The Chronicles of Heaven's War, Book IV: Hell Above the Skies

By Ava D. Dohn

“A Blood Moon rises! For too long we have hidden from reality, fearing the loss of our past should we attempt to find our future. No more! Our day of infamy has arrived. A spark has ignited our universe and set it ablaze. From those ashes has grown a force that will crush the League of Brothers and drive it from our Realm! The decision has been made! Today we go to War! Phoenix rises!”

Tears flowed down the new king’s face as she thought of her sister, Darla, hoping beyond hope the woman might still live. This time her opponent had gone too far. There was no longer any place for negotiation. Their day of infamy had arrived. Mihai Astron, king over the Children’s Empire, had raised her fist, declaring absolute and total war with no hope of treaty or armistice. From the flames and ashes of this coming holocaust would rise only one power to rule over Heaven, Earth, and Hell - one power to rule the universe, either to its ending hour or coming glory.

The Third Fleet was shattered, Admiral Euroaquilo’s heroic rescue attempt of the Shikkeron sounding his demise and the fleet’s ruin as a fighting force. But they had won, beaten the enemy back, saved the Shikkeron and its precious living cargo from capture, or had they? What of the imperial frigate, Shikkeron? Gone it was, ship and crew, swallowed up in the cosmic dust of space.

Mihai shrugged. It mattered little now. She had raised her fist to the god of war, declaring the time of the world’s ending. Already her battle fleets hovered above MueoPoros, those invasion forces protected by Navy and Marine sky ships swarming the planet’s surface, engaging a ruthless enemy with no intention of surrender. In her mind’s eye, she could already see the great slaughter and the ruin of body and machine, smell the blood and gore of battle, the burning cordite and charred flesh. Had she not witnessed it so many times before, but always as the soldier faithfully obeying another’s commands?

This time Mihai had raised the banner of war, declared the unholy hour of death and destruction. Now others led the charge into the slaughter, into the meat-grinder of damnation...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ava D. Dohn
• Release date: Feb 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370049905

Ava D. Dohn

From the editor..."The Chronicles of Heaven's War" is a series, with eight books available on Smashwords: "Book I, Sisters of the Bloodwind"; "Book II, Burning Phoenix"; "Book III, Blood Moon Rising"; "Book IV, Hell Above the Skies"; Book V, Ghosts of Lagandow"; "Cry of the Eagle Spirits, Vol. I, The Chronicles of Heaven's War, Book VI"; "Cry of the Eagle Spirits, Vol. II, The Chronicles of Heaven's War, Book VI"; and "Cry of the Eagle Spirits, Vol. III, The Chronicles of Heaven's War, Book VI".Why write “The Chronicles of Heaven’s War”? People through the ages have struggled to survive wars, famines, violence, racial divisions, slavery, evil rulers...the list goes on and on. Why?For every generation of men and women, no matter where on this planet, people have wondered and dreamed of peace and a decent life, talked about it, written about it, searched for it. Who is behind the scenes causing all of this misery? Is there anyone fighting to stop them? And is there any hope for a better life to be had?In 2002, Ava started writing the Chronicles. I know because I was there. At the outset of Book I, the dedication reads, ‘This book is dedicated to the silent sentinels who have sacrificed everything for us, the unknowing and uncaring, so that we may have a hope of a better future. Without their assistance and protection, I doubt any freedom would still exist for mankind to enjoy.’"The Chronicles of Heaven's War" is a labor of love for us both. There has only been Ava writing the Chronicles with me as the editor/proof reader, also bringing these out as ebooks and the first two books in paperback. The two of us have spent countless hours for years reading these books together, making adjustments and changes. We have no formal training or experience...just a desire to share this with all of you.And it continues, with one more volume of "Cry of the Eagle Spirits" to follow. We look forward to bringing this to you to enjoy. Thank you.* * *About the author...Ava Dohn is a man of many interests and talents.Growing up, the American Civil War fascinated him...the men, the battles, courage and conviction on both sides. Eventually he would walk the battlefields and imagine the slaughter and loss of life. Even as a young boy, he played at war in the fields near his home.From a young age, he poured over ancient and modern history, pondering mankind's past. Ava also has a keen interest in other dimensions, who might live there and how they've influenced people through the ages.Talents? He loves machines, tinkers with them, marvels at what people have made. His work skills include tool & die and a degree in electrical engineering. A thirst to know about the natural world drives him to absorb all the knowledge he can and try out ways people in the past worked and lived, learning their survival techniques.Above all is his ability to set down this amazing saga of "The Chronicles of Heaven's War". His love of people combined with a desire to share what pours forth from his heart and mind has led to seven books detailing a possible alternate history with profound implications for humanity. And there are more to come...Remarkable man, intriguing story...And from Ava, himself...It is a customary thing to write a short soliloquy of rhapsodic prose regarding an author of words who has put pen to paper and written down by a hand not self-made and from a brain not understood, a tale of suspense or intrigue that the reader finds titillating to his or her senses. Credit is then taken by the author for the seemingly random charges of chemical and electrical energy that make those thought processes possible and that have then been woven into a tapestry of verbal music that plays upon the hearts and minds of those who open their eyes to see into the world of the author's mind.Ava is no such author. "Take the tools you have been given and share your works with the world of men." This is a motto of one who writes from the heart, one wishing to share the emotion felt, to give the reader pause to see beyond the ordinary into a world that may or may not exist in reality, but most certainly does in the heart and soul of any and all who believe there exists something greater than the frail human body. To dream and help others dream of a world beyond their own, to share the life and love of those who might possibly reside there, to help them see that they do not journey upon the secluded path alone...that is the goal of this author.

