Torian Reclamation 3: Test of Fortitude (31 page)

The noise finally stopped. In a few minutes, the dust settled and they could breathe normally again. It was dark. A few glimmers of light shone through cracks in certain places.

Kalsted, one of Jurgstot’s most trusted companions, was still with him. Kalsted now moved to the right side and felt his way around the rubble. He shoved at a certain spot and a hole of daylight appeared. He kept pushing around that area, enlarging the opening. Soon it was the size of his head.

That’s when a laser fired through the opening straight into his forehead. Kalsted froze in place with both arms hanging a foot away from his sides. Finally, he fell backwards. His face was gone.

There was now enough light to assess the situation. Jurgstot scanned the wall of debris before them. There were areas of smaller rocks and dirt, such as the one Kalsted just cleared, perhaps half a dozen—but none of them looked bigger than the size of an Ossurian head. The rest of it was all heavy rock and tree trunk. Precisely as Jurgstot figured. The trap worked beautifully. Only he was meant to be on the outside, and the aliens on the inside. He was supposed to be taunting and insulting them now.

Where did he go wrong? Did he underestimate his enemy? No. The problem was he didn’t know his enemy at all. These weren’t natives. Jurgstot had prepared himself for an easy rout of a handful of meek Sulienites. He banked on his estimation of their poor abilities. Who could blame him? Jurgstot had been involved in more than his share of raids on this planet, capturing hundreds and killing dozens for showing the slightest hesitation to cooperate with their impressment. Even the best of the natives were no more than a shade above banal.

Jurgstot remembered the language training classes underground. Some of the enslaved Sulienites were only too happy to have the chance of leaving the mines for a day and giving speech instructions to their captors. Jurgstot was especially interested in learning the most derogatory words, terms Ossurians considered curses, so he could taunt his victims in the field. He recalled some of them now.

For no reason other than spite, he began shouting them. These were Ossurian curses and insults translated to the Sulien tongue, the best he knew how to say them. They made him feel better. He raised his voice.

Jurgstot’s lone remaining conscious companion looked at him and smiled. He then assumed a defiant look and joined Jurgstot in the cursing. Their shouts grew louder as they repeated the taunts and insults. This was almost fun.

Another laser shot through Kalsted’s opening. It connected with the throat of Jurgstot’s final companion, muting him. The beam held long enough to silence him permanently. He fell to the floor, stiff.

Jurgstot was alone.

Brandon spoke into the radio. “Data transfer complete. You’re good to go, Specter.”

“Data received, Aston. Thanks. What exactly are we supposed to do with it?”

“That’s up to the general, boys. For now, just upload it into your ordinance. Where’s your other sister?”

After a moment of silence, Specter radioed back. “We lost her. Somewhere along the flank here. Please confirm the mine data was only for the dark fighters, not Azaarian craft.”

“That’s correct,” Brandon answered. “The dark ships are a known enemy. At this juncture, Azaar is still only a suspected one. Erob help us to use these things wisely.”

“What are we doing on this side of the battlefield, then?” Specter’s pilot asked.

“Waiting for a deployment scheme.” That was as good of an answer as Brandon could come up with.

“Understood. Specter out.” The ITF2 next to Brandon’s eased away and turned back to patrol the far left flank of the Torian position.

“Two down,” Brandon said. “Where’s Quasar?”

“Scanning for her now,” Borsk7 said. “Where’d you get the name Aston from?”

Brandon hesitated before answering.

“That was the name of my ITF1 crew in the Milura campaign, 30 long years ago. Our ship was …a total loss. The high command retired our crew name to honor the fatality we incurred. Seems like a good identification for us, since we weren’t given one. At least we know it isn’t in use.”

“Sorry, Commander. I forgot.”

“Forgot? You knew about it already?”

Borsk7 chuckled. “Your flying in the Azaarian battles 30 years ago is a standard study course in basic fighter pilot school. We all know about it.”

“Humph,” Brandon said. “They must be teaching better skills these days than I ever had. What you two pulled off to get us this smart mine data was inspired. With flying like that, I see no reason why we can’t soundly defeat the enemy, formidable as they may appear. ”

“Our guys are good,” Lut5 said, “but I wouldn’t count on that level of performance from all of them. Borsk7 and I are, after all, the two top-rated pilots in the entire Torian military. That’s why we’re the High General’s personal escort, you know.”

Brandon cocked his head. “No. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t?”

“There’s Quasar,” Borsk7 said. “She came and found us. Requesting data transfer.”

“Give it to her, Borsk7. Don’t forget to download their direct transmission link.”

“Yes, Commander.”

So—Olut6 sent his two best pilots, his own personal escorts, with Brandon’s mission as part of his ITF2 crew. Why would he do that, seeing as there was such a high chance of the whole thing being a futile endeavor? Perhaps Olut6 was the real prophet in Tora.

Brandon was committing a breach in protocol by collecting the direct transmission links of the three other ITF2’s. It wasn’t something he would want Islog8 to know he was doing, as it would probably seem like an attempt to circumvent the chain of command. Then again, maybe that’s precisely what Brandon was attempting to do.

The mines. They were too important to waste. If there was one thing Brandon now felt strongly about, that was it. The general didn’t seem to share the same sense of urgency over them, which was disappointing. But he was the one in command here, and Brandon recognized that Islog8’s priorities might be valid. Deploying mines was a gamble. The minefield had to be established where a significant number of enemy ships would venture, or they were useless. In a space battle, that was always a guess—unless you could reliably think two steps ahead of your enemy.

Quasar completed the data transfer process. They parted ways after exchanging compliments. All four ITF2’s were now directly linked for communications, and all had a full stock of smart mines that were live with the enemy ships’ target identity. But all four ITF2’s were still patrolling the Azaarian front.

