This is a fan translation of Dark Skies (Тёмныенебеса) by Mikhail Akhmanov, currently only available in Russian and, because of the author's passing in 2019, unlikely to ever be published in English. This is the fourth book in a six-book series called Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака), which also has a six-book spin-off series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна).
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
Chapter 23
The Ensign
Everything was happening exactly as the Ensign had dreamed; the furious fight over the planet, the enemy dreadnoughts, broken by annihilator strikes and burning up in the atmosphere, the assault on the Dromi base, the remains of the towers and the earth thrown up by explosions, hundreds of balls of light filling the sky, and, finally, the landing of the marines, hundreds of transport pods and disks, falling upon the ocean coast. He was in one of those ships and was able to gleam the ruins of the port city and the wide field of the spaceport, covered in remains of combat vehicles; there had probably been a furious battle. As for the base itself, it was covered by a cloud of smoke, above which, here and there, the tops of the tallest structures stuck out, and tongues of flame reached for the sky.
The marines landed at the southern edge of the spaceport. The hatches opened, allowing the tank brigade to exit, followed by the infantry with combat robots and special equipment units: shields, communications gear, medical pods, and mobile command centers. The troops unfolded into a line and started moving northward. The southwestern and eastern groups covered the flanks, and the Ensign knew that the entire coastal territory had been locked down in a semicircle, with amphibious brigades blocking the sea. A full marine corps was moving in on the Dromi, and that would be an historical moment, the first ground operation in the entire war. There will be something to tell the grandkids about, the Ensign thought.
Clad in a combat suit, weapon at the ready, he walked in a line of robots. Orbs of light glowed in the sky, turning night into day, a wall of smoke loomed on the horizon, covering the enemy base, turtle-like tanks burned left and right, a shield emitter was moving behind him. The communicator was relaying the commanding officer's orders, but they were brief and boiled down to moving faster, staying awake, and paying attention to their surrounding. The Ensign was awake. War drums were beating in his ears, calling him to perform acts of heroism.
However, it didn't seem as if it was time for any acts of heroism, as the enemy was not providing organized resistance. Separate groups of Dromi were wandering near the launch silos, some of them unarmed, and all of them seemed to be in a state of shock; some ran from the marines, while others tried to rush them with their claws at the ready. According to the commanding officer, the Dromi leaders had probably died during the bombardment of the base, and the rank-and-file Dromi no longer had any direction. Then new orders came: those actively resisting were to be eliminated, while the rest had to be pushed to the north of the spaceport, disarmed, and encircled. This task did not require the entire marine force, so some of the groups were told to check the launch silos and the underground tunnels.
Hearing his team's call sign, the Ensign rushed his robots to the nearest well. He found no enemies there, on the surface at least, but he did encounter a T'haran in a combat suit and carrying an old-style thrower. God only knew where that guy had found a PT-36, and his suit also looked like a relic, whose place was in a museum. Realizing that the local resistance probably had trouble getting good weaponry, the Ensign raised his faceplate, greeted the T'haran with a salute and introduced himself politely, "Marine officer Olaf Peter Carlos Trevelyan-Krasnogortsev. Tell me your name, my friend. Do you require assistance? How can I help?"
Clicking the clasps, the T'haran removed his helmet. Big gray eyes stared at the Ensign, and he felt himself falling into an abyss. Well, maybe not falling, on the contrary, he was flying into the bright sky… Gray eyes, blonde hair, white skin, and a scattering of freckles on the nose… This girl was a copy of Inga Valdez, the Admiral's wife, and he could only marvel at the whims of fate for sending him such good fortune.
"Olaf Peter… what was the rest?.." the girl said hoarsely. "Well, Olaf will do for now. So, you're finally here! Can't say you were in much of a hurry."
She looked over the Ensign from head to toe and seemed to be pleased with what she saw; at the very least, her lips formed into something akin to a smile. The Ensign was also staring at her, thinking that the girl was enchanting, but she needed to eat something; her cheeks had fallen in, her nose had become pointed, and her neck was as thin as a blade of grass. But, despite the signs of emaciation and the noticeable fragility, she did not look weary or needing protection. She held herself with confidence, and the Ensign could somehow sense that this girl could easily handle any Baalan Valkyrie.
"You're Xenia Valdez," he said in a shaking voice. "I have served under your father and know your worthy mother. Actually, she has given me a task: to find you and your brother on T'har and to give you… hmm… give you her words of love and to dispel your worry. They're alive, in good health, and are doing their duty. And, of course, thinking about the two of you in their free time. Unfortunately, there isn't much of it, but…"
The girl was looking at him with a strange expression, as if preparing to burst into either tears or laughter. He continued to speak, as if afraid to stop, but Xenia suddenly punched him lightly into chest and declared, "You sing well! I already believe that you've served with my father and know my mother. What else did she ask you to pass along?"
The Ensign opened the collar of his suit, reached under the breastplate, and pulled our two heavy platinum rings.
"This. For you and your brother Mark."
"Good timing," Xenia said. Then she squinted and peered into his face. "So, Mom sent you… sent you to me… What's your rank, Olaf? Lieutenant, I hope?"
He blushed.
"Ensign. But with big prospects."
"Ensign then." Xenia stepped so close that one couldn't even slide a finger between their suits. "All right, an ensign will do, we can earn the ranks together. Mom didn't marry an admiral either… Well, why are you just standing there? You could kiss me…"
His faceplate was in the way, blocking his chin. It was strictly against regulations to remove pieces of armor on a battlefield, but he ripped off his helmet and threw it aside.