Book preview

The Chronicles of Heaven’s War:

Book IV

Hell Above the Skies"

Ava D. Dohn

Copyright 2017

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * *

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

SECTION 16 WELCOME TO HELL

SECTION 17 INTO THE FRYING PAN

SECTION 18 PASSING THE TORCH

SECTION 19 GLORY RIDE

SECTION 20 DREAMS AND DESPAIR

EPILOGUE

* * *

SECTION 16

WELCOME TO HELL

It all happened so fast. Everything was still a blur, Alba only now making sense of it. One moment she was standing near the opening exit door as the captain issued final commands to her two lieutenants when shouts from behind caught Alba’s attention. Looking over her shoulder, she stared into panic-stricken eyes, seeing several fingers pointing toward the nose of their troop-lighter. Someone screamed, The tug’s gone up…!!

A blinding flash followed by a deafening, thunderous firestorm ripped past Alba, lifting her off her feet, flinging the woman into the searing smoke and flames. The tug pulling three lighters had been ripped asunder, sending its molten fuel cells into the middle glider, Alba’s. Instantly, the cramped troop-lighter was engulfed in a plasmatic inferno, tumbling from the sky. Hapless victims screeched in agony, consumed in the fire’s fury.

On first impact, Alba was slammed against a bulkhead, pinned there by a crush of bodies hurling against her. As acrid smoke choked life from the woman, she wailed in panic, I’m dying! and passed out. How Alba got out of the twisted wreckage, she was not sure, remembering only fire scorching her lungs as flames licked the side of her face. Her helmet’s blast visor eventually closed, providing some protection. Then the lighter crashed.

Alba came to, sprawled in the dirt, a smell of cordite stinging her nose, but the air was cool. She sucked in one intoxicating breath after another. This was like no abstract vision experienced in the Web of the Minds. She wasn’t dead! Suddenly remembering what happened, Alba staggered to her feet in search of other survivors.

Her eyes followed a trail of destruction from the ship’s point of impact and its skidding to where it rested in an unrecognizable, twisted heap. Wreckage lay strewn for three furlongs across the broken field. Machinery, weapons, and bodies lie scattered along the path where the lighter had tumbled and skidded, spewing its cargo helter-skelter. Alba concluded she was thrown from its ruptured hull shortly after crashing.

Smoke billowed from a distant fire off to the east. It must be the tug. The two other lighters in its tow were lazily drifting off toward the south, behind the remainder of the landing force while rescue ships attempted to attach tether lines to the crippled crafts. She watched until they disappeared beyond the nearby forest. Alba fought back tears of helplessness, attempting to ignore a strangling constriction in her chest and throat as despair of the moment enveloped her.

Cries for help shook Alba back to her senses. A charnel house of such proportion words cannot describe unfolded before the woman. Focusing on her surroundings, the lieutenant reeled. This was no field where a lone ship had crashed. For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but broken wreckage of ships and transports as fires burned out of control, black, choking smoke turning dawn into night. People lay trapped inside broken machines, begging for help as flames devoured them while others mutely awaited their fate from the roaring infernos. The ground appeared to heave as though alive, those wounded blurring into one convulsing mass as they writhed upon the bloodied plain. Then there were the hundreds...or was it thousands who lay silent, caring not for love or death, bodies already ripped and torn beyond recognition being pitched into the air by continual missile and artillery barrages.

Alba watched in horror as two medics attempting to drag an injured soldier away from a burning wreck disappeared in red mist when a missile exploded near them. Yet, it was repeating over and over, seeming to her that the entire world was turning red from all the clouds of bloody vapor.

A fellow soldier from the lighter limped toward her. Alba hobbled forward, only to trip over a disemboweled body, falling face down into its entrails. As she wretched uncontrollably, a projectile ripped through the air, exploding only feet away, its concussion tearing away her helmet, rupturing her right eardrum and bursting tiny capillaries in her nose and eyes. She doubled up, clutching her head in agony. The fall had saved her, but the approaching soldier, several yards away, was little more than a pile of bloody pulp.

While she lay there groaning, two soldiers neared. One shouted to the other, Over there! Over there! In moments, she was being assisted to her feet.

Are you alright, Lieutenant? Can you walk? Alba recognized the voice to be that of a corporal from her lighter. Wincing, she painfully nodded.

