fiery blast, causing a sudden pulse of heat within the cockpit. A moment later, everything cooled to normal.
Coming around and veering just above Brigantia, he saw an enemy pull around and then behind Eden, shooting laser-like projectiles at her.
“On your six, Eden!”
“A little late, Admiral. I see him.”
He pulled around, slipping behind the triangular craft chasing Eden. “Weapons lock!” he said. “On my mark, you break left.”
“Aye, Admiral!”
The admiral, not one easily impressed, couldn't help but notice the precision and beauty in Eden's flying. It even seemed the attacker was impressed to, but how the admiral would know that, or why he'd even think that, baffled him. This whole situation was baffling. Who were the pilots of these attacking crafts? Why were they so hell bent on destroying his fleet, his home, his family?
Steadying the control stick, he followed the attacker. Closing in, his hands started trembling and his trigger finger weakened.
“Anytime, Admiral!” interrupted Eden, feeling pressured because of an elite enemy fighter shooting at her.
The admiral blinked, doing his best to clear his mind, to let the blur of the moment slip away. It didn't work. Everything worsened, and what was once a fighter in front of him became a mental fog. He cleared his throat. “On my mark.”
“I've got to get this bogey off my back, Admiral—I'm ready!”
The admiral's hands felt like putty, shaking all the more and his breathing raced, making it difficult to concentrate. Shaking his body, doing his best to get himself back in order, he finally spoke, “On three.”
The enemy ship in front of him shot several blasts at Eden, causing her to twist and pull up.
“Two.”
Admiral Byrd tightened his grip on the control stick, readying his finger on the trigger.
“One.”
Sweat dribbled down his forehead, down his eyes and to the tip of his nose where it dangled.
“Break left!”
Eden's Thunderbird broke left, just as Admiral Byrd pressed the trigger. Large round ion phasers shot a beam from ion cannons—looking like hundreds of large blue dots chasing each other into space. They missed as the attacker broke to the right.
Missing the target wasn't supposed to happen—it wasn't even an option. Stunned, he let go of the stick, accidentally hitting the top of the cockpit window with his hands. He quickly grabbed it back again–letting go of the control stick wasn't protocol, either.
“I missed!” he yelled.
“I know, Admiral! I'm coming around!”
The admiral looked out of the round cockpit window surrounding him. Destruction was everywhere. Maneuvering around it, let alone fighting in it, seemed nearly impossible even though it was happening.
“He's on your six, Admiral. Pull up!”
What? How? As if it would help, the admiral pushed his feet into the foot board and pulled back on the stick, looping upward. He looked straight up, seeing his attacker come into view, and then watched as his adversary turned into a cloud of fire and debris. He saw Eden's Thunderbird flying through the flames and felt a sudden rush of adrenaline as an eerie sensation of the jitters grabbed hold of him. “Thank you, Eden.” His voice was breathy and shallow, haunting. Death had knocked at his door.
Eden's voice came through the com link. “My pleasure, sir! Although, we do have a problem.”
Tell me something I don't know, Eden! “What's the problem?”
“We have inbound...” she paused, then coughed, clearing her throat. “I don't know what those things are, but they’re entering our space, sir! Coordinates one-one-seven, just coming around planet Lumus.”
Yes, two blips, no—four blips filled the flight sonar on his HDC. The admiral looked in the direction of the coordinates, squinting his eyes to see through the air battle explosions, seeing several reddish, pyramid-like ships coming around the planet like triangular suns peeking around a horizon. “Those are massive,” he responded, his voice low and monotone.
“Admiral,” said Lieutenant Brigger. “We see several large ships coming our way. Orders, sir!”
“Are the bay doors operational?”
“Not yet, sir.”
A fireball lit up the area in front of him. He quickly changed course, looping and twisting his Thunderbird and saw Eden down another fighter.
“How many fighters do we have out here, Brigger?” asked Admiral Byrd.
“All of them.”
All of them? From the admiral's first battle observation, he had just assumed that less than half the pilots were in flight.
He swallowed hard, zigzagging his craft toward Brigantia. “Where are they, Lieutenant? I don't see that many Thunderbirds out here!”
