Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (4 page)

"SHE'S DAMAGED BADLY!" the sensor
crewman loudly shouted to the
Mariner's
bridge personnel.
"COMMANDER, HER POWER IS DOWN BY SIXTY-THREE PERCENT AND THERE ARE
NUMEROUS BREACHES!"

"Cease firing," Paladin commanded. "Open a
hailing frequency to that ship and put her on the viewer."

"Hailing frequency opened, Sir."

Commander
Paladin drew a breath as he gazed at the luckless Earth ship. "This
is Commander Paladin of the
Mariner
hailing the captain of the
Tasmania
. Captain, your ship is badly
damaged, breached, and on fire. It is senseless to continue
fighting. I promise care for you wounded and safe passage for your
entire crew to…."

Suddenly,
the
Tasmania
began
blowing itself apart in flaming sections. Finally, there was a
brilliant flash as both ship and crew died together in the inferno
of atomic expulsion.

Paladin just watched, seemingly unmoved.

"Damn!" Winslow's voice echoed his astonishment in a
sad tone.

For a moment, there was only silence on the
bridge.

"Commander," the
communication's crewman broke the quiet, "all units are reporting
in. The Earth forces are withdrawing."

Paladin’s taught eyes finally blinked in relief,
while he paused for a moment before he spoke. "As soon as the Earth
ships are out of range, give the order to recover all fighters and
send a message to Damon to be ready to have his transports lift off
on my command."

"Sir, with all due respect, I'd like to keep a few
fighters for cover," Winslow showed his concern.

"No. In less than an hour, the Earth's
Directorate Council will discover that nearly the entire Martian
population is in rebellion and immigrating elsewhere. They're going
to send everything they've got to stop us. We're going to have to
run like hell. Our fighters can't make the jump to hyperspace on
their own and I'm not leaving anyone behind if I can help it. I'll
deploy them only if there is no other option."

Winslow nodded, but then dropped his head
slightly.

Paladin knew something else was wrong. "What else,
Mr. Winslow?" he inquired.

"Among
our casualties was the cruiser
Viking
. She was lost with all
hands—including Deputy Commander Noda," the junior officer
reported.

Paladin closed his eyes for a minute and tightened
his jaw. The news to him was heartbreaking; Noda was his closest
friend.

"Sir, you'll have to appoint another second in
command."

"Any word
from the
Crazy Horse
?" Paladin questioned with some grief in his
tone.

"No, Sir, not since the last of the communications
and battle satellites was destroyed. There's too much debris
causing interference."

"Well, we'll just have to sit tight until they do.
It's all up to Wakinyan now," the aged veteran officer spoke,
turning his back to glance out into space.

* * * * *

Chapter 2: Devil's
Furnace

The sun rose majestically over the endless red
cliffs of Valles Marineris: the Grand Canyon of Mars. So long was
this Martian canyon system that it could easily stretch between San
Francisco and New York City. Yet despite its ungainly size, the
canyon was magnificently beautiful in the rays of the early morning
light. The radiance of the rising sun illuminated a glittering
rainbow effect on the surface of rocks and boulders. They in turn
reflected sparkles like dancing fairies. However, a howl grew upon
the winds and the sparkles drew into darkness, for this day had not
only started with a war, but an enormous raging dust storm as
well.

The tempest of swirling
wind and particles quickly roared down the canyon's rocky
corridors, diffusing the sun's rays into a scarlet gray and casting
everything into a murkiness of grainy shadows. The storm of red
dust covered and cloaked the landscape at amazing speed. Faster
than two hundred miles an hour, it seemed that nothing could outrun
the momentum of the swirling clouds of dirt—almost
nothing.

Suddenly,
a large mound of sand bulged and then swelled away from the forward
wall of the advancing earthen squall. It quickly formed a huge
teardrop, which sped ever so quickly away. The mound’s speed was
tremendous, and the ionized red iron particles that formed the
outer coating quickly streamed off. A metal skin began to show in
patches, which grew bigger and united. Finally when all sand was
left in the trailing wash, a grayish-blue warship was revealed. It
resembled a bottlenose dolphin with a massive revolving laser
cannon protruding beneath its chin. Strangely, no insignia other
than a huge red lightning bolt and two opened blue squares were
displayed on its hull. But a proud name was boldly engraved on her
bow,
MWS
Crazy
Horse
—and she bore the telltale signs of
battle.

The
Martian space destroyer
Crazy Horse
zigzagged violently through the canyon and far
below the tops of the ragged cliffs, with the vessel rising and
falling just as fast in consideration to the distance between it
and the canyon floor. Occasionally coming uncomfortably close to a
harrowing and fiery end in the confines of the vast trench, rocky
walls passed as blurs while the ship sprinted through this natural
and huge obstacle course.

The destroyer’s high speed
and extreme maneuvers were not only due to the urgency of its
mission, but also in evasion of the Earth fighters and warships
that tracked and pursued her from behind. However, the turbulence
and sensor jamming distortion created by the magnetic red iron dust
forced the Earth vessels to reduce their speed while also affecting
the accuracy of their weapons. The Martians, on the other hand,
were use to such blinding conditions on their planet. With their
scanners and computers long since modified to compensate for it,
the Martians clearly held a tactical advantage. Regardless,
however, the situation became the source of criticism from a very
rankled officer on the bridge of the Martian destroyer.

"This has got to be one of the nuttiest schemes
you've ever come up with yet!" Lieutenant James Randall confessed
confidentially and with some irritation to his long-time friend and
commanding officer, Captain Richard Wakinyan. "I almost soiled
myself in the briefing room listening to you! Destroying that Earth
forces base guarding those space ports without getting ourselves
killed, is going to be a real miracle!"