What do you want us to do?! Where should we go?! the second person, a private, excitedly asked, her voice choking from rising panic.

Alba closed her eyes in thought, trying to recall instructions from her cadet training. ‘What to do… What to do…’ It seemed an eternity before her brain started working for her. Finally, opening her eyes, she asked, Are there others still alive?

The corporal answered, Yes! They’re wanderin’… Another projectile crackled overhead. The three dropped to the ground, hugging it close. After seeing it explode some distance away, the corporal continued, They’re wandering around, doing what they can, waiting for orders.

Alba crawled up onto her knees and, looking toward the forest, picked out a huge oak that had been splintered by a missile. Pointing toward the tree, she shouted above the continual din, Go tell the others to make for that busted tree! Have them assist the walking wounded. Leave the rest. The medics will have to help them. We will go that way… pointing northeast, away from the crash sight, you go the other. She motioned toward the burning lighter.

The corporal nodded and began to rise. Alba clutched his arm. Don’t linger! You tell the others what to do and then get out of here, understand?!

Yes, Lieutenant! the corporal shouted back. He jumped up and, half crouching, ran toward the lighter.

As Alba and the private struggled to their feet, the lieutenant shouted, Now stick close, you hear? Hang onto my belt if you have to, got it? The near panicked private nodded again. Good! Alba shouted, making herself heard above the roar of an armored landing craft passing overhead as she looked up wistfully. There just were not enough of such machines to satisfy the military’s needs.

In the desperate days after war was declared and the invasion fleet assembled, every usable ship and barge had been commandeered for use in the landings. The lighters her regiment had assigned them were bulk cargo carriers, often used to carry horses and livestock. Their life support systems made them readily adaptable to transport troops .Unarmed, un-powered, save for gravitation machines giving them gliding capabilities, these lighters were helpless in an attack. Command had calculated that with enough fighter support, and waiting until the third attack wave, of which Alba’s 9th Volunteer Regiment was part, it would be safe enough to attempt their use. Things did not go right...right at all.

First, the enemy was dug in, and in far greater numbers than anticipated. Second, fighter support was drawn off to intercept a large number of enemy bogeys coming out of Memphis, the capital city of MueoPoros, Legion’s stronghold. The remaining fighter support missed the rendezvous point, getting confused by huge thunderstorms and smoky skies. The third attack wave was forced to go in unescorted.

Drifting into and through the atmosphere of MueoPoros had been uneventful, almost pleasant. Most of the PrasiaOdous Mountain Range, named for its orderly, tooth-like mountain peaks that stretched north to south for two hundred leagues, was covered in a dense cloudbank. A rapid-moving cold front had piled into the high peaks, trapping a moisture-laden low-pressure system, creating dozens of massive thunderstorms that unleashed sudden, flooding downpours.

High Command had scores of landings planned along the invasion route. Only during their final briefing did Alba and her fellow junior officers discover their destination. It was along the eastern spur of PurooGlossa, the red granite mountains near the northern end of the mountain chain. Her regiment, consisting of six companies totaling just over three thousand infantry with a scattering of mortar and engineer specialists, was assigned to the third wave invasion force which included two more regiments, also from the 2nd Brigade, Winehardt’s Division. The brigade’s three other regiments, including two heavy armor and artillery, were to quickly follow in the fourth attack wave.

The descent to cloud level had been awe-inspiring. Through a little porthole Alba watched, the sky filled with thousands of tiny dots spread from horizon to horizon. Her heart sang with triumphant joy, ‘how can our enemy stand against a force such as we have gathered here?!’ As her taskforce drew closer, Alba became painfully aware that not all of the dots were theirs. Trails of black smoke and occasional red or white puffs revealed that the dragon was not caught sleeping. At times, she could recognize the distinct tailfins of Legion’s Depoues 49’s, his frontline air-wing Marine fighters. Alba knew their own air-wing wasn’t up yet, and the Navy’s antiquated DTB’s and TKR-14’s would be hard-pressed to compete against those 49’s in heavy, planetary atmosphere.

The lieutenant had watched over a dozen blazing transports tumble into the bright, billowy clouds below. While her heart ached with the knowledge that hundreds of her fellow soldiers were going to their probable deaths, she was relieved that no enemy fighters had attacked her convoy. Her flotilla of thirty some odd ships made up of tugs, lighters and small, armored personnel carriers had drifted peacefully into the darkening cloud cover, unaware of the seething monster waiting in the angry smoke and ash beneath those clouds.

Now, as Alba ran north along the crash sight, the wrath of the enemy’s killing machines was all too evident. She concentrated on her task at hand, trying hard to avoid focusing on the surrounding carnage which was nearly impossible to do. There had already been countless dead and wounded scattered in the field before their lighter crashed. It had plowed a wide furrow through masses of bodies, killing, maiming and smashing. As the lieutenant stumbled along its jagged trail, the scope of destruction was overwhelming. It was nearly impossible to walk without hearing a ‘squish’ as flesh was being crushed under her boots.

