World In Turmoil

25: Heaven A Haven?

Up.

Up soared the huge lumbering transport.

Up from the crumbling, black and orange furnace of a city below.

The eternal hell scape. Dotted with greys and sizzling greens that were now just inches from those transports, the fires fanned out in all directions. The flames reaching up high into the sky like wispy fingers. The smoke seizing even the tallest buildings in a firm grip, pouring out of every little opening.

Only a few short miles away. Down the sharp grey mountain side, sliding down the valleys.
Onto the great stretching savanna below. Lay the husks of seven smoldering metal vessels.

Captains chairs long since empty now.

Twisted alloy pointed out from the lengthy sloaped hulls of steel and titanium. Sparks and arcs of electricity jumping out of the innumerable cracks and gaping tears in those downed craft.

Huge firey holes where the Ferolder had shown it's fury.

Even now, minute figures clambered out of that warship. Survivors.

Those ships with their guts splayed out across the stretching savannah. Slaughtered by their own brethren.

The Orion-Class Ferolder dreadnought now poised above the wreckage, remained as composed at it had been before.

Even as dented, and pockmarked as it was now. Smoke rising from long gashes that ran out diagonally across its top.
It still. Just kept going.

The original 13 ships were now only nine.

Three smaller vessels known as Ripper's had been lost to the city's Cannon. Rippers were short 2km things with an excess of cannons. Ships used liberally in the Last Stand Navy.

Non the less they had been struck, and forced to descend to the ground for repairs.

The second of the two Dementors. Already wounded, had been downed by those treacherous defectors. It's form several kilometers behind, sat almost calmly in the middle of a small forest.

The fleet itself was reeling, but still determined.
Stone faced like any true Aporien would be.

They pushed themselves.
Watching as the four distant transports wrenched their way up into the sky.
Frantic to escape.
They couldn't allow that.

From innumerable hangers all across the final Dementor, and the great Ferolder. Squadrons upon squadrons of fighters began to roll out, and fling themselves into the air.

Their target locked.
Engines ablaze.

Time was short.

The distant civilians seemed to almost sense the danger, as the great transport crafts began to blast and intensify their ion engines to an incredible level. The blue energy stretching out from them, deep into the city below. Melting entire high-rises in mere seconds. The kelsekreet crumbling in an instant.

You could see the despiration.

One ship, skreeched ahead of the others into the sky. Neglecting its brethren.

The fleet, seeing this lone sheep, took aim. Turrets grinding their gears as they turned.
Firing. The bodies of the spacecraft shaking as the huge cannons resounded.
The volleys of galzion fury stretching out across the sky, leaving hot orange trails against the cool blue, early morning sky.

Like a heart attack, the sight gripped the distant transport. It seemed almost to begin stopping in mid air as it was struck with panic.

The balls of energy flew ever closer.

The ship's engines cut, and it began to fall. It's pilots deciding something.
The monstrous weight of the ship now saying a huge hello to gravity, which pulled at the massive craft with incredible strength.

As it fell. The volley of shots swarmed in for the kill.
A great cloud of jet-fighters in the far distance like a dark blue armada. Ordered, and given form.

The largest of the bullets, flew directly at the front of the craft, but as it dropped, the bullets over shot. Soaring past down onto the plain at the other side of the mountain city.
The smaller shots however. Were far more lucky.
They smacked into the body of the ship. Tearing it open, and shredding metal.

...they would have missed.

Either bags... or people. Began to pour from the openings.

Screams lost to the whipping air, and twisting metal.

Lost in freefall. So many fell.

Either accepting their fate in silence.
Or demanding that they wake up from this nightmare.

But either way. They fell.

Justice deserved now.

Back.
Behind the great fleet.

There was a streak across the sky.
A long sun-hot white streak that almost burned the atmosphere with rage and anger.
As if called by God.

The craft arrived.

The great barrels of the Ferolder turned to greet this new arrival.
But, alas it was nothing the great barrels had been designed for.

It was a puny little craft.
As small as any of the Ferolder's fighters that now patrolled around it.
Two of which, turned and dove towards it like seagulls towards a lost breadcrumb.

What hope did it have?

Far too much.