Starmerillion Chronicles: The Cybronian War

By JAG

In the mist of The Cybronian War, which has encompassed over 120 systems in The League, Rengalor and his team of Draconian warriors are dispatched to Rook to help aid the Military efforts on the planet. While coming against an unfamiliar enemy, Rengalor must work to preserve his own troops.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483681856

JAG

JAG I am 30 years of age and am a graduate of the West Texas A&M University of Canyon, Texas. All my life I have loved this region of the world. My interests are directed towards space and WWII as well as most science fiction.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by JAG.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 08/22/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

139962

Contents

Acknowledgment

The Marndesto Front

Wendren’s Passage

The Bezran Outpost

The Tempest

Eisenhiem

The Ride

In the Air

Port Nathaniel Part I: Bearing Libations

Port Nathaniel Part II: Furies Unite

Port Nathaniel Part III: Into The Breach

Port Nathaniel Part IV: Hitting The Fan

Port Nathaniel V: Dawn

Port Nathaniel VI: The Fray

Fallout

Acknowledgment

S PECIAL THANKS TO Jacob Christopher Cain for his input

The Marndesto Front

B LASTER FIRE RIPPED through the sky as the squadron of drop ships carried their passengers through the front lines. Everything had gone to pot on the planet Rook since the synthetic race of the Cybrons have broken through and are now cutting squads of soldiers down.

Below, large explosions had torn scars into the landscape of trees and clearings. Before long, the squadron of troop transports encountered fields of flak and missile fire along their designated route.

The first craft broke formation to land its troops and then turned back around to head for safety.

One down, seven to go, yelled the captain. How’s the shield integrity up there lieutenant?

Not good sir, we are down to 23 percent, a nearby explosion rocks the craft, and failing, replied the Lt.

It would be impossible for them to reach the designated drop zone at this point. All other ships were reporting similar situations.

Get on the com, tell them to find a place to drop their payloads and get out of here the captain ordered.

The infantry captain closed the door to the cockpit and turned to address his troops. All right troops, seems we will be landing a little early. Set yourselves up a hot entry, we go live in… the captain was suddenly interrupted by a metal ripping blast on the starboard hull.

Flames poured into the cabin as the craft listed in the direction of the blast. The vessel spun out of control as black smoke marked the path of its fall.

*     *     *

Metal strung for many hundred meters behind the remaining hunk of metal that did survive, if one could even define that AS surviving. A hatch on the dorsal side of the sideways aircraft popped open pouring out life stealing black smoke. Soot covered the survivor blackening his face and the yellow scale mail armor that he wore.

Hacking out the corruption that had been in his lungs, it soon became apparent that he was the only one to make it out of that mess alive. Why should he be surprised? Humans, as resilient as they are, can easily die from smoke inhalation.

Even if one did survive, that person would be crawling for many minutes. No, none got their enviro-masks on in time.

He had only his superior genes to thank for his survival. He was on his feet, even immediately after climbing out, yet he was affected. He had yet to develop the full ability to maintain full strength without a fresh breath, yet the power in his marrow sustained him long enough.

As the concentration of the smoke dissipated, he crawled back in to gather a short list of everything he could carry. From scrounging around he salvaged his sledge hammer, a blaster pistol, and a supply kit.

His hammer was given to him by the officials of the planet in order to fit his Draconian combat style, which would be useful for fighting against Cybronian troops. The blaster he grabbed would allow him to have a ranged weapon when he could not get within melee distance. As for the supply case, well he would need to eat at some point.

With those things in tow, he began to round his way towards the front of the ruined drop ship. A small amount of movement could be seen inside the cockpit. The air was clear and the pilot conscious, barely.

Wasting no time, he punched in the glass and began ripping the shards away exposing a large void to lift the injured person out. He also took a med kit attached to the back seat.

