The Spear tore through the sky at a phenomenal rate. The tiny island of Santa Fosca appeared on the horizon, grew closer as the plane sped towards it.
Jennings sat, watching the elite group of warriors prepare for the landing and capture of the group who had so ruthlessly killed so many Americans. They were the best, part of a detachment of soldiers who had won fame in War Three by capturing the remains of Paris. Now they would storm the island and try to take the terrorists alive, if they could. It would be a formidable task, if the terrorists were Styx.
Jennings and the troop commander looked at the view of the island the long-range cameras presented.
“What the hell is that?”
Something jutted up from the island, a massive, black something. It looked like a piece of…No, that was impossible. It was still buried in the mountains.
“Radiation level?”
“Nothing abnormal.”
So there had not been a thermonuclear attack.
“There they are.”
Seven men stood near the—thing. One was on his knees.
“What are they doing?”
“Watching us. Preparing.”
“They don’t appear to be armed.”
“They wouldn’t have to be if they’re Styx.” The soldier walked to the cabin. “Fly us in low. We’ll drop in on them from above, and the lower machine cannons can give us cover if it comes to that.”
The sleek vessel glided closer to the island, panels on its underside sliding open to reveal heavy machine guns on pivot axes. The plane slowed.
“They aren’t making a move. They can’t be surrendering.”
“With all respect, sir, if I saw a fully-armed Spear coming at me, I’d surrender.”
Below the plane, the seven men waited in silence.
Reynald stood up, his arms outstretched.
“Closer…Come closer.”
The plane continued its approach.
He closed his eyes.
((FIRE!!))
The formation of Judas dove at the Enemy monstrosity orbiting the moon Phobos.
The domain of vision was blinded by the fierce streaks of light that tore from seemingly empty space at the Enemy. The Enemy itself thrust its own hell at the black between the stars, tearing apart three Judas in a flash of fire where seconds before there was only nothingness. The Enemy was overwhelmed by the sheer firepower of the Judas fleet. Beams of light emerged from countless ports on the Enemy’s surface as it tried to fend off the Judas attack. Waves and ripples of energy flew everywhere, blinding with their wake those unfortunate enough to be ensnared in their web.
The game of eternity had begun another round.
At the sight of one of the men on the island in an obvious stance of surrender, arms outstretched, the pilot eased the Spear to earth, all the while with the heavy machine guns trained on the group. The troops on the plane prepared to disembark and surround them.
“I’m going, too,” Jennings said, pulling the gun from its hidden holster beneath his coat. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask these people personally.”
They felt the plane settle on the ground with a gentle bump. The ramp began to descend, and a warm breeze from the ocean bathed the inside of the plane.
Reynald’s outstretched hand began to quiver, and he opened his eyes. His impossibly silver eyes looked up.
His mind lashed out.
There was a dull thud from within the Spear, and a piercing siren began to wail.
“We just lost—everyone out, now! The fuel tanks have been punctured!!”
A flurry of activity. Time seemed to drag to a halt.
Jennings felt himself roughly thrown down the ramp. “Get the president out, now! Shield him!” He was on the sand, bodies above him, when the world became fire and sound. An instant later, the second tank exploded and hot shrapnel embedded itself in his right arm and carved a shallow trench across his forehead.
He struggled to stand, flares of agony coming from his arm, coppery blood coursing into his right eye from the wound on his forehead. He forced the dead bodies of two soldiers off of his back, his mind morbidly noting that the one remaining eye in the soldier’s head on the left was a beautiful and striking emerald green, and the soldier on the right was wearing a shiny golden cross around his neck that reflected the sunshine like a prism around and around the chocolate brown bloodstained flesh of his neck. If they hadn’t been there, he would have been killed.
He spun around, shielding himself from the vicious flames of the debris with his good arm.
They had given their lives to save his.
He was alone with the men in black.
He awkwardly drew the revolver from the holster of one of the dead soldiers with his left hand and staggered at the terrorists, blood pouring from his arm. He dazedly wiped blood from his eye, and was amazed at how much there was on his hand when he pointed the weapon up at the men standing before him.
He pulled back the hammer.
black
THEY OVERPOWER US.
SILENCE. THEY ARE ONLY VERMIN.
OUR VESSEL SUFFERS.
LET IT SUFFER AS WE WILL MAKE THEM SUFFER. THEIR PATTERNS WILL BE ERASED FROM OMEGA AND THEY WILL SUFFER THEIR HELLS FOR ETERNITY.
WE MUST ESCAPE.
ESCAPE((?)) WERE YOU NOT PART OF ME, I WOULD STRIKE YOU DOWN FOR SUCH COWARDICE.
insight.
OUR VESSEL SHALL BECOME TWO ONCE MORE.
ONE TO COMMENCE HARVEST UPLOAD, ONE TO—
ONE TO BE A SACRIFICE.
A NOBLE CAUSE.
INDEED. YOU SHALL BE A MARTYR.
silence, realization, resignation.
THE PURPOSE WILL BE COMPLETED.
MAY YOUR BLOOD, WHEN SPILLED, BE HONORABLE.
MY END WILL BE YOUR BEGINNING.
the black closes.
They hung in the zero-grav airlocks, lambs ready for slaughter.
Spears of light flashed incessantly from both the Enemy and the Judas, who hovered around the monstrous vessel like a swarm of stinging hornets.
Another flash, another tangible torrent of screaming souls being erased from the pattern. Fourteen Judas now.
“Now?”
((now.))
Twenty-eight airlocks were opened to the void, and thousands of droptroops poured out, shifting as they fell into the expanse of forever.
THEY ATTEMPT TO BOARD US. THEY ATTEMPT THE RESCUE OF THEIR DEAD.
As the droptroops flew at the Enemy, the Judas fleet bombarded the huge target, draining its energy. The beams of light erupted from the Enemy less and less often. With an almost palpable sigh, the vessel emitted one