“Radio the general and give him status,” Brandon said. “But don’t …relay any information about our transmission linkup unless he asks.” Brandon expected his pilots to cock their heads, but they only smiled as Borsk7 handled the communications order.

“The command ship has been informed, Commander. The general gave us explicit instructions to continue securing the left flank until further notice.”

“How do you like that?” Brandon said. “We have the latest secret technology armed and ready to deploy, which we risked our lives for, and we’re being kept away from the enemy.”

“He’s concerned about Azaar flanking us,” Borsk7 said.

“I know.” Brandon leaned on Borsk7’s shoulder again and studied the battlefield. “I know. And from his position, I can understand. But it only makes sense for the Azaarians to flank us if the bulk of our fleet turns right and commits itself to a general engagement. Which is what I expected to happen by now, to be honest. So far there are only minor skirmishes, relatively speaking. One or two squadrons of their fighters getting into occasional dogfights with ours on the enemy’s far left, and no more than four or five squadrons mixing it up with the Dirgs on their extreme right. It’s difficult to believe this amount of restraint is being used by all parties.”

Lut5 spoke. “The dark enemy won’t turn to commit themselves against Dirg for fear of us flanking them, and we won’t turn to commit ourselves against them for fear of Azaar flanking us. What we see is a balance of power and position.”

“Yes, that’s the obvious conclusion an observer would come to,” Brandon said.

Lut5 looked up at him. “You see more?”

Brandon slowly nodded. “Something’s still missing here. I can’t figure it out, but it’s bothering me. I …feel the enemy is buying time for an unexpected move. If I could figure out what it is, I might be able to come up with an effective mine deployment scheme.”

“Can’t we dag into the middle of them again and drop our mines?”

“No,” Brandon said. “That would be squandering them. The hasty deployment wouldn’t give the mines time to establish a proper network for isolation of targets. Multiple mines would assail single ships. Worse, the enemy would see what’s happening and scatter out of range. No, an efficient trap needs to be laid—and baited—and I’m partial to using a high setting for the number of in-range targets required for activation. Only…”

“Only what?”

“Only we need to determine with a reasonable degree of expectancy where they will move to in large numbers.”

“How can we possibly estimate that?” Borsk7 asked.

“Trick them into believing they’re having flashes of brilliance.”

Now Borsk7 cocked his head. “What’s that?”

Brandon’s eyes involuntarily unfocused as he answered.

“The best way to defeat an intelligent being is to get them to think they’re invoking their intelligence to outwit you. We just need to make sure their revelation was planted by us.”

A sudden dizzy spell overtook Brandon. It was as strong and swift as any he’d ever experienced. He staggered back to the third pilot seat and plopped down in it.

Where did those words he just spoke come from? It was as if they uttered out of his mouth by themselves, from some other source than his brain. Brandon held his head and stared at the floor. Somewhere off in the distance, in another world perhaps, he heard Lut5’s voice.

“The enemy might be expecting Azaar to attack. That could be what they’re waiting for. But I’m beginning to wonder if you may have actually scared them off with that open hailing ruse. Do you really think there’s a chance they could turn to our side, Commander?”

Brandon attempted to reply without revealing his current ailment. As he spoke, his words seemed to cross dimensions, echoing from his world through time and space to wherever Lut5 was.

“Yes, I do believe there is a chance, especially since they haven’t fired the fateful shot at us yet. Unfortunately, that chance is probably fading, and dissipates further as the standoff continues. Azaar will likely only turn if they believe we are strong enough to win. They seem mostly concerned with self-preservation to me—which is understandable—but they will sell out to the strongest power in that pursuit, which I see as shameful and shortsighted. To join us puts their world at risk unless the dark enemy is on the verge of defeat. We must, therefore, destroy a sizable chunk of the enemy forces in a one-sided onslaught if we are to convince Azaar. It needs to happen soon. That’s why I’m so focused on the smart mines. They’re our best chance for accomplishing that.”

The last words out of Brandon’s mouth began to sound normal again. He lifted his head and focused his eyes on the cockpit controls. The dizzy spell was subsiding.

“Commander, something new is happening above Dirg. On the far side, away from everything. More ships arriving, I think.”

Brandon leaned forward and directed his vision where Lut5 was pointing. Using his eye muscles again felt good. He could see well now. Better than normal for some reason. All of Dirg was perfectly clear in his sight.

Ships were materializing over the far side of Dirg, but they weren’t Dirg vessels. Nor were they Torian or Azaarian. Those were virtual dags appearing, and big ones. Large rings of fire now covered a noticeable portion of the planet. When they cooled, the objects in the middle broke into three parts. Two of those parts would then fly away, leaving the larger portion behind.

“Extat,” Brandon said. “The dark enemy is deploying their attack satellites over Dirg. Radio the command ship and tell them what we see, Borsk7.”

As disheartening as it was to see those ghastly planet killers again, Brandon sensed an opportunity. He knew it would be fleeting, though.

“They see them, Commander. The general is asking for our estimation of their number.”

“Fifteen,” Brandon said. “So far. Enough to destroy every major military target and population center on Dirg if left unchecked.”

Lut5 spoke. “The Dirg fleet is moving out of orbit and more squadrons are engaging the enemy on their front.”

“Yes,” Brandon said as he watched the Dirg movement. A larger battle was beginning there. “Moving out of range so they can activate the frequency disturbance shield. The dark enemy looks like they’re waiting for them, anticipating their move. Erob, they’re going to need help over there. I hope the general sends it. And I doubt that the…”

Lut5 and Borsk7 both looked at Brandon expectantly.

“I don’t think the frequency disturbance shield is going to work this time. The enemy is two steps ahead of Dirg.”