Lying on the floor of the "Weaver" medium range interceptor, Captain Robert Mitchell had all but lost the will to live. His hands were tied behind his back and his head was knocking against the floor as the ship fought against the gravity field of Vesta-Prime. In less than an hour, he had not only failed in his primary and secondary objectives in the first mission assigned to him as the leader of Task Force 7, the latest addition to the Special Forces' Rapid Reaction force known only as the Black Diamonds, he had also lost his entire crew...his friends...his only family.
"That's right Captain" he could hear Vritra's voice from behind him.
"You'll never forget the day you crossed paths with Commandant Seth Vritra – Master and Commander of the legendary Demons!"
Mitchell could not care less. The rumblings of a psychotic warmonger did nothing to him...he had lost the capacity to be enraged or intimidated. He could only think of the men that he had failed...he could only care for that loss...
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"Is it over" the voice asked in complete darkness.
"Can anyone hear me?"
There was no answer. Sergeant Ventura was certain the blast had killed all of his soldiers. Laying on the floor of the entrance to sub-level nine, he was sure that the events of the past five minutes had left him alone, more than thirty meters below the ground with nothing or nobody to come to his aid. Surely the rock that had fallen from the roof, the equipment clanging to the floor and the fire that had raged just seconds ago was enough to kill everyone he was with. Or was it?
"I'm over here boss" he could hear Zander's voice.
"Zander, is that you" he asked the redundant question, just wanting to make sure he was not hallucinating.
"I'll get my light as soon as this little faggot Goliath driver gets his feet off my lap", he said again obviously annoyed.
"Hang on..." another voice said. It sounded like it was Psycho. Ventura had heard about the love-hate...well mostly hate-hate relationship the two had for each other.
"I swear", Psycho continued, "Being trapped in an experimental science facility with military reject material like you..." Ventura could tell he was obviously referring to Zander, "...must be the worst experience of my life...and that includes the time that very muscular drop-ship pilot kissed me..."
A light flickered to life as Zander ignited his lighter. In the dim orange hue, Ventura could see all the men that ran for sub-level nine had made it; Saunders and his two firebats, two Goliath drivers and five marines plus Ventura made a full house.
It was just a pity that amongst all of them there was only two Gauss pistols and three light machine guns. All the Impalers, flame-throwers and armour was dumped before the race for safety started.
"Like I said..." Saunders added, "...chicken shit outfit..."
To Ventura it felt as if he was home for Christmas. He had to keep himself from laughing out loud at the joy of everyone having survived the ordeal.
"Ok, shut up ladies...we need to take stock and then find a way to make it topside. If the Asshole-Squad has the Captain, we need to get to him A.S.A.P."
Having said his piece, Ventura knew it would be much easier said than done. With Saunders having freed them earlier, his group had headed over to assist Captain Mitchell and his men. Saunders had been pointing the way - having heard all the commotion. Getting there, they had been just in time to open the door to the rest of Seven-One before seeing a remote controlled detonator rigged to a substantial amount of explosives.
Knowing that the Demons would detonate it sooner rather than later and that the lift shafts were out of order, Ventura had ordered his men to abseil down the vent shaft and enter the newly discovered sub-level nine. It had been the only option they had time for and as fortune would have it, it saved their lives.
Only, now they were more than a hundred meters underground with thousands of metric tons of rock above them and no idea how to get out.
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Drop-ship pilot Briggs looked around the wreck that had been his ship. Electric fires had started in numerous locations, fuel was leaking out of the wings and the two men that had accompanied him on his last flight were out cold.
Being closest to the Ghost, Briggs leaned over, placing his index finger to the man's neck. There was a strong pulse. Seeing no visible signs of injury or harm, Briggs moved over to his long time friend and co-pilot, 2nd Lieutenant Sage. Briggs did not have to check for a pulse. The co-pilot's neck hung to one side at an unnatural angle. Also his eyes were open staring into a distance – a glazed stare...the stare of a dead man.
Briggs did not have time to swallow back tears – he had two lives to save; that of himself and the Ghost. Speeding back to Spengler, Briggs pulled him up and threw him over his shoulder. Making it out the inverted cargo door was easier than he had anticipated and soon the duo was far enough from the ship, to not have to worry about an impending blast.
