Round Hammer, Long Nail
Part 4 – Back to Anvil
"How long have I been in here?"
In his head, he tried to calculate the days. Without the cycle of day and night, without an internal clock inside his coffin-like pod, and without a functioning wristwatch, broken during his escape, he needed alternate means of measuring time.
His mouth felt swollen and tacky. He was parched so he took a draw from the straw suspended over his head. The pod's emergency water supply was empty; not even condensation remained. Hollow stomached and delirious from hunger, he opened the emergency ration pack, searching for anything remaining from the gummy, crumbless nutrient cubes. None remained inside the little tin ration container. There was the chemical toilet and waste evacuation tubes under his padded cushion. It was filled to capacity. Next was the emergency radio, a flick of a switch turned on the LED display checking its status. Still broadcasting, but the battery was almost stone dead. The air scrubbers were also less effective as water reserves were tapped, the cold, brutal logic that air was no longer necessary once you died of thirst.
An ISSAPC escape pod was designed for one person to survive reasonably, if not in comfort, for three days. A marine, stretching out his food, water, air, and electricity resources, could survive the same pod for seven days.
From what he could tell his week was almost up.
On reflection, he knew his odds of survival were slim when he made the decision to stay behind in the ejected ISSAPC cargo module, using the module's port side gun to distract the Chigs while his squadron mates made their escape. Being able to scramble into the escape pod before Chig fighters blasted the module to pieces was more good fortune than he expected.
All the close calls during the war were more good fortune than he expected.
And it looked like he ran out.
For saving his friends and a load of Vesta and Tellus colony survivors?
No better way for a Marine to spend a fortune.
"Oorah." He croaked through parched lips. "Hope they're ok."
Then he heard the scream.
A high-pitched, keening wail, cutting through vacuum, through the metal and ballistic plastic shell of the escape pod and deep in his head. Covering his ears couldn't keep the sound out. Screaming in fright didn't drown out the noise. Like shrieking claws pulling into his darkest nightmares, it was the sound of terror made manifest.
And overhead, as he opened his eyes, he saw the stars snuffed out. A patch of sheening, oily blackness, its tendrils passing mere feet away from the tiny escape pod to which it did not heed, emitted one last nerve-wracking screech before it flew away.
He waited for many long, tense minutes before he collected his thoughts. It did not look like a Chig vessel, though he couldn't rule out the possibility. It could have also been a hallucination from a starved and delirium-afflicted mind. Whatever it was, a complete comprehension of events evaded him.
"What the hell was that?" He breathed heavily, his heart stilling after minutes of fear and adrenaline rousing it to vigorous activity. He was snapped out of his meandering fugue state, the day's deprivations brought to painful bodily clarity.
But it was enough to hear a weak signal being received by his emergency radio.
"...is Captain Remes, 103rd Squadron, United States Marine Corp, from Saratoga Battlegroup, to unknown escape vehicle. Come in."
He fumbled for the receiver and cried out exuberantly. "Captain Remes! This is Lieutenant Paul Wang, 58th Wildcards, US Marine Corp! Am I glad to hear from you! Over!"
Remes replied, "Your signal is weak, but we have a lock on you. We'd stick around, but we're already on mission. Search and Rescue ISSAPC dispatched and en-route to your location. Can you sit tight for a couple more hours, over?"
Knowing his oxygen situation, Lieutenant Wang answered, "I'll do my best, but I'm running on empty. The sooner the better. Over."
"Copy that, Lieutenant. Dust off's already on its way. If you'll excuse us, we've got our dance card full thanks to the Chigs. Captain Remes, over and out."
Lieutenant Wang wanted to shout out what he saw, but hesitated, too late to speak before Lieutenant Remes Hammerhead flew out of his radio reception range.
Should he have mentioned it? The inky, inescapable blackness, the howl that came from the darkest pits? Was it real, or the product of halucination, brought on by dehydration, hunger, and hours of drifting alone in space?
"Not like they'd believe me anyways." He crossed his arms on his stomach and waited.
