World In Turmoil

14: Brazen Shots

To the south of the spaceport, rose the Administration Tower of the city. The central office of the Metro Magistrate, John Teven.

He was a soft man, with calm eyes, and a fragile heart. His daily enthusiasm belying his old age.

He stood atop the towering construct, hand on the railings of the rooftop, body tense, the other hand gripping a radio device, his vision overwatching the horizon, fear and pain in his watery eyes. Streaks of wet running down his face, as he stared.

The LSN had just arrived over the horizon. The city's time was short.
A man in a light blue battle suit, Galzion rifle in hand, reached a caring yet firm hand onto the old man's shoulder urgeing him. "Sir. It's time to get going."

He nodded, face ashen, tears still streaming down his face like a waterfall of unfathomable reserve.
Turning, he walked, each step heavy with the weight of years lost. With the weight of what was to come. His shoes took him towards the rooftop landing pad, with a moderately sized blue and green Vertical-Liftoff aircraft waiting for him.

Most days the city was burning with happiness and joy. Bubbling with conversation, and abuzz with traders selling their wares below in the numerous city markets.

But...

Today... the place was abuzz with a different sort of trade.
The trade of the art of war.

All around the city, civilians rushed toward the spaceport. Brave Protectorate troops trying to guide them into order. Each and every person aiming to get to the transport ships that offered hope and safety.

They all clumped together in a seething mass of terror and anguish as they piled into the ships. Screaming and yelling with panicked purpose, loud enough to echo up to the seat of John Teven as the Vtol began to takeoff. They were panic stricken and horrified by the impending armada they could see just over the horizon.

It had only been 7 hours since the annihilation of Gersanto, and already the Destroyers were nearly upon them.

The fleet of 13 LSN ships edged ever closer. Like a great cloud of metal and carbon. Death like the inhabitants had never seen. The vast craft, smooth and beautifull, carried the banner of monstrous inhumanity as they pierced the near flat veil of the horizon.

Like tendrils reaching out from beyond sight.

His people would die this day. Even if the Transport craft were embarked and able to escape low-orbit, enough for their VMP drives to escape the planets gravity... even then the LSN would doubtless hunt them down with innumerable fleets of warships.

But there was one hope.

On the outskirts of the city. To its north. Rested a huge Anti-Orbital cannon. Designed to shoot down invasion fleets in the space above.
It was 60 stories high, and mounted on a turreted base, that now rotated it's massive ovular barrel, east towards the advancing LSN.

It's shadow swept across the city as the lengthy barrel swung round, casting the masses of people into darkness, and then striking them with light.

The cannon came to rest, and after a pause began it's laborious charging sequence. Sending a reverberant humm of energy through the huge construct. Shaking dust and dirt from its figure.

It had only ever been fired three times in it's life. And those had only been tests. It was understaffed, under maintained and under experienced. But never despairing, the local Protectorate soldiers had worked tirelessly to return it to working order in the 3 hours they had to prepair.

Susan Perkana, the local Protectorate Supervisor, leaned her full weight on the wide console, which was full of a plethora of buttons and switches. She waved a single hand to her right, to the gunnery officer of the massive weapon, and counted off 5 digits on her fingers.