First Admiral 02 The Burning Sun (32 page)

“It is not our way, General Darrien, just as I know it is not your way,” Chulling answered, “you are not General Glabbrus or Methrien the Butcher.”

For long seconds that felt like an eternity, Billy kept his mouth shut despite wishing to intervene. The Bardomil General was suffering his own particular hell of mental agony, and Billy knew that he would have to find his own answers.

“Do I have your word that my people will not be harmed, Admiral Chulling?” Darrien sighed.

“You have my word of honour,” Chulling replied.

“And, what happens to us if we do surrender to you?” Darrien asked Billy.

“We have several abandoned Garmaurian cities, with the best facilities in the universe, where you would be held in internment,” Billy replied calmly.

“What of our families?” Darrien asked.

“We will make it known that you all died heroically in battle,” Billy assured, “the Empress will have no reason to harm your families.”

“I must think on this,” Darrien nodded slowly, contemplating the situation.

“Then you have ten minutes to consider,” Billy said calmly, and the image of Darrien cut out.

When the image had disappeared, Billy swung into action.

“Chulling, that was brilliant,” he praised the Second Admiral who had ‘stood up’ to his commander on behalf of a defeated enemy.

“Happy to help, sir,” Chulling smiled and his image disappeared.

“Marrhus,” Billy turned to Lokkrien, “get Briefing Room One ready in case he decides to surrender; I want him over here on our turf. I don’t want him being the foolishly stupid, honourable Bardomil and killing himself; he’s too valuable,” Billy ordered.

“Sir,” the Communications Officer interrupted, “General Darrien.”

A moment later, the image of General Darrien appeared over the War Table again. Looking crestfallen and dismayed he sighed and then spoke.

“First Admiral,” he began formally, “I have just issued the order for all of my people to capitulate to your forces.”

“Very well, General, that is a wise and courageous choice that has saved many lives,” Billy replied with equal formality, “I shall send a transport over to bring you here for the formal surrender in one hour. By our laws we can only accept the surrender from you personally,” Billy lied as part of the strategy to prevent this brave soldier from killing himself.

“It shall be done,” Darrien said sadly as the image cut out.

When the image had disappeared, the War Room of the Colossus burst into a loud cheer followed by great jubilation. Throughout the Alliance Fleet, the celebrations would continue for many hours.

“Congratulations, sir,” Lokkrien emerged from the other side of the War Table and held out his hand.

“Why thank you, Second Admiral,” Billy smiled shaking the offered hand as the War Room staff continued to cheer and celebrate.

“Chulling, you mutinous dog,” Lokkrien smiled as he continued to shake Billy’s hand, “I’m surprised Darrien didn’t see through that one.”

“Yes,” Billy said slowly breaking the grip and scratching the back of his head.

“I did kind of over-egg that one, didn’t I?” Billy smiled and then laughed softly.

Chapter 37

The Imperial Palace, Bardan

The Bardomil Empress, Lullina, sat with a face like a thunderstorm, perched on the edge of her onyx throne with her hands tightly clutching the uprights of the arms. It was the darkest part of the night on Bardan and the clear, orange glow of the solitary moon cast long shadows across the floor of the Imperial Throne Room. The black-uniformed Imperial Bodyguards stood nervously at their posts as their Empress muttered and scowled angrily to herself. Many of the black-clad guards had seen the Empress’ monumental foul tempers, but none of them had ever seen her as angry as this.

The reports of setbacks from the Praxos frontier had been filtering back to the Imperial Palace throughout the day. As the news had become increasingly gloomy, the Empress’ mood had similarly darkened. The sound of heavy military boots on the polished floors of the Throne Room announced the arrival of Bodyguard Captain Sudrus with the latest news from the frontier.

Stopping before the raised throne, Captain Sudrus bowed.

“Well?” the Empress asked with the icy anger that could mean instant execution for anyone who displeased her in even the slightest manner.

“If it please, Your Majesty,” the otherwise favoured champion of the Empress spoke nervously.

“We take it that the news is bad?” she said with an air of calm anger.

“The news is bad, Your Majesty,” Sudrus replied steeling himself for the ordeal that would follow.

“How bad?” the Empress snarled coldly.

“Everything is lost, Your Majesty,” Sudrus anxiously delivered the gravest of news.

