Adventures of the Cosmic Woman

Chapter Twenty-Three

Commander Glenn Levitt breathed a sigh of relief once he'd dried himself off and changed into his night thermals. He poured the boiled water from the kettle on the little stainless-steel single burner into his little cup and then dangled the teabag and climbed into his narrow bed. Got out his phone. His wife was of no interest to him tonight - quick search for his home base secretary Hayley Ashmore's old modelling shots. ModelMayhem. No hits... there was a name she used... Grace Carter in his search history. That was it. Her old modelling name. Work she should have stayed in...

... her profile loaded. Levitt smiled. All was forgiven. There was his favorite; her head turned away, completely naked with a mirror behind her so everything was easily visible

He lost track of time – tea had gone cold.

A knock at the door

'Talk to Lieutenant Commander Thorne,' he called out.

'Sir, something's coming toward us!' It was Thorne.

Levitt sighed loudly and tried to disguise the protrusion the pictures had brought on. He pulled on his trousers and shirt and hurried out into the hall with Michael Thorne leading him. As though it was his ship.

Only by night, motherfucker

Thorne led Levitt into the pilot house of the HMAS Armadale. Night lights soft red. The radar screens issued an eerie green glow. Each station was manned by a technician and all of them were hunched eagerly forward. The Lieutenants had gathered around the main map.

'Fifty-seven minutes, north west north,' Throne said, as he traced with his finger. 'Coming at us...?'

'Thirty-seven hundred and four kilometers per hour,' one of the radar men said as he turned in his chair.

Mach Three the speed of sound

'It's a fighter jet. Arm the drones,' Levitt shouted – looked out onto the dark, heaving horizon of the tumultuous ocean. Any second, it'd be on top of them...

'It's too small to be a fighter jet, sir,' another signal man squealed.

'Arm the drones!' Levitt screamed while his flesh went cold. 'Now! Go!'

The weapons technicians hammer at their control boards. Deep within the ship there was that eerily sentient hiss and rumble. The lights of five attack drones were visible through the windows off the port bow. Northwest. They hovered for a moment, then all of them swiveled and took off in the same direction. Monitor screens lit up that showed what their onboard cameras filmed. Nothing but dark night sky.

Then, on the lead drone's screen - a faint yellow light.

Darrian Infield slowed near to a stop.

Something ahead

Gunfire rattled. Hot, sharp pain streaked across her shoulder just as she got the shield up and the barrage of shots slammed against the yellow forcefield.

Three, two, one...

Infield dove beneath the streams and traded her shield for the duel blades. The bullets streamed down after her. She cut up the middle and aimed for the drone that was closest to her, in the middle of the V-formation. The tentacles shot out in defense. She dodged and wove. Hacked at the steel arms as they shot past her. Then, at the mantle, she chopped her way through the dome and smashed it to pieces. A swarm of stinger missiles closed in. Infield ducked away again, energy shield back up in case - she could fly faster than they could. The drones continued to shoot at her and track her. Infield kept moving.