but felt Ku’ar-Marekh’s hand take her wrist.

“No, child. There is no need.”

“But…”

Ku’ar-Marekh shook her head. “There is no need.” Gently pushing the young warrior’s hands aside, she managed to get to her feet. 

Selan-Kulir stood close beside her, uncertain. She forced herself to keep her hands at her sides as her priestess swayed on her feet. 

“The battle is again an honorable one.” Ku’ar-Marekh could see her warriors charging the humans that surrounded them. The humans still held a decisive advantage if they could recover in time, but her warriors would no longer be slaughtered like meat animals with no chance for glory. 

The two stood there, alone among the screaming wounded and the silent dead, the smoke from the destroyed ships and vehicles again wafting across the field of battle. 

Above, the sky began to clear. Ku’ar-Marekh cast her second sight upward to the human ships, and quickly saw that their weapons were no longer prepared to bombard her warriors, for they were too close now to their human opponents.

In the distance, all around them, the howl of the warriors grew as they came within striking distance of the human animals. The sound was slowly punctuated by weapons fire as the humans regained their senses. Their rate of fire picked up quickly, but no one would know until the battle was over if it would be quick enough.

“You will return to the fleet,” Ku’ar-Marekh ordered quietly.

“But, my priestess, what of the battle?” Selan-Kulir could conceal neither her confusion, nor deep disappointment. She had been wounded, yes, but could still wield a sword. “I wish to fight!”

Ku’ar-Marekh turned to her. “And fight you shall, child, but not this day. Our lives are spent easily in war, but do not waste yours. This,” she gestured around them, “will be over before you could reach the battle line, and if the humans win, you will simply die an empty death. I do not wish this, and it brings neither honor to yourself, nor glory to the Empress.”

Selan-Kulir, chastened, bowed her head as Ku’ar-Marekh went on. “You did the Empress great honor by standing by my side this day. The last day…” 

She faltered, and Selan-Kulir reached out to steady her. 

“…the last day a high priestess of the Nyur-A’il shall walk among Her Children. After me, there shall be no more, for all eternity. You are my last witness, and I wish you to live until you can die with honor. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my priestess.” Selan-Kulir looked up, the skin under her eyes black with mourning for what the Empire was about to lose. Ages before the foundation of the Empire, all of the martial orders had maintained unbroken lines of high priests and priestesses. After the passing of Keel-Tath, there were only priestesses, for the males had been left barely sentient by the Curse. 

But the most ancient orders, such as the Nyur-A’il, had fewer and fewer disciples since those ancient days. Two of the orders now had only a single priestess, Tesh-Dar of the Desh-Ka, and Ku’ar-Marekh of the Nyur-A’il. 

And this day would see the passage of the Nyur-A’il from history, something that had never happened in all the ages since the first Books of Time.

Holding out her hands, Ku’ar-Marekh took the young warrior’s forearms in a tight grip, the formal greeting, and parting, of warriors. “May thy Way be long and glorious, Selan-Kulir.”

And then she was gone.

* * *

Sparks shook his head, trying to clear his vision. The last thing he remembered was his helmet slamming against the heavy metal frame of the cupola display. 

The Wolverine was dark and deathly quiet. All the displays were out. The engine must have died and the power had somehow failed. 

“Crew! Status?” He didn’t bother with the intercom, but shouted so his crew could hear him through their helmets. 

“Christ, sir, what was that?” The driver was still disoriented. 

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Sparks snapped. “Can we move or is the tank dead?”

“Hang on, general…” Sparks relaxed slightly at the change in the driver’s tone of voice. He was snapping out of it. 

The interior lights snapped back on, and Sparks heard the whine of the starters for the tank’s twin turbine engines.

“Gunner?”

“Sir, primary fire control is off-line, but we’ve still got optical.” He paused, then looked up at Sparks from where he sat, below and ahead of the general. Sparks could have reached out and tapped the man’s helmet with his foot. “Jesus, sir, they’re right on top of us!”

“Hell!” Sparks popped the hatch. Shoving it open, he stuck his head out and looked to their front. His skin crawled at not only the sight, but the blood-curdling screams of thousands of alien warriors who were now less than a hundred meters away. “Do we have radio?” 

“Negative, sir.” The driver muttered a curse. He couldn’t move the Wolverine until the turbines had reached operating temperature. It didn’t take long, only a minute, but it was a minute they didn’t have. He could see the cyan glow of lightning grenades held by some of the approaching warriors. He was a veteran of the ongoing campaign against the Kreelans on Saint Petersburg, and knew painfully well what those hellish weapons could do to his vehicle and its crew.

“Guess we’ll have to wake everybody up the old fashioned way.” Sparks manually aimed the gatling gun at the approaching horde. “Open fire!”

The gun spat a solid stream of shells that tore into the front ranks of the warriors, mowing them down by the dozens. Other tanks and fighting vehicles, their crews recovering from the strange phenomenon that had hit them, began firing, as well. 

The Wolverine’s main gun spoke, sending a flechette round straight into the Kreelan line. Normally a devastating weapon, the enemy was so close now that it simply punched a deep but narrow hole into the mass of warriors that was quickly filled by more. 

“Driver!” Sparks paused momentarily in his firing so he could hear his driver’s response. “Back us up! Fast!”

“The turbines aren’t up yet, sir!” 

Sparks cursed as he fired again, sending over a hundred cannon rounds every second into the enemy in a desperate attempt to keep the Kreelans away.

Next to him, the antipersonnel mortar began to fire, sending the small bombs arcing into the alien horde.

The first volley of lightning grenades rose from the approaching warriors, and the tanks on both sides of Sparks were hit. Webs of cyan energy engulfed the weapons as soon as the weapons touched the metal, the flickering tendrils leaving white-hot scars across the armor. The commander of the Wolverine on the left managed to get out. His uniform was on fire, and he only lasted a few seconds before a Kreelan flying weapon cut him down. The other members of his crew and that of the tank on the right were burned alive.

A pair of lightning grenades sailed up from warriors in front of Sparks’s tank just before his gunner blew the Kreelans apart with another round from the main gun.