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The enemy formation scattered.
The death of their flagship had evidently educated them that tight formations were not their ally. The formation broke apart into two loose pincer groups, and they stretched the distances between each ship, hoping to avoid the sudden, annihilating death that had claimed their comrades. They moved in an erratic, jinking path towards the incoming Terran fleet.
The Terran fleet held its course, direct towards Iunthor, and the distance closed, until they crossed into engagement range.
The torpedoes were the first salvo.
Rapidly accelerating missiles streaked between the two fleets. Each ship deployed their own countermeasures, attempting to intercept, destroy or elsewise confuse the enemy ordnance. Bright flashes lit the void as high-yield warheads detonated in the no man's land between ships. The Terran frigates Point of No Return and Will of Iron took direct torpedo strikes, but thankfully their shields held. The enemy vessels, with their superior defensive las-grids, weathered the torpedo exchange without harm, but their trajectories had brought them into a mid-range skirmish, and the Gauntlet’s rail-gun made itself known again. A high-speed round slammed into an enemy cruiser on its port side. The shields took the brunt of the shot, flaring brightly as they collapsed. Though it had not penetrated, the kinetic energy of the round was enough to severely damage the ship, and its port side was crumpled in as though it was soft earth, recently struck by an asteroid. The cruiser's engine cone’s flickered and died, as it lost main power. It drifted, lifeless and helpless in the calamitous battlefield.
Then they were amongst the enemy fleet, and a close-quarters battle was finally joined.
Here the Terran fleet executed its strategy. The cruisers Malign Intent, Heavenfall, and Spiteful reduced their thrust and turned to engage the enemy, joined by The Gauntlet. Justinius’ vessel, with a frigate escort, pushed their drives to redline and made best speed towards Iunthor.
From the bridge of The Fury, Justinius saw the shields of the engaged cruisers dim slightly, as their mains power was rerouted.
The radio pinged. It was Commander Gerun of The Terran Fourth Company.
“We’ve got teleport confirmation. All teams are away.”
Justinius nodded, “My thanks Commander. Fight well.”
Aboard the cruisers engaging the enemy fleet, seven of the Terran Companies had just made the jump to enemy vessels. In total, over eight-hundred sons of Terra we’re now aboard enemy ships. They had been divided into platoons of thirty men a piece, and told to take control of their targets, or die in the attempt. In the halls and doorways of each enemy vessel, a battle now raged. Justinius hoped enough of the teams would succeed. If too many of them failed to wrest control of their vessels, the three cruisers were as good as dead, and their mission would be for nothing.
Shipmaster Halastar turned to face Justinius and Samir.
“It’s probably time for you two to go prepare, Justinius. I can handle this from here.”
Justinius nodded, and he and Samir left the bridge to take their place.
The gunship that awaited them in the hangar already had its landing ramp lowered and its thrusters idling. The pilot was a volunteer, and besides him, the vessel was empty.
Justinius and Samir walked up the ramp, and took their seats.
The next stage of the plan was risky, riskier even than the perilous dangers they had already faced. As the pilot raised the ramp, Justinius realized there was a significant chance this would be his last time seeing his vessel.
He bit down on the emotion, replacing it with cold intent and will.
He wouldn’t fail.
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The pilot hovered his hand over the launch initiator. He was watching the displays intently, waiting for the perfect moment. Just before Justinius could tell him to hurry up, he slammed his hand down onto the button. The gunship was flung from the hangar bay with a neck-breaking lurch, as the automated rail-launch systems kicked into life. They were thrown clear of The Fury, and through the crew-bay’s rear window, Justinius saw the vessel peeling away, its shields flaring with impacts as the planet’s orbital stations attempted to dissuade the interloping ship.
The gunship pilot fired the engines at max burn, and Justinius turned to look through the cockpit doorway. Iunthor loomed large in front of them. The planet was a blue-green orb, with a thin cover of wispy clouds around the equatorial regions. Justinius turned to look at Samir, and was taken aback by the man’s face. Tears ran silently down from his eyes, tangling into his beard. Taken prisoner, he clearly had never expected to see his foster homeworld again.