Ninety meters to the north sat an outcropping that would provide shelter for both of them. He had to act fast, evening was quickly approaching. The fire was not that hard to make, a few dried twigs and a bolt of fire from his hand made the job effortless.

He did not need the heat for himself, but if the pilot wanted to survive, she needed that fire. Setting her down between the fire and the rocks, he opened the kit and pulled out the manual looking for medical directions.

He worked for nearly an hour as he tended to the woman’s wounds wrapping her injuries in gauze and bio-gel; an all purpose medical compound that provides antiseptic treatment, large wound closure, and healing medicines. By the time he had finished, it was apparent to anyone that the first aid he had provided was done by a novice, but it did work.

Listen, he said to the pilot, I am going to put your left leg in a splint, and it’s going to hurt.

It did. The leg contorted back to a straight shape as he pulled and set the bone. She howled at the pain caused by the moving of the bone and by his inexperience. Finally, the bone set and he tied two sticks on the sides of her leg to form the splint.

Things were looking grim at best. If any of those things came looking for the source of the sound the others within a few kilometers would be alerted.

The star Etomicus painted the clouds a beautiful red as it set in the east. A gentle breeze flowed through the trees as it cooled the air down. Now would be the only chance he would have to do any scouting before night arrived. A quick trip up the outcropping and around would have to suffice.

As he raised up to get his bearing he heard the weak voice of the pilot call to him. I want to thank you for pulling me out of there. I imagine that I would have bled to death if not for you.

Her words came as no comfort, even though she had meant the best.

The only reason I was able to do anything was because of a first aid manual, he replied. Try not to use up your energy Lt. Yarnis, it may be a long night.

Before he could disappear, she asked, By the way, I never got your name before they loaded you in my drop ship.

Before he slipped out of sight he replied, My name is Corvon. Corvon Déve Tereovo.

*     *     *

As twilight lingered into morning, the sound of whirring gizmos could be heard nearby. Fifteen meters from the fire laid two dead Cybron soldiers. Their aluminum heads were flattened to a pancake from repeated blows by a sledgehammer.

It may only be minutes before more of these robotic soldiers arrive. He had kept watch all night and there was never any sign of trouble, why would they wait until first light to attack.

There were additional supplies in the drop ship that they would need. Corvon sprinted towards the craft with the speed of a cheetah and with endurance that the animal could only envy. The inside was painted black from all the smoke that settled overnight. The bodies of the soldiers lay sprawled all over the place and most were twisted into strange positions due to the trauma exerted during the crash.

One, however, was buckled in, but his face told of a box that had crushed it during the impact. Slung on his shoulder was a beam rifle, a long range energy weapon with a high penetration factor. Latched to the floor was a basic equipment box with a scanner, tools, and other assorted gadgets.

Outside, the sounds of repeated blaster fire could be heard. Accompanying the discharges came the sounds of yelling and shouting.

Returning to the lieutenant, another three metallic corpses lay with multiple scorch marks across their torsos. The lieutenant herself had suffered a shot to her right shoulder and the steam hissed from the cracks in her flesh. The burns penetrated deep into the muscle down to the bone and back out to the other side.

Her arm now dangled loose at her side. She looked at the wound and tried to wiggle her fingers, to which they did not respond. The blast had cooked all the flesh at the shoulder, even the nerves. Her arm was lifeless.

Her dead arm posed a significant infection hazard to her if not removed.

She took a deep sigh as she turned to Corvon and asked him to amputate her arm.

The tiny metal scalpel had been damaged in the fight earlier this morning and the antiseptic alcohol had been used the night before. Mounted on the lieutenant’s boot was a combat knife that would have to serve as the instrument of choice.

Corvon was reluctant to perform the operation seeing how ragtag his first aid job was from last night, but he was persuaded to do it anyways.

Corvon stabbed the metal blade into the flames allowing the heat to sterilize the tool and make it glow. Popping open the vacuum packed linen cloth, Corvon wrapped some of it around the hilt.