Repeating phrases from the ‘Officer’s Code of Conduct Manual’ helped her stay focused. It also eased a churning stomach that was threatening another purge. Let’s see…an officer’s duty is to see to the safety and well-being of those in the officer’s charge. An officer is to put her charges first, caring for their needs above her own. An officer is responsible for the success or failure of the mission.

Alba searched the area for members of her company and, when finding someone, directed the person to the broken oak tree. Spying a small group of soldiers huddled together in the dirt, she hurried over, thinking they might be from her outfit. Leaning forward to speak, the lieutenant let out a gasp, turning away, collapsing on her knees to the ground, retching uncontrollably.

A female soldier lay bleeding and broken, her horribly disfigured face contorted in agony. Everything below her waist had been crushed flat and then twisted in a crazy corkscrew. While two of her companions tenderly held the woman’s hands, a third was wiping her face with a damp, bloody rag. All the while she was begging, Kill me, please! Oh, God, please kill me! Let me die! Let me die! The crippled lighter had crashed upon the woman then as it skidded, dragged her along under it, mercilessly letting her live.

Lieutenant! Lieutenant! the private accompanying Alba shouted, excitedly shaking her upper arm. We gotta go! We can’t stay here!

As another projectile hissed by overhead, Alba turned toward her infantry private, vomit still dripping from her mouth as tears streamed down her face, caustically sputtering, Welcome to Hell! Welcome to Hell...!

* * *

Sophia was closing, but still some distance away when it released its fighters and heavies. Two of her three battle groups of fighters totaling one-hundred twenty-eight, and four squadrons of heavies, sixty-six in all, had taken four long hours to reach MueoPoros. They were stalled another hour in a traffic pattern because of the congested space over the landing sites. It was four in the morning, Palace Time, a little after six on MueoPoros when Sophia’s combat ships were given their targets and a ‘go’.

Terey’s voice sounded in Sirion’s headset, take the deck and cover our birds. I’ll keep the vultures away.

Copy... On deck, Sirion cheerfully replied. It’s pigeon time.

Captain Tzuf, Terey’s second in command piped up, Those pigeons can shoot, too. Don’t be a hero! We want our chicks all back in the nest today.

Tzuf’s words were kind but stern. They helped rein in Sirion’s growing excitement. This was her first real combat in such a long time. It was easy to forget it might well be her last, especially if the girl were careless. Copy, Captain…eyes all around! Got it! Sirion ordered her two flights of TKR-14’s into the boiling clouds, leading in several dozen heavies that were going to attempt a ground attack on enemy positions.

In only minutes, Sirion’s command broke out from the bottom of the clouds. The panoramic vision stretching out beneath the tortured sky left her breathless, in awe. Smoke lay trapped within a vaulted ceiling of angry lightning flashing in disgust upon the violence far below. Hiding the newborn sun, storms created an eternal gloom that chilled the bones. Hundreds of fires burned across the darkened horizon while countless flames shot into and through the air, little, blinding puffs erupting on the violated and torn landscape when they fell back to the ground. Every now and then a giant fireball of white and crimson would explode, propelling thick, roiling mountains of burning ash heavenward.

Adding to all this tumult were the seemingly endless masses of transports and escort vessels descending toward the smoldering terrain and the noticeably smaller number ascending, now filled with wounded and dying. Sirion fought back tears and rising anger. Long ago she held an infantry line above Ashdod while her brothers and sisters fell around her to just such flames. She, too, had been carried from the field, burned and broken.

Ordering her two flights to break up into four teams of two, Sirion moved in to clear a path for the heavies. She and her wing plane dropped away and were soon releasing missiles into a series of mobile artillery batteries strung out along a winding river some miles west of the landing zone. When their missiles ran low, they switched to laser and solid projectile cannons.

The confusion the fighters wrought gave the heavies an advantage. They spread out into two wide V’s, releasing their deadly cargo of guided bombs and anti-tank missiles across the dense forest and newly cut roadways packed with the advancing enemy.

Sirion glanced back over her shoulder just before disappearing into the clouds, shaking her head. Too many of ‘em! Too many of ‘em!

It was when her ‘covey of birds’ would break into the clear skies that Sirion expected the real challenge to begin. She was not disappointed. No sooner were the heavies free of the clouds than the enemy struck. The heavies, again flying in close formation, shot out torrents of green, blue, and red sheets of iron toward the intruders. Only the most determined of enemy fighters continued their attack against them. Others veered off for Sirion’s fighters.

Take your wingman and mix it up! Sirion shouted into her headset. Draw ‘em into the clouds!

Wingtip to wingtip, Sirion and her wing plane banked hard right and corkscrewed into a nearby thunderhead. Spiraling downward at increasing speed, the fighters passed through the heart of the convulsing storm. Blinding snow, giant hail and a torrential downpour rattled the ships, but it did shake the enemy off their tails. Arcing upward, the two fighters just cleared the treetops, their exhausts snapping limbs off nearby, stately old trees.

