GENESIS - THE BEGINNING. Book 1

CHAPTER 18 ... Landfall - plus 32 hours, The Game Of Chess

Space.

It is not the final frontier.

Death is.

It has always been death.

Death. On a collision course, descending with ever increasing speed, an unstoppable and vast multitude of half human and half machines approached a scrambling, surprised armada who were prepared for war. Prepared and ready for anything.

Anything except suicidal maniacs.

***

Shrieking alarms.

Weapons trained and firing. Lasers. Torpedoes. Photon cannons. All firing in one direction; towards the approaching enemy still thousands of kilometers away.

Battleships and their compliments. Destroyers. Cruisers and frigates. All jockeyed for space. Space that was now of urgent need. Space, legroom between each ship and the more of it the better. Fighters deployed to the flanks and waiting for the enemy to come into range.

Excitement. Fear and rage. The body wanting to shut down due to panic. The sweat of fear and thumping hearts. Bulging, staring eyes and dry mouths. Loose bowels and the immediate urge to urinate; and still the enemy approached head on.

Fleet Admiral Juan Ponce de Leon clenched the armrests of his comfortable command seat. Flare-ups of exploding enemy craft could be seen in the black emptiness of space, thousands of kilometers away. He glanced at the screen before him and swallowed the rising stomach acid. There were so many.

"Number One." He said hoarsely and swallowed again, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Notify all ships; fire at will." He did not hear the acknowledgement as before his eyes, a destroyer erupted in a staggering flame of destruction. Its hull broke open as large cracks tinged with bright red and orange flames of internal explosions ran across its exterior. The engines vaporized man and metal. Large and small chunks of half molten metal hull instantly became speeding shrapnel that clove into defensive force fields and were in turn vaporized or deflected to go speeding off into space. The abrupt and unanticipated destruction of the destroyer left the Admiral speechless as he struggled to come to terms with the impossible.

"Sir. We have multiple attacks on the Gregorian, Chamberlain and the Stalin. Sir."

Admiral Isak Blair shook his head trying to dislodge the numbness that enveloped his brain, looked up at his Second in command. "Multiple attacks?" his quick glance at the screen before him confirmed what he already suspected. "Are there indications of those hotspots Commander Kistnasamy reported?"

"Negative sir. But enemy fire is coming from unknown sources amongst our own forces. They're amongst us sir. And we can't see them."

"Get me two fighter squads circling those ships. Have them fire short bursts of lasers as close as possible to each ships force shields. In all directions. The bastards are up to their tricks again. Have them keep an eye out for hotspots and anything out of the ordinary." He turned to his personal screen and froze in disbelief. Relatively small in size as such screens go. Nevertheless, a 20 inch credible definition flat screen goes a long way in bringing factual events to life. Arrayed bottom center of the screen were his forces of ten Battleships, forty-six destroyers, cruisers and frigates. Lesser units of missile and torpedo ships filled the gaps while minelayers and sweepers lined up the rear. The flanks held over ten thousand fighter craft respectively. To the forefront of the screen, friend or foe transponders had difficulty in depicting and separating the magnitude of approaching enemy forces. Great swaths of red blinking lights depicting enemy ships stopped blinking as they were destroyed, and yet, still more came. Targeting computers were being strained to their utmost speed and efficiency and yet, the enemy had not fired one shot in reprisal or defense as with grim, unrelenting numbers, they swarmed headlong into shrieking sudden death as one enemy ship after the other met up with mines, missiles, torpedo or laser fire. Death was abrupt and immediate. Death most often took handfuls of the approaching enemy fighters in one white hot inferno after the other. Several others were so damaged by their close proximity to hell that they floundered into the paths of those behind thereby creating their own minor nightmare of confusion and destruction.

Yet still they came on.

"We cannot maintain this rate of fire for much longer sir."

"What?" the Admiral peered at his second in command. His vision blurred slightly from concentrating too hard on the screen before him. He had tried to think. To bring his thoughts in line. To somehow come up with a countermeasure to the approaching storm.

"Torpedo and missile ships are running out of ordnance and requesting replacement of munitions." His second in command said in a high pitched voice that trembled in fear and agitation. "I have instructed them to commence with distribution and replacement."

Fleet Admiral Isak Blair nodded distractedly, his eyes already drifting to the screen.

"Sir. Admiral sir." his second in command urged desperately. "Your instructions, sir. We have only moments and are waiting for your instructions. What must we do sir?"

"Do?" the Admiral looked up and stared at the frozen President of the United Confederate of Nations who stood off to one side and silently stared out of the Bridge viewing port at the multi-coloured destruction heading inexorably towards them. "Do?" the Admiral repeated to himself unconsciously. "There are a few moves Number One, which can end a perfectly winnable game of chess. Due to whatever reason one can call a stalemate, a standoff or check," he sighed heavily, "And this is neither. This is checkmate. We have been out played and out maneuvered by superior forces."

"And the weapons sir?" not fully comprehending his superiors words. "We cannot maintain this rate of fire for much longer. The photon cannons are reaching excessively high temperatures. Two gunner placements have reported meltdowns of firing blocks. Laser cannon barrels are ..."

"Number One?"

"Sir?"

"Have a look at this," the Admiral indicated the flat screen and waited for the man to approach. "See this?" he pointed at the enemy swarming towards them."

"Sir. Yes sir."

"And you want me to stop firing at them so that you can do maintenance?"

The man shuddered and his eyes looked up from the screen. "What do we do sir?" his plea a cry from the heart.

"Unless there is a miracle," his eyes drifted once more to the screen then to the Bridges large viewing port as by now, the enemy had become visible. Moving the screen aside on its axis, he calmly stood up and walked towards his friend, Sayed of the United Confederate of Nations. He stopped suddenly and turned about; "Unless there is a miracle Number One, and I do not see one lying about, do you?" the silent shaking of a head was all the answer he received. "Well then," he smiled calmly. "Prepare to meet your maker." A nod of dismissal and a few slow steps brought him to stand beside Sayed. "Pleasure knowing you Daniel." He said calmly and gripped the man's shoulder with a firm hand.

The Presidents eyes flicked towards him then back to the view port. "I could do with a cold beer right now." He watched as one particular enemy fighter seemed to grow larger and larger in the view port.

"Your epitaph?"

The "Sure, why not?" was cut midsentence as the mass of Annular at last opened up with a barrage of prolonged laser and torpedo fire.

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