Laying the unconscious man down, Briggs checked again for any injuries. The only thing he could find was what appeared as a knock against the side of his head. Without any medical assistance, Briggs could do little more. Unhooking the radio from Spengler's body, Briggs hoped the Weaver had not paid a visit to his airborne friends that were circling in Thor's passage.
"Stork-Two, Stork-Thee, this is Cool Hand, do you read me" he said waiting anxiously.
"Stork-Two, Stork-Thee, this is Cool Hand, do you read me" he repeated himself.
"Cool Hand this is Three – read you load and clear..."
Briggs let out a sigh of relief.
"I've been shot down...I'm activating my homing beacon now...pick-up at shown coordinates", Briggs said as he activated the homing device from his survival kit, knowing the coordinates of his position would immediately be displayed on the two remaining drop-ship displays.
"Good", he heard from below him.
"Once they're here we can go get Mitchell."
Looking down, Briggs was surprised to see that Lieutenant Spengler was conscious
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Having tried to activate the back-up power of the facility, Ventura was somewhat dismayed that nothing seemed to respond. The explosion must have destroyed all the back-up systems, he thought to himself.
Fortunately, after groping in the dark for more than an hour, a drum of vespene gas was found and using a couple of femur bones and old lab coats scavenged from a decayed corpse, his rag-tag group of survivors were able to ignite some home-made flares.
As light played over their surroundings, the men were not much surprised by what they saw at first. Standard consoles, genetic models composed of plastic balls and metal pins, mathematic formulas scribbled on erasable white-boards...but then, having travelled deeper into sub-level nine, they found something that seemed quite unique.
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The asteroid was roughly one quarter the size of Earth's moon. It was travelling on a path that unlike ordinary asteroids, were carefully controlled. As a matter of fact, except for its appearance, it was nothing like any other piece of rock flying through space. To the ones inhabiting it, it was known as "The Incubus".
"The party is inbound, my Supreme", the recently appointed Subordinate said.
Looking up at the large rock throne that towered in front of him, the Subordinate was again more intimidated by the person sitting on the throne than by the gothic architecture in the large hall that reminded him of a 'dark-ages' dungeon.
The solid rock ceiling was high enough to be out of the reach of the lights mounted on the walls – lights that seemed to be losing their battle against the imposing darkness.
"You are excused" the Supreme said to the Subordinate, his deep resonating voice almost seeming calm for a moment...almost pleasant. As he left, the Subordinate cast a quick glance at his Supreme, wanting to see the eyes of the master of the Incubus, wanting to see if the rumours were true. The Subordinate wanted to see what the eyes of the man looked like that had personally killed his predecessor just two days ago.
Catching the sight of the Great Supreme, formerly known as Cyrus Decimus Vritra, the Subordinate left the hall, processing what he had seen as he walked.
A shiver ran up his spine as he recalled the cold lifeless eyes that flickered with intelligence. Set deeply into the eye sockets of a face that was covered by pale-grey skin, the Great Supreme almost seemed unreal, like the walking dead.
The pale skin covered his entire hairless body, the large muscular frame only clothed with one toga around his waist and sandals that reminiscent of those worn by ancient Romans. His left hand was the other thing that caught the Subordinate's eye – it was the much speculated about mechanical hand. Even though modern technology could replace any limb with a life-like counterfeit, the Great Supreme chose the theatrical metal hand. It looked like the metal 'gloves' worn by knights in days gone by, and it was the Great Supreme's weapon of choice when executing somebody personally. It would be used to crush the person's skull...It was said that at times he could be seen smiling as he executed someone.
This reinforced the theory that he was not only a genius, but also psychopath and explained why he was obeyed without question. Not only by the men in the Incubus, but also by his brother who led the military wing.
He could understand where all the names had come from that the men called the Great Supreme – Dark Knight...Death-Monger...Sudden-Death...and to some, the ones he suspected were really afraid, The Great Hope.