Paladin Squadron, & ISSAPC Rescue Mission, En-Route to Anvil
Lieutenant Nathan West had plenty to observe from the side mounted gunner's station on board the ISSAPC, and plenty of time in transit to the crash site.
"We got some of the weirdest escorts ever." He muttered his observations. "I mean, those wings won't do transatmo, that's for sure. But look at the directed thrusters. Way bigger than ours."
"Yeah." Lieutenant Cooper Hawkes spoke over the ISSAPC's comms, riding in the central topside turret's control center, goggled in with a 360 degree virtual view of their surrounding space. "What's that McQueen said? Turn on a dime and give nine cents change?"
Said Lt. West, "Don't ask me what a cent is, but I get the gist."
"If you have any questions we'll be more than glad to fill you in." Came a less familiar voice of a commanding woman over the comms. "Providing you don't go into classified territory, in which case you'll just have to stare in awe and be inspired."
West and Hawkes cracked a smile and indulged in a chuckle. Their new 'escorts' were as strange to them as they were to pilots of the quad-winged, flat-nosed fighter craft. But one trait carried over between universes was the pilot's irreverent sense of humor. It was a proliferate as Chuck Yeager's accent.
"Paladin-1, we read you." Lt. West spoke. "Then can I ask about the turn rate of your 'Starfury', Flight Captain Aimes? Over."
A slight chuckle could be heard. "Now that's in classified territory, so no. And please, we're all pilots here. Call me 'Peregrine'."
"Lt. West. King of Hearts. Interesting name, Peregrine. Over."
"Thanks, I earned in the Dilgar Wars." She explained. "First ace to find out they were suckers for the zoom and boom. Like a hawk. And since there's a million pilots named Hawk..."
"Yup." Cooper Hawkes chimed in. "Jack of Spades, in case you're wondering."
"And because nobody wants to be named Falcon thanks to our new blue jumpsuits... I became Peregrine. So you two got a playing card motif?"
"Yeah. Battle of the Belt. Chigs got in our solar system and we planned an ambush, but they weren't going for the bait, so Jack of Spades here defied orders and lured them out, and we got into a big furball long enough to trap the Chig force. We were the Wildcard in that battle, so we became the Wildcards. Each of us have... well, had, a playing card callsign, over."
"I just picked Paladin Squadron 'cause it was cool." Peregrine quipped.
"Nice." Came the pilot in the front. "Lieutenant Chase. Call me 'Yoink', 'cause I'm always stealing stuff out from under the noses of the Chigs. Yoink!"
"Call us old school, but we earned our names through a little bit of self depreciation. Keep to a 'P' theme, makes it easy that way. Paladin-3, call him 'Punk'. His old drill instructor did because he wouldn't stop mouthing off."
"Hey, to be fair he had asteroids for brains."
"And we got Porkins here because he failed a physical for being one pound overweight."
"I lost it though."
"There's Penny, thanks to her hair."
"Auburn, but you get the idea."
"Punchy because he got his ass knocked out in the first round of the interfleet boxing tournament."
"He suckerpunched me."
"Pigpen thanks to his messy locker."
"One sandwich I accidentally left there for a week and everyone's gotta keep bringing it up."
"And Pug Ugly. Self explanatory."
"A face only a mother could love, am I right?"
Lieutenant West laughed softly. "Yeah, you're pilots alright. Heard you already gave the Chigs hell. Over."
"Sure did, King of Hearts. Everyone except Punk. Blew his ass to kingdom come before he could get off a shot."
"Hey!" Punk objected. "They got the drop on me. Could have happened to any of us. Besides, I'll get some payback. Just you watch. I'll make ace before the day's over."
"Whatever, Punk. You just watch your six before history repeats itself. How close are we to the objective?"
Yoink spoke up. "We'll be there in twenty five mikes, over."
"Good." Lt. West said. "And literally watch your six o'clock high. That's how the Chigs like to jump us. And it'll be tricky for you too. I notice your rear vision's not very good."