Back through the ceiling! Sirion shouted. Put it right back through the ceiling! Moments later, two ancient TKR-14’s, moving at well past the speed of sound, exploded out of the mist high above the thunderhead’s anvil top.

Enemy fighters were swarming the heavies, intent on preventing their escape into space. Sirion pushed her fighter into a steep left bank while pulling hard on the controls. With throttle full, she raced toward the enemy fighters, working the steering with one hand while setting the torpedo lock with the other. Missiles away! Sirion shouted. In seconds, her fighter was passing just above the heavies, doing well over mach two, her wing ship only feet away on her left.

Sirion saw an orange flash in her rearview screen. One missile had hit its mark. The disintegrating enemy fighter spun wildly out of control toward the clouds below. Forcing her ship to its limits, Sirion’s 14 shot straight up, ascending thousands of feet before plunging upon the enemy. The captain lined up on another target and set the missile lock.

Just then the wing pilot shouted, Bandits! Four o’clock! Bandits!

Sirion craned her head to see. Coming in from her right and behind, three 49’s were closing fast, little sparks of fire coming out from under their wings.

Split the barrel! Sirion cried, at the same instant pushing forward and right to escape.

Sirion’s wing pilot rolled away to the left and up in a tight loop, while Sirion’s fighter turned upside down and plummeted several hundred feet before circling upward. This was one of Sirion’s own practiced maneuvers, intended to confuse her opponents and possibly allow her fighters to get behind the enemy. It did at least confuse the enemy. The extra seconds purchased Sirion time to get off a few rapid-fire rounds, but the 49’s were much too fast for her to establish a torpedo lock. In little more time than it took for her to blink, two of them had turned, securely locked on her tail.

The 14 was still arcing upward. Sirion pressed the throttle while pulling out from the roll, pointing the nose of the fighter straight for space. The 49’s needed outside oxygen to run their engines. Their working ceiling was about sixty-five thousand feet. They were currently at about forty thousand. Maybe she could out-run them.

As the fighters climbed, the 49’s gradually gained on the 14, all the while firing short bursts from their machine guns. As blue streaks of metallic tracers zipped past the canopy, Sirion couldn’t help but wonder why no rockets were being fired, finally concluding they must be out. Still, at their rate of gain, it would be only a matter of seconds before they would be within killing range with their guns.

Sirion was counting the moments until her ship would be turned into a flaming cauldron of agony and death. There was little to do but continue to reach for the stars. If she tried to dive, she would be cut to ribbons as she arced into it. In desperation, she dead-dropped her two remaining missiles to decrease the fighter’s weight, but it did no noticeable good. Any time now and it would be over.

A blinding light flashed across Sirion’s cockpit, but the shudder of disintegrating metal did not accompany it. In surprise and shock, the woman watched in a rearview flight screen while the lead 49’s wing separated and fell away. A second explosion ripped out its belly, sending shrapnel in every direction. As the remains of the fighter slowly drifted astern, the other 49 veered away and began circling the ruined fighter as it tumbled toward the planet’s surface.

Sirion blinked in total disbelief. Only seconds before, she was waiting her own destruction. Now she was alone in the sky, streaking for safety. What had happened? There was no evidence of any rescuer. Had the 49 eaten its own bullets, flying into the dying projectiles? Or had a falling missile struck it, possibly being sucked into the engine’s air intake? This was important news and needed to be presented to Fighter Command immediately.

Sirion made for the rendezvous point and impatiently waited until orders were given to return to Sophia, which was within two hours’ distance and closing. Losses to the fighter battle groups were light, only four out of one-hundred twenty-eight. The heavies lost a total of six, but two of them had managed a safe harbor and were later returned to the carrier. The majority of pilots and crews of all ships involved were rescued. All in all, it had been a very successful mission, but it was just the first of many. In days to come, success wasn’t to be measured by the number of returning ships.

* * *

Alba limped toward the shattered oak, a drenching downpour hindering her pace even more. Sticky, claylike goo stuck to her boots, making every movement a major effort. Rainwater had collected in bloody pools thick with mud. There was often no other choice than to slosh through the crimson muck as her little party trudged toward the distant tree. At least the artillery barrage had subsided. Whatever the reason...the heavy rains, or counter attacks from the air fleet...whichever, it let Alba breathe a momentary sigh of relief.

As she struggled up the gentle rise toward the forest, Alba observed the many different styles of uniforms and armor found on the dead. Some wore kilts with or without leggings, bright colors of blue, green, or gold along with hard, metallic armor, often just upper breastplates with shoulder protection. Occasionally she spotted full suits of plate or chain mail. Then there were the other extremes similar to her uniform...dull green, gray or khaki shirts and trousers tucked into calf-high, leather-like boots, and soft, armor-padded shell jackets, vests or full. Although most helmets contained blast shields, their appearance also varied according to each particular uniform.