"Subordinate..." the deep voice called out again as he was about to disappear out the main door. The word was as a cold fear gripping the Subordinate's heart. Had the Supreme seen his glance? Did the Supreme see it as some sort of misconduct?
"Yes master" the Subordinate asked as he stopped and turned.
"Please put my music on...I would like to listen to Mozart..."
The Subordinate turned and left, this time walking a bit faster. He realized he would have to be more careful if he was hoping for a better future than his predecessor.
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"Time is of the essence", Spengler said.
"We don't have time to launch a rescue mission for possible survivors in the mine" he continued.
"If anybody is alive down there it would take days to get them out...if you have the proper equipment. We need to get Captain Mitchell back first – with that we stand a chance."
The five pilots around him seemed to agree.
"But how do we follow them", one of the pilots called Tapper asked – a keen young pilot with blonde hair and the greenest eyes Spengler had ever seen.
"I spotted the craft they used when coming in the first time. It's a small stealth ship that is parked a short distance off Thor's passage..."
"You know that thing will be rigged to blow" Briggs interrupted him. "It's standard practise for these contractors; if they leave any hardware behind...It usually works with a proximity detonator. As soon as the owners leave the theatre, the ship picks up that it's been left behind and blows up."
"Ok" Spengler countered, "But we don't need the ship itself. If we can check the navigation computer, we can hopefully trace them to their base..."
"So you're proposing that we slip into the ship that can blow any second, check the nav system, and follow them when backup gets here?"
"No" Spengler said. "I suggest that we get the heading, and follow them with the drop-ships."
The five pilots started laughing as one.
"Drop-Ships don't have the legs for an inter-planetary jump...much less if these guys are out of this system...it could take days" Briggs said feigning a smile.
"Ok, fine" Spengler relented. "What's the update on our back-up?"
Briggs turned to Tapper who had been in contact with the base moments earlier.
"Four hours and five minutes" Tapper said.
"Unacceptable" Spengler blurted out, as he started to tune his frequency to talk to the base directly.
Turning around Briggs rolled his eyes. It always seemed that the Ghosts though they could walk on water...was it arrogance or...
"This is Specialist Spengler, Task Force Seven; how's our backup coming?"
The reply came through Spengler's earpiece and the rest of the men could not hear the other end of the conversation.
"Put me through to Colonel Burke...now!"
The men stood in silence as Spengler waited for Burke to come on.
"Yes Colonel" Spengler said and started relaying the events that had happened in the preceding half hour followed by his proposed plan.
Briggs turned to his men, having decided to use the time productively.
"Ok, whatever happens, we've got to be sure that our birds are ready to go – check all your systems, make sure that everything checks out."
The men dispersed and commenced with a visual inspection on the two remaining drop-ships. The conversation between Burke and Spengler was still going. It seemed that they were discussing a new plan.
"Affirmative sir, we'll recover it now. We'll check in for our instructions when we get it."
Spengler turned to Briggs.
"New plan" he started. "The Colonel agrees that four hours is too long, so here's what we do; we see if we can grab the nav computer from the ship, we take a drop-ship and head for Douleur – it's a small planet in this system with a terran penal colony on it. Apparently it's maximum security, so the assholes they have there is pretty much the worst kind. Anyway, Burke says they have a long-range transporter there we can use to follow Mitchell and the sphere..."
"Wow" Briggs said losing his temper. "What a great plan... we'll send five pilots and an over confident spook after the guys who had just torn us a new one...why didn't I think of that."
Spengler remained calm.
"Well, actually the ship is not the only thing Burke will arrange with the colony..."
A flicker of hope appeared on Brigg's face.
"Ok..." he said intrigued. "So they've got a force on Douleur..."
Briggs' sentence died down. He knew the prison guards weren't up for the task...and no regular army outfit ever went to a penal colony...
"That's right" Spengler started. "Burke is going to cut a deal with an elect few – inmates that might have the skills required – they do this, they get their sentence reduced or be released for all I know..." With that he started walking past Briggs, slapping him on the shoulder.
"Now we gotta get the nav system from their ship without getting our heads blown off...I'm feeling downright positive..."
Briggs was left standing, his mouth literally hanging open.