Captain Aimes said in return, "Something we're supposed to get sorted out with the new Thunderbolt Starfury model. I'd say more but its classified."
"Fair enough." West conceded.
Beside the ISSAPC's port side, Punk kept his Starfury straight and his head on a swivel. He was in an anxious mood, wanting payback for the Chigs splashing his last Starfury. He was overcompensating, hyperaware of his surroundings and his instrument readings on the Starfury's control panel. Every noise got his attention, even through the long minutes in transit.
When he caught something strange on his readout, he brought attention to it fast. "My sensors readout just flickered in and out. Anyone else get that?"
"Yeah, me too." said Paladin-4
"Same here." Paladin-5 chimed in.
"I got it here too." Yoink announced, "Lidar's going wavy. It's almost like..."
The rest of the squadron also noticed the flicker, which came to Captain Aimes' Starfury readout. "Yeah, it's kind of like Minbari interference."
Coop was quick to identify what was going on. It was a phenomenon the Wildcards encountered once before, and it sent chills down his and Lt. West's body.
"CHIG AMBUSH! BREAK! BREAK! BREAK!"
Plasma fire struck Paladin-5 and Paladin-2 before they reacted, exploding their Starfurys in a plume of fire and debris. The rest of Paladin Squadron scattered their formation, turning tight and nosing their craft towards the source of the enemy fire.
Captain Aimes thought she saw the darkness ripple past her Starfury. She nosed her craft towards the motion blur and strafed with her plasma cannons. No hit, and she lost track of the dark form who streaked past her. She hissed, "Use your eyes, this Chig's as slippery as a Minbari!"
"I got a bead on 'em!" Punk announced. He let fly with a stream of plasma fire. "Hits! I got hits! What the hell? It's still mobile... oh hell!"
The Chig vessel turned tight, striking Punk with it's unusual appearance. As it nosed towards him, he could see a crude skull. And writing on the side.
The Chig fighter answered back with its own volley of plasma bolts. Punk rolled his craft and slipped past the darting fighter, fired again with successful strikes to the vessel's side, yet it didn't explode.
At that instant, his eye caught some crude writing on the alien vessel's side.
'For Whom The Bell Tolls'
"What the hell is this thing?!" Punk growled.
West explained, his feed filled with the sounds of dropping brass and the hammer and thump of his door gun blazing into empty space. "Chiggy Von Richthofen! It's an experimental Chig fighter. Stealthy, heavily armored."
"Aren't there supposed to be only one of these thing?!" Coop shouted while futilely searching.
"Yeah, and McQueen smoked it! There wasn't supposed to be another one!"
"Tell that to the Chigs!" Coop screamed.
"Well that's just fine and dandy." Punk interjected loudly, "Now how do we kill it?!"
Coop replied. "Missile up the engine, but you gotta get close for a lock."
"Multiple bogeys on an intercept course, twelve o'clock high, 800 mikes!" Aimes saw her readouts light up with a dozen new contacts, all between Paladin Squad and Planet Anvil.
"Not bogeys, bandits." West corrected. "That's a classic Chig attack angle. Looks like standard fighters."
"We need to break off and engage. Paladins, get in that furball. Yoink, break for the planet, we'll keep 'em off your back." Aimes flipped the switch to arm her onboard missiles. "Punk, with me. We'll take care of Chiggy ourselves."
"Another flicker." Punk said.
"Four o'clock high." West said.
"Surprise, sucker. Time for some payback."
The ISSAPC's cannons and guns aimed high and fired blindly. Plasma shots were too slow and missed wide, but the door gunner's bullets ricocheted off Chiggy Von Richthofen's beetle black armor plating. It fired back with plasma shots, the ISSAPC nosing up in time to avoid the barrage. Punk and Peregrine pivoted and joined their own cannons into the mix. Shots bounced and careened off the hull, but patches of heat from glowing hot armor plates began to appear.
"It need time to dissipate heat." Aimes said. "Keep on him! Keep the pressure up!"
"Yes sir!"