He probably has family down there, Justinius realized*, a wife. Parents. Children.*
The pilot turned his head, as the flames of atmospheric entry billowed over the viewscreen.
“Are we sure about these authorisation codes?”
Mounted to his wrist, Samir’s translator chirped. The Iuonthorian soldier nodded, and in a thickly accented voice, replied.
“Yes.”
The pilot nodded, “Touchdown in five, get ready.”
As the re-entry heat died away, the scenery below came into view. Rolling green hills with lush forest cover extended as far as the eye could see. The terrain was steep, and in the valleys between spurs of hills, large rivers twisted and snaked in a complex network that reminded Justinius of blood vessels.
Coming up on the horizon was a plateau, and Justinius could see the spires of buildings, and a flat bare area that looked like an airfield, or military staging post. Samir saw it too, and he pointed so the pilot could see too.
“There. Land there.”
The pilot swung them in low and maintained his speed. They sped over the tops of trees and hilltops, hugging the terrain closely. Then, suddenly, they were over the city.
The pilot swung them in a sharp, air-braking turn to rob them of momentum, and Justinius’ view was lost. The pilot yelled over the straining engines.
“Get ready, ramps opening.”
Samir and Justinius, holding onto the crew-bay’s handrails, made their way to the ramp. The metal structure unfolded, as the craft lowered and the ground rushed up to meet them. A scant meter of two from the ground, the pilot pulled back slightly, and Justinius and Samir jumped.
Both men sprawled as they impacted the ground, then hurried to get back to their feet. By the time they looked back up, the gunship was a receding dot in the cobalt sky. They had landed in the wide open space they had seen inside the military installation. To Justinius it looked like a parade ground, or marshaling area. Along all sides of the open space, hangars housed military aircraft of various types.
From the buildings behind those hangars, vehicles were moving. They swarmed out onto the airfield, dozens of them, all converging on their location. Samir and Justinius dusted themselves off and waited. As the vehicles closed, they formed a wide semi-circle around the pair, deploying troops from their crew-compartments. These troops held large black rifles to their shoulders, and they covered the two men.
Justinius and Samir raised their hands above their heads, not wanting to provoke them. From one of the vehicles, a man emerged. By his distinguished uniform, he was an officer, and he strode forward to meet them.
About twelve paces from Justinius and Samir, he suddenly stopped. His face, a resolved grimace, turned agape with shock.
He spoke, in that foreign tongue that Justinius did not understand, clearly asking a question.
Samir responded, and though he could not understand what was said, Justinius was shocked. Though he did not understand the words, the tone was clear. Samir spoke clearly and with force, loud enough for the assembled soldiers to hear. In a single crisp movement, all the men shouldered their rifles, stood to attention, and saluted.
Justinius turned to Samir with a scowl on his face. “You told me you were a lowly soldier…”
The Iunthorian smiled sidelong at the Terran. “I’m a humble man. A Lochniak is no Rear Admiral, but all the same these men remember me.”
As they glared at each other, a new vehicle pulled up to the congregation, driving between the assembled soldiers and the two intruders. This one was different from the others, a bright red metallic colour where the others were matte black. The vehicle was long and elegant, all smooth lines and polished metal. The vehicle’s side door opened, and an alien figure strode out.
The figure was nearly two meters tall, thin and elegant, with an overlong neck and arms. Its uniform was dissimilar to that of the human warriors arrayed around it. It took large, lumbering steps towards Samir and Justinius, but stopped suddenly when it saw the Terran soldier.
All the Iunthorian’s all looked uneasy and tense, like children who had just been caught about mischief, and who presently expected to be scolded. There was fear and trepidation in their eyes.
The first to speak was Samir. He called out to the being, and it turned to face him.
In one quick, fluid motion, Samir drew his pistol and shot the being through its head.
The alien figures' cranium exploded in a shower of brain matter and skull fragments. Its long body crumpled onto the dusty ground in an undignified heap. Samir quickly re-holstered his pistol and turned to the Iunthorian officer in front of us.
The man was shocked, but there was clear relief in his eyes. Samir spoke a single sentence to the man, and he nodded.
Though Justinius didn’t speak the language, he understood the meaning.
Take us to whoever is in charge.