Alba could not help but be amazed. Even the weapons differed so much with everything from pikes and crossbows to long range rifles and hand-held, rapid-fire machine guns. Then there were the swords...everywhere, swords. Most were derker blades. The woman had a powerful respect for such weapons. But to charge into a hail of iron and steel with a sword and shield? She just shook her head in wonder.

This jumble of bodies reminded Alba of toy jackstraws scattered about by a careless child. In her distraction, she slipped, landing face down in the sticky slop. Looking up, the lieutenant froze where she crashed, face to face with a fallen comrade. Sheet lightning dancing beneath the clouds in pulsing, strobe-like rhythm, followed by continual rumbles of thunder forever burned images of this moment into Alba’s mind.

The strikingly beautiful woman appeared as though sleeping on the broken ground in front of Alba, her eyes peacefully closed, a soft smile on her lips. The rain collected in droplets on her porcelain-white skin, running down in tiny rivulets from her nose and chin, splashing onto the sodden soil. Several locks of flaming red hair had fallen from under her ornate helm, swaddling her face and jaw in a tender caress, gracefully draping itself, fanlike, across her neck and shoulder.

Impulsively, Alba reached out to pull some strands of hair trapped in the woman’s mouth, startled at the cold feel of flesh as her fingers slid along the woman’s cheek. She reached up and tenderly stroked the woman’s forehead, so smooth and flawless, a lustrous work of art, so perfect, so cold and perfect...

How long Alba lay there caught in that trance, she did not know. Her brief lifetime of feelings and memories fell away into nothingness as she pondered the depth and breadth of these innocent people cast into this caldron of insanity. She had lived less than a hundred winters. What really were the years of this woman? Could the ages of time place a date on her birth? Had a million summers stirred her heart with delight or a billion or more? Would distraught lovers mourn her loss or were they, too, laying somewhere upon this field of destruction?

A finely woven chrysolite and gold chain hung from the woman’s neck, broken when she fell. Alba fumbled for the mud-covered locket still attached to the chain, so delicate and fragile. She struggled to her knees. All so carefully she lifted the locket, desiring not to intrude upon any secrets hidden within, then gently pulling the chain from around the woman’s neck, placed them both into her opened hand. Alba closed the woman’s fingers tight around the treasure and bent low, whispering in her ear, There now, rest my sister until the sun shines from cloudless skies. She sank back on her knees, consumed by her own celebration of grief.

Lieutenant?! the private cried.

Alba felt a trembling hand on her shoulder. She looked up to her right into frantic eyes, sadly nodding and struggling to rise.

A strong hand gripped her other arm. We got ya, Commander! That’s a pretty fancy wound you’ve got. I’ll tend to it momentarily.

Surprised, Alba twisted her head to see the person speaking. The soldier grinned and answered her unspoken question. You tore up your leg dancin’, I suppose. It’s a wonder you can still walk. C’mon and let me help ya. He pulled a small packet from his pocket and ripped it open with his teeth. Alba attempted to ask what craziness he was chattering about but, before she could speak, he popped a small pill into her mouth. Swallow! he commanded, pushing her jaw closed as he tilted her head back.

Instant anger blazed in Alba’s ocean blue eyes. You…! she blurted out before glancing at her leg, her wild retort turning into an anxious gasp. From just behind the knee almost to the ankle, Alba could see an ugly gash in her flesh exposing tendon and bone. Her recent fall had started it bleeding again. Now she understood why it had been so difficult to walk, she thinking it just the slippery, broken ground. Oh, the pain! It raced up her leg, along her spine and shoulders with a shudder, exploding in the back of her head, adding to the dull pain lingering in her ear. She let out a cry and almost collapsed.

Gotcha! the soldier who had given her the pill called, catching her with his arm. I knew when you saw it, feelin’s would come a’callin’. You’ll be fine. That medicine will kick in soon. That should ease the pain without numbin’ the brain. He caught her up under her arms. Even if it hurts some now, we gotta go! With that, he started assisting her up the hill.

Thirty minutes later, Alba was leaned back against that shattered tree, the medic smiling. He patted her on the shoulder. There ya go, Commander! Almost good as new! I didn’t have any real medical cloth to patch you up with, but the material was fairly clean and I put some powdered crystalline sulfur in the wound. He shrugged, best I could get. Alba thanked him. He grinned and took from his pocket half a dozen sealed packets, each containing one capsule of painkiller. Here ya go. I’d tell ya to rest a bit, but I don’t think it’d do me any good. So take one of these when it gets to hurtin’ too bad. I bound your leg up tight. It should stay together until you can get some real medical help.

The soldier handed the pills to Alba and bounded away down the slope. Alba raised her hand and called for the soldier to stop, but he was already gone. It was years before she found out who the person was and what became of him. Like so many thousands of others, she eventually found his name inscribed on a monument in the Silent Tombs, honoring him for sacrifices made at the battle of PurooGlossa.