Punk and Peregrine were on Chiggy Von Richthofen's tail, plasma cannons blazing away at the elusive target. Without a proper lock, the two pilots were relying on physical sights, their eyeballs, and their own intuition to score hits. But it was not easy. Chiggy Von Richthofen's vessel was more manoeuvrable than the Chig fighters they encountered before, and, from what Aimes experience told her, it was in the hands of a more than capable pilot. She was surprised by the pilot's skill and the craft's durability, but not entirely shaken. She started her career in the Dilgar Wars and survived the Minbari Conflict. She fought despite terrible odds before.
Chiggy was just another unknown enemy making itself well known before her eyes.
Banking to its starboard, Chiggy attempted another run at the ISSAPC. She cut off it's run by buzzing the vessel close and strafing for the skull, scoring three glowing red hits. Another attempt to evade the persistent Starfurys left Chiggy with more hits on its nose. A third attempt, and it broke off when Punk dumb-fired a missile in its path.
Perfect. Get it's attention. Keep it mad. Make it have to deal with its immediate problem, right here, right now.
Chiggy took the bait when it pursued Aimes.
She spun the Starfury around, coasting on its inertia while ducking and weaving from Chiggy's shots. Moving around in reverse was tricky for any pilot, even Aimes, but her craft kept evading the Chig's shots while it bore down on her with superior velocity. She could weave all she wanted, but her shots were only building up heat, and not to her satisfaction, while each of Chiggy's shots were getting closer and closer to hitting.
"Punk... could use your help about now."
"Wait for it... and you can stop skeeting... NOW!"
Aimes stopped firing and banked to the side. She expected Chiggy to follow and close the distance, setting her up for a finishing blow at close range.
Exactly what she wanted Chiggy to do.
Because Punk slipped in from behind, and was even closer.
"Paladin-3... Fox 2!"
Out of Punk's Starfury came an infrared-guided missile, locked onto Chiggy's massive glowing heat signature, and guided straight for the Sewell Fuel-powered exhaust thruster.
Aimes barely had time to roll and escape the explosion to follow, for when Punk's missile detonated, it didn't just tear through the rear exhaust port of Chiggy Von Richthofen, it also detonated its supply of Sewell Fuel. The explosion was cataclysmic, and the resulting magenta shockwave that followed buffeted both Starfurys.
When the kinetic force of the explosion subsided, Aimes switched back on her communications and scanned the channels. She found the squadron channel, hearing more static than usual, but found her squadmates chattering as they fought for their lives against the Chig storm.
"Punk to Peregrine, you alright over there?"
Punk was okay! His Starfury came alongside, thrusters putting the fighter to a halt. Aimes did the same, then came blunt nose to blunt nose. Even behind armored glass and a flight helmet, she could see the relief on Punk's face.
"Fine and dandy, Punk. How about you? Feeling avenged?"
A chuckle was heard over Punk's comm. "Certainly made me earn it. How's Yoink?"
She took a quick look at her scanners. "The ISSAPC's broken through. No pursuit. But the rest of the Paladins are still engaged. Think you can still make ace today?"
"Try and stop me, Captain!"
"Then let's get back into the mix."
"Aye, Sir!" Punk changed his course towards the gigantic dogfight in progress, punched his engines, and charged in, with Aimes closely following behind.
She'd lost track of the time while her mind floated through a haze of hypoxia.
Lieutenant Vanessa Damphousse checked the oxygen levels on her exo-atmospheric suit. The oxygen reserves were at the red line. She checked the unconscious Captain Shane Vansen. Her oxygen wasn't much better. She heard the whistling of a breach in the ejected cockpit's canopy. Her body began to feel numb. Her mind was slipping into fatigue. If she had the energy to attempt another distress call it wouldn't have mattered. The emergency batteries were dying.
All she wanted to do was sleep like Vansen. Damphousse thought her friend and Captain had the right idea. The long minutes dragged her fatigue further. And if there was no rescue it would be a matter of time before oxygen deprivation took them anyways.
Heavy eyelids drooped down, ready to close their last.