Brigger's voice was quiet and heavy. “Most of them gave their lives for the fleet, sir.”
The admiral bit into his lower lip, nearly pressing his upper teeth all the way through. “That's more than two thousand pilots dead?!” The question hung in the air unanswered and he felt like letting go of the flight stick, allowing his Thunderbird to take him wherever it wanted to go. If, in such a short time, the fleet had been decimated this badly, then there was little chance of survival. At his rate, during the course of an hour, the last of his people could be wiped out of the memory of the cosmos forever.
“Bay 17 operational and open, Admiral!” shouted Brigger. “Free to land!”
“Thank God!” hollered Eden. “I've got your six, Admiral! Take the lead and land your bird!”
∞
Admiral Byrd entered Starship Brigantia's bridge with Eden by his side. The door closed behind him, and, gazing into the eyes of the men and women on the bridge, he saw the fear in them. Some nervously looked ready to burst out of their skins, while others looked as if they were going to cry. He wondered if he wore a similar appearance.
Saluting back to them, he dropped his arm to his side and the crew did the same. In the middle of the bridge was the command chair, the same one the admiral had occupied the last dozen years, and next to it was the navigation chair, where Brigger sat, and on the other side was second in command, Captain Louise Stripe. She was at the helm, steering Starship Brigantia.
As Eden and Admiral Byrd arrived at the command chair, a slight concussion rocked the ship, making them stumble, both falling against Brigger's navigation console. Brigger's arm flew up, doing his best to catch them, but with little success. They fell against the console and him, knocking them all to the floor.
Gathering themselves, pushing themselves upright, Eden immediately headed for her station at the flight commander's desk where she could monitor her pilots, and Admiral Byrd helped Brigger up.
“Thanks,” said Brigger.
The admiral gave him a nod and walked over to his command chair and sat. He studied the main screen, which looked more like a big window encircling the bridge, allowing them to view everything occurring outside of the ship. This was his design, something he had thought of for the vid techs to create and he was blown away when the techs finished the project only months after being presented with the concept. These screens were now protocol on all starships. He called them vid screens.
“Damage report,” asked the admiral.
“Shields more than half depleted, hull is—”
“Exact percentages, Brigger!” shot the admiral.
Brigger stood straight, not used to the situation at hand. “Shields 68 percent down, photon cannons 100 percent off line, ion blasters fully functional, engine fully functional, hangar deck fully functional, hyper drives fully functional, je—”
The ship tossed, making Brigger bite his words.
“How many starships are left, Brigger?”
“Four, including this one, sir!”
The admiral gave Brigger a double look, then glanced at Captain Stripe, silently asking for an explanation.
The captain answered, “Five have been downed, Admiral.”
How were the starsh
ips destroyed so quickly? He wanted to ask the question, but didn't have time for the answer. “Open all com links to the admiral of each remaining starship,” ordered Admiral Byrd.
Just as the com links opened, three holographic images of the remaining admirals, sitting in their own command chairs, appeared on a small stage, the holostage, a few yards in front of Admiral Byrd. A thin, bluish screen stood like a wall in front of the three admirals. They all looked grim.
All three nodded to their Fleet Admiral. “Admiral Byrd,” they said in unison.
Admiral Byrd didn't waste any time—no formalities. “Get your birds inside your ships…we jump on my mark!”
“Aye, Admiral!” replied the two male admirals in the hologram, both old and tired looking. The third one, a female with dark brown hair with a tint of silver at the roots, remained silent. Even though her face didn't match the wrinkles of her fellow admirals, it reflected the wear of long nights, stressful meetings, and tiresome trainings. She stood up, out of her chair and at attention. “Permission to speak, sir!”
Admiral Byrd gazed around the room, annoyed. He had pressing issues and a discussion wasn't one of them, no matter how short a discussion it might be. His face became stern as he looked back at her, lips pursed tightly. “Permission granted,” he said, noting her expression. There was more than worry in her eyes, more than the fate of humanity resting on her lips. Yes, something more, something personal.
The two other admirals blinked out, their holograms gone. Starship Brigantia shuddered, the lights blinking off and on again.
Admiral Byrd got out of his seat and stood