“Everything, Captain Sudrus?” the Empress probed.

“Yes, Your Majesty, everything,” Sudrus confirmed.

“Our Imperial Fleets?” she questioned.

“Yes, Majesty,” Sudrus replied.

“What of our Armies?” the Empress questioned again.

“Occupation garrisons have survived on the two uninhabited planets on the edge of the Praxos system, Majesty,” Sudrus reported.

“The rest?” the Empress pressed.

“Destroyed by the enemy, Majesty,” Sudrus reported and tried to stay as calm as he could.

“All of them?” the Empress continued.

“Yes, Majesty, they never got off their troop transports,” he reported.

In the darkness of the Throne Room, Lullina took several deep breaths and then, with a loud animal bellow, flung herself down the steps of the Onyx Thorne barging past Sudrus to shout at the moon.

“TRAITORS!” she bellowed at the guard who had the misfortune to be standing close to the tall window.

“COWARDS!” she shrieked at another guardsman who almost passed out with fright as she stalked around the Throne Room.

“Bring me that traitor Batarrien!” she turned and, with a pointed finger of accusation, hissed the instruction to Sudrus.

“He’s already dead, Majesty, took his own life,” Sudrus replied.

“COWARD!.......TRAITOR!” she shrieked again, having been denied the pleasure of killing the handsome young Officer herself, “what about Tetherrien?” she rounded on the General who had presented the young Batarrien and his study.

“Also dead, Majesty,” Sudrus answered.

Once more the Empress let out huge bellow and uttered a curse on the heads of the two dead Officers she would hold responsible for the disaster, conveniently forgetting that it was her orders that had sent the invasion force to its fate.

“Then, kill their families!” she ordered with icy coldness.

“Right away, Majesty,” Sudrus replied.

But, Captain Sudrus knew that no innocents would die this night. Having discovered both Batarrien and Tetherrien dead, he had ordered their families away from Bardan. Captain Sudrus knew that by the time he was delivering the bad news to the Empress, the families would be on transports getting as far away from Bardan as they could. In the morning, when the Empress’ mood had calmed, she would probably have forgotten all about issuing their death warrants.

“It was Caudwell, wasn’t it?” the Empress pointed her finger of accusation at Sudrus once more.

“Intelligence reports that he was present at the battle,” Sudrus could only speculate.

“Of course it was him,” the Empress cursed, “it’s always him, Sudrus, he has spies everywhere,” she muttered conspiratorially to her Bodyguard Captain.

“As you say, Majesty.” Sudrus knew it was best to simply agree with her when she was so angry.

“Find them, Sudrus, search them out, hunt them down, find them and kill them!” she ordered the deaths of First Admiral Caudwell’s mythical agents on Bardan.

“As you wish, Majesty,” Sudrus acknowledged yet another futile order to ignore.

“And, purge the Generals,” she hissed, “They’re all traitors; get rid of them!” she snapped.

“Of course, Majesty,” Sudrus agreed once more.

“Oh yes, we’ll get you Caudwell, and your precious, puny little planet” she snarled, “What of the Ganthorans?” the Empress snapped her mind into strategic mode.

“The frontiers are all quiet, Majesty,” Sudrus informed having put the frontier garrisons on high alert, “the Horvath are making no moves either.”

“Watch them, Sudrus,” the Empress snarled, “watch them!”

“As your Majesty commands.” Sudrus bowed and began to dismiss himself from the Imperial presence.

“Captain Sudrus?” the Empress called him back, “bring us Metgar the Threylan,” she instructed before walking calmly back to the Onyx Throne.

Bowing once more, Sudrus marched as quickly as he decently dared back out of the Throne Room. It puzzled him why the Empress would want to speak to Metgar. One of the most disreputable characters in the galaxy, Metgar was from a vast nomadic species that lived either as mercenaries or planetary asset-strippers in the unclaimed territories. They had served in the Bardomil military many years before and had been treated as little more than cannon-fodder. You didn’t have to pay the dead, the Empress had instructed her Generals on the use of the Threylans. And, the Threylans had never forgotten that cruelty. There was no love lost between the Threylans and the Bardomil; of course that was a common complaint amongst a lot of species within the Empire.