Wakinyan just smiled at
the handsome, but somewhat upset first officer of 29 years, who
bore a striking resemblance to a 20th Century actor who had played
the movie role of “Batman” several times. “Miracles sometimes
happen, but don't worry; it’s going to be a good day!"

Randall turned for a moment and studied his muscular
and broad-shouldered 35-year-old captain. Wakinyan's reddish tinted
skin, almond eyes, broad nose, black hair, and high cheekbones more
than just hinted at his American Indian ancestry.

Besides being athletic in
appearance, Wakinyan held an air of distinction that was as solid
as his ship. He inspired all around him with his self-confidence
and indomitable spirit. Randall had always admired this in his
captain, regardless that he felt very uneasy with Rich's
willingness to take seemingly reckless but calculated risks. In the
same breath, however, it also attested to Richard's personal
bravery. Coupled with his years of intense study and training in
the martial arts, Wakinyan was the very essences of a true and
noble warrior; a man who never faltered in meeting the enemy or to
rescue those in distress. Yet, he was quick to partake in the more
worldly pleasures when time and circumstances permitted
it.

This was
evident in a few noted over-indulgences that were excessive enough
to have Wakinyan subjected to the unheard practice of having him
restricted—
under hack
—on his own ship. It also had cost him a promotion to squadron
commander, twice.

Randall
mused that Wakinyan had done this deliberately though. It was no
secret that Rich preferred that the
Crazy
Horse
act alone as a fleet scout. It was
far safer than being a part of a squadron or mass division of ships
being targeted by an enemy. Also there was no concern about the
interference or stupidity of other captains and superior officers.
Wakinyan easily saw their shortcomings in character and thinking,
the product of assembly-line military training fouled with the
stench of personal agendas and politics.

Randall knew Wakinyan’s
past intimately though, and saw him more than just as an intensely
proud and spirited warrior. He was also one of innovation and
skill. Having spent most of his adolescence life as a crewman
aboard his uncle's aging star-freighter, Wakinyan had worked every
position from cook to navigator. It was an invaluable experience in
itself that had drawn the very best out of him. Wakinyan's
leadership abilities were solidly molded from those many years of
hard work, hauling cargo to distant and strange worlds, while his
peers merely sat in classrooms studying about them.

But a darker side also
tainted Richard Wakinyan, contributing to his subtle status of
social outcast. He was a man who was intolerant of any threat, and
was swift to “neutralize” them. It was a part of a strangeness that
was quietly accepted by his crew as well as the change of attire
that precluded combat. Before Wakinyan would knowingly enter any
battle, combat boots were traded for old, yet colorful pair of boot
moccasins. Added to this, was an ancient and broad “Bowie” knife,
which was sheathed to his right calf by leather thongs.

The aged steel blade of the
knife was well kept and sharp. It also had been meticulously
engraved with ancient characters that Randall could not decipher.
Its handle was crafted from an elk horn that was inlaid with stones
of blue and green turquoise as well as a small tarnished silver
coin on either side. They added a particular beauty to the weapon.
Yet, the knife was as deadly as an ion pistol. The young officer
knew this from first-hand experience, for Wakinyan never hesitated
in using it in past hand-to-hand combat encounters, and this scared
people.

From his outlandish
conduct, many officers within the fleet considered Wakinyan to be
"a wild savage" and nothing else. Richard never seemed to mind it
though. He cared little for their opinions and whenever, avoided
their company. What's more, Wakinyan never sacrificed his crew or
ship for his own personal ambitions like they did. Perhaps, this
was one of the reasons why Paladin had turned a blind eye to his
fierce and solitary demeanor.

Regardless, Wakinyan was
still Randall's best friend and his remark had brought out a smile
on the lieutenant's face.

"You know, I really hate
every time you say that," Randall admitted.

"Why?" Richard
inquired.

"To put it simply, it means
fill our pockets with jam, because we're about to become
toast!"

Suddenly, the bridge shook from a distant
explosion.

"That's just great," James complained
further, "their aim is improving! DAMAGE CONTROL, REPORT!"

"Minor hit on the stern,
Sir!" the crewman called out, "No casualties!"

Satisfied with the summary,
Randall turned to Wakinyan. "Captain, you sure you want to go
through with this?"

"Jim, there's no other way.
Without cover, they'll blast us into the Next Kingdom," Wakinyan
stated his reasoning bluntly.

Randall snickered lightly. "You think they're dumb
enough to follow us?"

"We'll soon see," Richard
said with a sly smile.

"Sir, approaching the
Devil’s Furnace," the navigator alerted Wakinyan.

Richard then turned to the
helm's man. "Smitty, what’s our speed and altitude?"

"Two thousand air knots at
five hundred meters, Sir," the man replied.

"Descend directly into the
Devil’s Furnace. Reduce speed to thirty air knots. Mr. Edwards,
stand by to begin your run."

A huge,
black vent hole from one of Mars' largest volcanoes loomed before
the
Crazy Horse.
Appropriately named the Devil's Furnace, the ancient orifice
was a monument to Mars' violent beginnings.

Plumes of hot gases still
escaped from the black opening, despite these volcanoes having been
classified as extinct. Some early explorers had even claimed to see
lucid flames and phantoms, possibly the souls of the damned,
dancing in the opening’s mist and giving rise to both myth and its
name. These were likely ionized auras that were created by regional
distortions in the magnetic field. Regardless, the Martian ship
slowed its descent and slid into the darkness of the Devil’s
Furnace.

As the
Martian ship slipped and vanished beneath the ground, three
pursuing Earth fighters reached the entrance. Breaking off their
chase, they circled high above the cave and waited for the arrival
of their warships. Moments later, they were joined by the Earth
space destroyer
Gladstone
.