Help me up, please... Alba asked, reaching out for assistance. A little shaky, she stood, the painkiller easing the discomfort to a dull ache. She could still think clearly, or at least hoped that to be the case. Lieutenant Alba scanned the assembled group, pondering the situation. ‘Forty altogether, and less than two dozen fit for duty. Are these all who were left from the lighter, which carried over half of my company of five hundred?’ She peered into faces and saw none from her platoon. Besides the corporal and private, there was one...no two, who looked familiar, but she didn’t know their names. The woman groaned, nearly weeping. Recalling the officer’s code, Alba struggled to regain control. Forcing a brave voice, she asked, Who is from Rock Company, 9th Volunteer Regiment, 2nd Brigade, Winehardt’s Division? Five hands shot up. Two were the persons previously mentioned. Alba waited.

A soldier called out, The four of us are from Winehardt’s Division, 4th Brigade, 6th Company. We lost track of our unit in the landing. Others began to chime in, telling the lieutenant what company and brigade they were from. At least everyone was from the same division. But what of Rock Company?

Alba shielded her eyes with her hand and peered longingly back across the opened plain filled with the dead and injured, along with a scattering of shadowy apparitions drifting in and out of the misty gloom. She searched for life by the distant lighter, its blackened hull smoldering in the steady rain. No movement was to be seen near it. She swallowed hard, her throat constricting. All she could do was silently hope and pray that others had already made it to the woods. Are there any officers here? Alba saw no hands, nor heard reply. Sergeants? Again no one responded. Corporals? Just one hand rose. Alba thought fast. What’s your name, Corporal? she asked, trying to cover her own growing trepidation with the situation.

Corporal KfirNoiz, Lieutenant, came the corporal’s crisp reply. Zeevit’s Platoon, Rock Company…

Well, Corporal Kfir… Alba glanced once more around the group, putting her hands on her hips in an outward display of confidence, you’re second in command.

Alba pondered their options. They could wait there in hopes of joining up with new arrivals, eventually getting reunited with their proper companies, or move toward the sound of distant fighting, deeper into the forest. She studied the faces of those in her charge. Most if not all were new volunteers, never having experienced combat. What was needed at the moment was strong leadership and good decision-making. On both points, the lieutenant felt quite inadequate. But what else was there for her to do? These recruits were looking to their officer for needed guidance and direction. She decided they must move deeper into the woods. This land of the dead in which they huddled was no place to be, slowly strangling the heart and soul of any who lingered. Waving her arm toward the dark, foreboding forest, the lieutenant issued her first real order under combat. Corporal, the hour is wasting away! There’s devil's work needs yet to be done! Get the others up and we’ll be off.

Another soldier nervously spoke up. Lieutenant, we have no supplies. All has been lost. What are we to do?

Alba was taken aback. It was true, almost none of her new hodgepodge platoon had any weapons, let along water, food, and other needed equipment. Think fast! Be bold! Alba heard her mouth speak, but couldn’t believe she was the maker of the words that issued forth. Our brothers and sisters have given us a bountiful harvest to satisfy all our needs. Gather from them the goods to fill your larders. Her voice became subdued. They will not offer complaint. At first, the troops hesitated. Go! Alba shouted, limping toward a dead officer a little distance away. Upon seeing their commander ‘desecrate’ the slain, others began to retrieve needed articles from the field.

It took little time to obtain all their supplies, the dead being so thick no one needed to go far to find necessary items. At last they were ready, weighed down with filled knapsacks, canteens of water and packs of munitions. The weapons varied, but for these rookies there was no desire for the toys of bygone wars. All carried some form of gun. Most were lightweight, short barrel, rapid fire copied from some design once used in the Second Realm. ‘Grease-gun…maybe that’s the name’ she thought. ‘Whatever... They can spew forth a torrent of hot metal. Good for inexperienced soldiers.’

Spread out and stay low! Keep a sharp eye! Alba cautioned while motioning. Corporal Kfir, take the rear. I’ll take point. Remember everyone, stay alert! Few moved. Alba paused, seeing fear and uncertainty on their faces. She must drive it from them before they were consumed by it. In apparent indignant anger, she scolded, Who do you think you are?! Will you shame the fallen heroes in whose midst we now humbly stand? They have already surrendered all for us. It is now our duty to help carry the day for them!

Stepping into the center of the group, Alba waved her arm toward the east. This planet is the possession of our enemy. Then, thumping her chest, she shouted, "We have come to take it from him! We, my friends...you and me...we are the predators, the panthers on the prowl! We have come to conquer and destroy, slaughter and pillage! Do not fear the monster, for we are the monster! We shall cast down our enemy and feast on his flesh! His blood we will drink in ruthless celebration! Clutching hold of a soldier by her shirt, Alba leaned in close, her lips curled back in an angry, impassioned grin, snarling, Come, now! Let us go and murder our fellow man! Are you with me?!" With that, Alba spun around on her good leg, crouched, and began hobbling into the trees. Everyone dutifully followed, feeling somewhat braver and more willing to face the waiting evil lurking in the gloom.