Until she heard the rumbling of ISSAPC vectored thrust jets rumbling overhead. The gigantic landing craft scorched, then crushed, the foliage underneath as it landed, a second later opening its side hatch and disgorging marines.
"Rescue!" A much needed surge of adrenaline rushed through her. She patted Vansen, who stirred awake.
Two marines, and two navy corpsmen, dashed for the damaged cockpit. One of them rapped on the canopy. "Hey, what's your status?!"
Vanessa's spirits catapulted when she heard the voice. She groggily replied, "West, that you?"
"Yeah! I got Coop with me too. We don't have much time though. Can you move?"
"I... think so. Nothing's broken, but Vansen's out of it. Concussion, I think. We're also out of air."
"Coop and I got you. Corpmen, take Vansen. We'll pop the top, rush you in, and dust off."
"Do it."
Hawkes popped the canopy of the ejected cockpit while West hooked up an emergency hose from his oxygen supply to Damphousse's. As he and Hawkes lifted Damphousse out of the cockpit, the Navy Corpmen were hooking a fresh oxygen supply to Vansen and loading her onto a litter. The flash of chig rifle fire was meet with the steady pop of M590 assault rifles from the marines, laying down cover fire as the downed pilots were rushed into the ISSAPC. The landing team loaded back in, firing shots into the dense jungle canopy, slammed the sliding bay door shut, and held on tightly as the ISSAPC lifted off straight and fast.
As the Corpmen attended to Vansen, Damphousse slumped into a seat, savoring the sweet oxygen in her lungs, grateful to be alive.
"Wasn't sure you were gonna make it." She mumbled to West and Coop.
"We weren't sure either." West replied, "But we had a little help."
"And who should I thank for this timely rescue?"
Coop answered, "Paladin Squad, from the Typhon."
"The Typhon? Who are they?"
"It'll take some explaining. It's so nuts even I don't believe it."
"Not like we're going anywhere. Spill it, Marine."
"Yeah, you got it." Coop chuckled, before he and West collaborated on the incomplete details of their story. By the end, Damphousse agreed with Coop. It was too insane to believe.
But as Paladin Squad's strange looking Starfury fighters came alongside the ISSAPC and waggled wings in greeting, Damphousse had no choice but to accept reality.
What was one more strange occurrence on top of miracle?
Blame it on the hypoxia.
Further away, to the galactic northwest, a massive formation raced towards the suspected location of the Chig fleet, intent on delivering hell to the enemy.
It was the combined air wing of the United Earth fleet. From the Saratoga, the John F. Kennedy, the British space carrier King George V, and the French light carrier Charlemagne, a dozen squadrons of SA-80 Hammerheads raced forth, escorting specially configured ISSCV's with the cargo pods removed and replaced with a revolving rack of S.L.A.M.s (Sub Light Anti-ship Missile). A carrier alpha strike, meant to blunt the advance of the Chig pincer. The Hammerheads and Slamwagons were armed, ready, and flying in at attack velocity.
But there were no Chigs to greet them. None of their triangular fighters diving in to attack. None of their diamond-shaped capital ships launching their missile barrages or plasma bursts.
Instead, their lidar screens lit up with a field of floating wreckage. Chig fighters blown to scrap. Capitol ships torn to pieces, leaving nothing but glittering, drifting spires gutted by fire and dismembered by explosions.
The lead flight element, suspicious as they were, ordered the attack wing back while it flew by the wreckage, searching for any deception, any traps.
But it was all real. Three Chig ships, matching intelligence's count, and a multitude of fighters and bombers, all destroyed.
And not a clue how it happened.
"We should thank whoever did it." The flight leader said, "But we don't have time. Return to the fleet. We have to prep for the other Chig fleet in..."
His last words were cut off by an otherworldly scream, and a bright beaming lance which swept through his squadron, scything down seven Hammerheads in a matter of seconds.
Out of the Chig wreckage came darkness.
Screaming, maddening darkness.
And it turned its wrath on the others.
TBC...