Krinden rubbed his chin, smearing dirt as he did. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we can do. But…” Before he could finish his statement, a rousing shout caught their attention, coming from the left. Ten of their own, militiamen with projectile weapons, charged the enemy position.
“Shit!” Krinden slapped his leg. “Come on! We have to support them!” He darted away with Hiller and the other men in tow.
Alon hesitated. He felt like they were on the verge of committing suicide. They still had no idea how many invaders were out there or if more happened to be inside the ships. Furthermore, those vehicles likely had some form of defenses as well… turrets or guns that could be fired from inside.
You’re all fools!
Frustration seized him, followed by guilt. He didn’t want to let them go on alone but his legs wouldn’t respond. Instead of charging, he went prone in the grass… watching the action. He figured no one could see him from that vantage. It was a fantastic place to hide.
Or cower. I have to keep it real here.
The ten militia soldiers continued shouting as they opened fire. Their weapons barked with rapid-fire projectiles, bullets tapping the sides of the ships as well as chewing up dirt around the enemy. The initial assault caused the invaders to find cover before they returned fire, tearing into their attackers with sickening accuracy.
Alon watched as a beam cut one of the men in half, separating his top half from the bottom in a second. An arm came free on another, leaving him a bleeding, screaming mess in the field. Their weapons seemed to have no effect on their opponents, even those that scored direct hits to the head or chest.
What the hell are they wearing?
Alon’s stomach flipped as his own crew made it to the perimeter of the farm. They threw grenades, chucking them as fast as they could be primed. The explosions drove the enemy back to their ships. At least one of them dropped unmoving to the ground.
So they’re not invulnerable.
“Move!”
Krinden’s voice made it back to him though only faintly. Especially over the screams and cries of the dying. He waved his arm before charging the vehicles. A beam burst from the side of the nearest ship, obliterating Hiller into a pillar of steam. The others continued running… only to be annihilated as the attack swept over them.
The rest of the militia had been cut down, stopped in their tracks. The enemy soldiers moved through, blasting each one a final time in the head before marching toward the colony. Alon hyperventilated, shaking uncontrollably. He threw up, shuffling back from the vomit though he felt weak.
I’m going to die here.
Alon touched his earpiece again, tapping it several times in an effort to find a channel that might work. “Hello?” He whispered, though even at full voice, he was too far away to be heard by anyone. “Is anyone out there? Can you hear me? This is Alon Dess… I need help! Please respond!”
A long moment of silence greeted him. Only the beat of his heart accompanied by rustling grass greeted him. He didn’t know what to do. My only hope is to hide… wait for the military. And pray they arrived soon. The enemy soldiers advanced on the command center. The place would be theirs soon.
And Alon could do nothing about it.
Chapter 1
Commander Titus Barnes stepped onto the bridge of the TCN Triton, pausing as the elevator door shut beside him. He’d been the first officer of the battleship for eight months, serving under Rudy Barrington. The assignment had been something of a disappointment. After a year at the helm of a destroyer, he had expected an upgrade.
Many had told him the position should’ve been considered an advancement. It had been hard to stomach. Rudy represented everything wrong with the Terran Colonial Navy and the fact he happened to be nearly sixty-three didn’t help either. Older minds struggled to embrace change or new ideas. This had led to a series of conflicts between them.
Titus had implemented several policies aboard his previous post that had worked well. Morale had soared. His people had thrived, and their records all showed marked improvement over their previous arrangements. Once he set foot on the Triton, all that had stopped. The crew didn’t seem unhappy, but there was a lot of room for improving efficiency.
None of which Rudy wanted to hear.
Titus hadn’t turned forty yet. Rumor suggested his CO didn’t care for anyone of Commander rank under forty-five. They never had the conversation directly though it didn’t matter. Enough small things came up to make the perspective a reality. One of their pilots, Jane Bennet, recently took her Lieutenant’s exam at the age of twenty-two.
Rudy had told Titus in private that he wished she had waited and gotten more experience. Regulations allowed her to try for the commission after one year of service. She’d spent two behind the controls of a destroyer and then the Triton. During a private personnel meeting, Titus had encouraged her to go out for it.
The captain had made it clear he’d be recommending against her receiving the full commission. Which was just another reason to find him infuriating.
Standing six feet, Titus favored his father. Rough around the edges, black hair, brown eyes… he had naturally tan skin from his mother’s side. The colony where he grew up had been known for agriculture, offering hard work for anyone. When he had turned sixteen, he’d applied for the military academy and gotten in.
He’d never looked back.
Lieutenant Commander Ronin James turned to Jane, his co-pilot. “Reduce speed on my mark,” he said, then to the rest of the room added, “we’ll be leaving warp speed in