Quite what Empress Lullina wanted with the Threylans was not something Captain Sudrus wished to dwell upon as he headed back to his quarters.

But, whatever it was, Sudrus knew that it would mean no good for someone.

Chapter 38

Planet Earth

Micky Stewart lay on his comfortable bed, in his brightly decorated but messy bedroom, studying his favourite book of World War Two fighter aircraft. Model Spitfires, Hurricanes and Mustangs hung from near-invisible threads from his ceiling and caught the sharp sunlight that flooded through the large window. Pictures of scantily clad young women adorned his walls as he lay, on his stomach, lower legs raised. Flicking, left-handed, through the grainy black and white images of classic propeller-driven fighter aircraft from nearly half a century before, Micky quietly nursed his heavily bandaged right hand. His parents were out, leaving Micky with the run of the house, which gave him the peace and solitude that he enjoyed.

On his bedside table, the small black and white portable television played to itself as Micky languidly imagined himself some heroic fighter ace; a Knight of the Sky, vanquishing enemy fighters and saving the day once again. Oblivious to the television, Micky did not hear the ongoing commentary and speculation as to why the huge solar flare, that had so mysteriously appeared the day before, had managed to not overwhelm the Earth. Various experts had been paraded in front of the cameras with their pet theories. But, now that the supposed danger to all life on the planet had passed, much of humanity had returned to their state of blissful ignorance and apathy.

“
…there is absolutely no reasonable explanation as to why our planet is still here,”
the scientist- of-the-moment’s television voice expounded as Micky drew over the page to look at a picture of a silver-painted twin-engine American fighter.

“
…by every known scientific law, this planet should now be floating in space as a burnt out shell. The magnetic fields around the earth could never have protected us from a solar flare of that magnitude and strength!”
he continued on his astonished explanation.

Oblivious to the scientist’s incredulity, Micky dreamily carried on with his fighter ace fantasy, as a blinding flash of bright white light filled his bedroom for a fraction of a second.

Startled, Micky looked up from his book to see the smiling figure of Billy Caudwell standing, arms folded across his chest, only two metres away from him.

“What the…!? How did…!?” an open-mouthed and astonished Micky sprang to his feet, his book spilling onto the floor, as he faced the intruder.

“Hey, Micky Mouse,” Jedithram Prust; projecting the jeans and sweatshirt image of Billy, greeted his highly reluctant host, “a little birdie tells me you like slapping girls around?”

“What…!? How…!?” the incredulous Micky Stewart faced the entity that had just appeared in front of him in his own bedroom.

“Shut up and sit down!” the Billy figure interrupted his astonishment with a well placed fist planted squarely on Micky’s nose.

Unable to comprehend what was happening, Micky received the full force of the blow, sending him tumbling backwards onto his bed.

Jed smiled savagely having enjoyed administering the wallop and the nose-bleeding and eye-watering results.

With his head ringing from the brutal impact, Micky felt the warm trickle of blood from his nose begin to run down over his mouth and chin as he tried to focus his streaming eyes on his assailant.

Jed, confident that First Admiral Caudwell was nearly two hundred kilometres away at that moment, lifted a discarded tee-shirt from the bedroom floor and threw it to Micky. Unable to focus on the flying object, the tee-shirt landed clumsily, draped over Micky’s head. The real Billy, Jed knew, would be with his parents at Gilfillan Academy, deep in the Scottish Highlands, with lots of total strangers to act as impartial witnesses. And, it was with that knowledge that he had asked for permission to dispense a little bit of Thexxian payback to Micky. Permission had been granted with the ‘don’t-kill-or-cripple-him’ proviso, which was not what Jed had wanted to hear. Jed’s idea of payback was the use of the short, curved ceremonial blade of the Thexxian Scycarriam to open Micky’s abdomen as a warm-up to the main event.

“There ya go Micky, make sure your mascara doesn’t run,” Jed smiled as Micky began to untangle himself from the tee-shirt.

Still smiling, Jed pulled up the armless plastic chair that stood in front of Micky’s study desk before turning it, wrong way round, and setting it down in front of Micky. Sitting astride the chair, Jed leaned his arms on the back of the seat and watched as Micky tried to staunch the flow of blood from his ravaged nose with the tee-shirt. First Admiral Caudwell might have had reservations about attacking an injured opponent, but Jed did not.