Under her guidance he began working to amputate the lieutenant’s arm. The hot blade seared though the cooked flesh. The smell of the char filled his nostrils reminding him of a trial he had to endure just to be accepted into Rengalor’s Hunters. Bit by bit he cut off more and more of the lifeless limb exposing muscle, ligaments, and bone.

Lt. Yarnis could not feel the hot blade as it removed her arm from her torso, but she could feel tremendous pain coming from the third degree burns as he tugged and moved the useless appendage. The work was quick, it was not long before the dead limb lay separate from her. Tears ran down her black face as the reality set in now that she was crippled.

Her leg, even set, screamed with pain as she attempted to prop herself up. Corvon used what little was left of the bio-gel and more linen cloth trying to provide cover to the steaming wound. Tucking the ragged edges of linen cloth underneath the edges of her uniform, it would have to suffice for now as a bandage.

The sounds of mechanized joints started to rise over the morning air once again. It was another patrol of Cybrons coming to examine the wreckage. Lt. Yarnis saw concern on Corvon’s face as he was listening, but she herself heard nothing.

Corvon’s senses were far better than her own hearing was, and he could tell that the patrol was some significant distance off. He stooped down to grab a rod that had flown from the wreckage.

The rod itself was a little bent and misshapen, but it could serve as a walking stick for the lieutenant. Lt. Yarnis grunted and gasped as Corvon helped her to her feet. There was no time to conceal their campsite, in a matter of moments the patrol would spot them if they lingered.

Lieutenant Yarnis tried to hobble along using the metal rod, but with the configuration of her injuries, the make-shift walking stick proved unreliable.

She stumbled and fell to the ground as the clumsy orientation overpowered her. The constant jarring and jerking on her leg was making it difficult to keep quiet. Before she could open her eyes back up, she felt an ungraceful tug on her arm as she was lifted up. Corvon pulled her arm across him using his shoulders to bear her weight as the two disappeared southward into the trees.

*     *     *

Captain Hollis paced around the downed craft examining every little detail possible. Judging from the shredded metal and impact point, it was clear that the drop ship had indeed been shot down. Inside, Corporal Janis surveyed the inside of the craft tallying weapons, counting supplies, and collecting dog tags.

The corporal had counted five bodies, all identified as human. The squad was all accounted for, but the pilot and the Dracona were missing. Back outside, the last of the straggling Cybronian troops were being mopped up. The sound energy discharges could be heard as another clad in scales destroyed another Cybronian soldier.

Hey Hollis, yelled Rengalor, are there anymore of these things on your scanner? Hollis replied as he looked at a the small device, Scanners show we are clear to 100 meters. There are also no signs of the survivors.

Off in the distance Hollis heard a private calling with more evidence.

Surrounding the abandoned campsite, Captain Hollis began examining the recent find.

Ok, what do we have here? asked the captain.

Well sir, the private answered, we have a cold fire pit, a ruined med kit, and a bunch of trashed enemies.

That is not all, another private said as he chocked and coughed.

MY STARS, the captain yelled.

Laying all forlorn and abandoned sat an arm, cold, dead, and mutilated.

Corpsman! I have something you need to see, yelled Hollis. Corpsman Devins stooped down to examine the limb.

The shocked private stuttered out, D-d-do you think it was ripped off?

Devins shook his head and replied, "No, this is not the work of violent disarticulation, but rather crude amputation.

The burns went clear through to the other side frying blood vessels, flesh, and nerves throughout.

If the limb had not been removed, Devins said, it would endanger the body. The dead arm acts as a breeding ground for dangerous bacteria.

It was always a shame for a soldier to lose a part of their body, but such sacrifices are a part of war, and everyone standing around knew it.

Sir, Tech Sergeant Monroe yelled, we have an incoming signature appearing on the scanner.

Hollis replied, How many do we have, as he turned around.

Looks like one, Monroe answered, but it does look big.