* * *

The war room aboard the carrier TifaraTirza was a beehive of activity. All four divisions of the military were officially represented: Army, Marines, Navy, and Special Forces. Officers and orderlies darted back and forth with messages or directives while others worked at the big wall displays or a three-dimensional holograph floating above the floor in the middle of the room. It was mid-afternoon, Palace Time. Already High Command could see the invasion was stalling.

Field Marshal Trisha, commanding general of the Army, and Commodore General Planetee, in charge of Marine command, stood quietly to the side, discussing the current situation on the ground. They were awaiting the admiral of the fleet, Gabrielle, whose flagship, the carrier Sophia, was recently arrived. Communications told them the admiral would be present shortly. Centurion General SarahCnidus, Special Forces commander, sat alone in the nearby empty wardroom, her head resting on folded arms, napping. Special Forces had been busy on the planet over three days before the official invasion. The general slept little during that time.

A staff officer hurried through the door of the war room with a dispatch for General Trisha. The commander quickly read its contents then looked back at the officer. Please find my people and tell them to gather in the wardroom.

The officer acknowledged the general’s order and sped away. Trisha handed the note off to Planetee. The admiral will not be pleased when she is informed of the situation. I do hope her day has been better than ours.

Planetee agreed. We must convince her to risk more of the fleet on ground engagement. Our air arm cannot fully deploy unless it has safe havens. As of now there are very few, and there won’t be for some time unless she will release more of her big ships to go in to serve as such.

Trisha concurred. I think Gabrielle will oblige us if for no other reason than to protect her own space squadrons which have been taking a beating against the enemy’s advanced air wing.

Dinner hour found the four supreme commanders of the Children’s Empire recently having emerged from private council and now briefing other leading commanders and staff officers gathered in TifaraTirza’s spacious wardroom. Gabrielle was busy explaining the overall military situation. Legion has pushed a large army west from Memphis to counter our invasion. This was expected, but not with the rapidity with which it has been done. From our perspective, it is felt that he not only received advance information of our attack… she raised her hand, shaking her finger, but also where many of our landings were to take place.

A chill swept the room. The invasion had been kept under a veil of utmost secrecy. Only the top commanders in the military had any real advance knowledge of the army’s destination, and specific landing sites were revealed to lower echelon officers only days before zero hour. For Legion to be able to set his army on the move en mass would mean he was aware of the invasion plans for at least a week or more. The leak had to have come from someone in the Empire’s governmental or military inner circle.

Gabrielle allowed little time for pause. Fighting has been heavy and, although all primary bridgeheads have been successfully occupied, it has come at extreme cost to our combatants. In the northern landing zones, casualties within the first and second attack waves of veteran Marines and Army commandos have been twenty percent, the enemy being there in force early enough to be dug in and supported with heavy artillery and missile batteries. This has placed a heavy burden upon many of the green volunteer regiments, raising casualties among their ranks higher than anticipated. They have proved their mettle today, but at a cost above and beyond the call of duty. I marvel at the tenacity they display. She slowly shook her head. Still, I wonder how much more these brave soldiers can take before they collapse under their immeasurable burden.

The admiral slumped forward, resting her hands on the table. We have done somewhat better further south, but are still not within reach of our objectives. It is doubtful that our people will be able to occupy any of the desired targets before tomorrow at the earliest. This delay is hurting the deployment of the Army’s air wing because of the lack of secure, grounded flight depots, putting extra stress on the space fighting wing, which may be engaged at any minute with Asotos’ nearing fleets. While not yet located, we are fully aware they must be converging upon us. After all, if Legion is privy to our invasion plans, Asotos must surely be. As of yet, we do not know what’s become of Legion’s navy. We assume he sent it to rendezvous with the mother fleet or fleets advancing toward us.

Seeing growing dismay on the faces of those present, the admiral attempted to change the mood. Standing erect, she motioned them, waving an opened palm and shaking her head. Although a setback, this is by no means a defeat. We do not believe the enemy has had sufficient advance warning to thwart our overall objective. She perked up, revealing, In fact, this may well prove to work to our advantage!

Again using her raised index finger for emphasis, Gabrielle explained, A weakness of our enemy is his inflexibility. Asotos and his ranking lieutenants maintain a rigid command structure, not tolerating junior officers who make independent decisions. Every major issue must be presented to one’s superior and, depending on its importance, be passed up the ladder until reaching the proper authority. This form of over-lording is very inefficient time-wise and, I believe, helped lead to Asotos’ defeat in the Great War.

The admiral began to pace, hands behind her back and head down. From time to time, she would raise her arm and lift her head to make some point, and then quickly return to subdued pacing. "The general population of MueoPoros is over eight million, slightly over half of that in uniform. Most of the others work to support the juggernaut Legion has created for his glory and protection. He has built