Monroe’s face melted into concern as he spoke those words.

Corporal, Hollis turned and commanded, scale that drop ship and get me an ID on that signature.

With a simple aye-aye, the corporal did as instructed. Once on top, he sat down his blaster rifle and reached in his hip pack for a spotting scope. He flipped open the shutters and worked the zoom dials attempting to gain a visual on the approaching thing.

On the ground, Hollis began taking an inventory of all the remaining ordinances amidst his troops. The count came to five frag grenades, good enough against a squad or two.

The corporal heard the ordinance count and replied, I don’t think that will be enough, we have a class two Cybronian tank inbound, an IW-17.

The captain’s face began to bead with sweat as the corporal identified the target.

Dang it, Hollis yelled.

After taking a deep breath and wiping the sweat from his head he gave a command to duck for cover.

Ok men, we have to find some way to get this enemy armor disabled, Hollis said. Monroe, any way we can use our remaining grenades to take that thing out?

Monroe replied, Not from the outside sir, that armor is too thick. If we can somehow get the grenades inside, we might have a chance.

How do you propose we do that, Hollis replied knowing Monroe would not have an answer.

Rengalor slipped his hand down and picked up three of the grenades and replied, I can find a way. All I need is a little distraction so I can get in close.

Hollis just stared at him knowing that this is a crazy plan. However, warriors of the Draconian race are known for doing crazy things, the kinds of things that even most soldiers wouldn’t do.

How do you plan on penetrating the armor? You know as well as I do those grenades will not do it, Monroe stated.

Rengalor forms a smirk on his face as he sets down the hammer and reached for the hilt of his sword.

Unsheathing it, the metal appeared black and matte, unable to produce a shine. It was short and slender, a katana of old design. Strange markings adorned the length of the blade, but seemed unintelligible.

Give me one minute to get into position, Rengalor said, and then start getting that thing’s attention.

After he had said this, he snuck off hiding behind various debris and fallen trunks to reach a flanking position.

How does he plan to take that thing out? Monroe asked. I don’t know about you, he added, but how is a sword supposed to take out a tank?

Captain Hollis knew if anyone could take a tank out in these circumstances, it would have to be a Dracona. After all, these guys have a long history of doing the impossible, so much that those who understand that fact still watch in awe as the Dracona do their tasks.

Yet how could his soldiers believe, most only believed in the tangible, the physical, the visible. To break someone’s lack of belief is no easy task, especially in a day and age such as this. If they did not believe now, they would only have to watch, and he knew that.

Hollis took a look around his troops to determine how exactly to distract the tank. With a smile he raised his eyes to the corporal, to which Corporal Janis replied, Oh no. No no no. Absolutely not.

Hollis, upset with his officer reminded him why he had to be first pick on assignments such as this.

Listen corporal, he stated, you have the best shot out of all of us. All I am asking is a few rounds. After that, you can crawl inside your crib and wait for your dear old mum to come and read you a bed time story so you won’t have terrible nightmares. Now get up there and SHOOT THAT TANK!

The corporal begrudgingly complied with silence and scaled the drop ship with haste in order to avoid more ridicule and took aim.

It had been more than one minute. Rengalor stood just behind the edge of the tree line, stalking and waiting. He felt as though his talents were being wasted, as well as the talents of his fellow men.

Each one was trained to work as a lone wolf or as part of a fast action squad, not babysitting a bunch of human troops. Nine imperial commendations and three League commendations and he is not even in direct command of his on men on this blasted rock.

Rather, General Voteko of the Rook Armed Forces wanted them as supplemental soldiers in this war. If only the general would let them loose on the battlefield with no bridle, this war would go better.

However, maybe the good old general will come to his senses. After all, his group wasn’t the only group having to play to the whims of this general. Nevertheless, if given the chance to get out from under Voteko’s wing, he would certainly take it.

Three shots streaked out from the downed craft