Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (2 page)

New and harsh restrictions
further accelerated the feelings of discontent and revolution on
the red planet. Outbreaks of defiance and violent demonstrations
ensued and then intensified. Finally the hostility grew to such a
heated pitch against each new law of abusive constraint, it plunged
the red planet into outright civil war and rebellion.

Yet, the struggle was
greatly uneven as the Martians had little in the way of weapons and
military training to fight back with. Even with the employing of
guerrilla warfare tactics, the inevitable was only senselessly
prolonged. In the end, all resistance was brutally crushed by the
Earth’s security forces, leaving the Martian people to tend to a
broken world, shattered families, and trampled pride.

Still there was something
that the “Earthers” overlooked in their zeal for control and
domination: the irrepressible longing to be free. It slowly sparked
and nurtured a new determination from the despair of defeat and
fostered a new dream, uniting many of the colonists of the red
planet in purpose and deed. To the risk of death, the Martians
plotted, organized and waited.

An uneasy calm settled over the red world, one which
still simmered below the surface in subdued tension. Yet, years
passed without incident, allowing for the return of some normality
to life on Mars. With this strange peace came a reluctant trust and
added responsibilities. The impending threat of alien invasion
materialized in random attacks upon many of the outer colonies,
necessitating a small Martian defense force to be quickly
constituted. As each species’ driven war escalated, the small
Martian fleet—supplied with aging warships and obsolete
equipment—was called upon to aid in the defense of the human race
from certain alien annihilation.

The Martians trained hard and fought fiercely,
driving back all aggressors from the Earth's dominated systems. But
beneath the official face of professionalism, however, a wall of
suppressed animosity and contempt stood between the Martian forces
and their Earth counterparts. Regardless that the Martians had
showed extraordinary bravery and skill in every battle they fought;
they were still berated by their Earth overlords.

With the
wars won and over,
The Order
turned once again to their Martian colony with
“new directives” to be fulfilled. The building of several new
spaceports and other facilities on the red planet was needed to
spur economic growth as well as to pay for a huge war debt. This
burdened the Martians beyond their capacity. However, to the
complete amazement of the Earth’s central government, there was no
public outcry from the settlers of the red world—only
silence.

It
appeared to the Earthlings that the Martians finally came to accept
their position within the Earth dominion and that they now too
worked for the greater glory of
The
Order
and the human race. All did seem to
be well with the Martians, all did seem to be
well.

* * * * *

Chapter 1: November 23,
2152

Hoards of space-suited colonists, each carrying a
hasty gathering of personal possessions, nervously flooded the
newly built Martian spaceport of Cassini. They chaotically rushed
by Martian Marine checkpoints and the aftermath of many small
pitched ground battles that had left a trail of corpses and debris
strewn about. There was no question; Mars was in full rebellion
against its hated overlord the Earth.

As people hurriedly shoved
and pushed their way onto a multitude of waiting spaceships, many
of the boarding passengers still reeled from a state of shock at
what now beckoned before them. Even though the coming of this day
was relayed in whispers and quiet meetings throughout the colony
for years on end, the reality of the moment clouded the minds of
the immigrants like a mist of dreams. Still, the air was charged
with an unimaginable excitement as well as tinged with the fear of
uncertainty.

The choice given was a simple one:
either to remain on Mars and live under the heel of
The Order
or chance a
migration to new, far-flung world with all the possibilities and
penalties that came with it. As the majority of the colonists chose
to board spaceliners, freighters, and every other transport
available, their pensive decision became quite clear. In one
utterly sobering and extraordinary moment, the Martians had
radically defined their future; they were leaving old Mars and the
Earth’s tyrannical domination—forever.

Above the throngs of people nudging and shouldering
their way to freedom, scores of distant flares high above in the
night’s sky constantly interrupted the evening’s darkness. The
flares burst and flickered brightly for a few seconds then faded
into blackness closely followed by an occasional loud “boom” or
two. Adding to that, fiery showers of meteor-like objects of
various sizes traveled through the outermost atmosphere in all
directions, creating a gigantic fireworks display that was ever so
frightening. For all knew the titanic celestial engagement of
warships fighting just beyond their world was to decide the very
fate of their lives.

As the
bloodletting continued, a tall slim man with wavy black hair and
impeccably dressed in a slate gray Mao suit stood on the bridge of
the loading spaceliner
Morning
Star
. His cold brown eyes gazed steadily
upward through a large overhead skylight that gave only a
diminutive glimpse into the warring heavens. Martian Administrator
Feoras Damon nonchalantly evaluated the distant battle between the
Martian fleet and ships of a reserve force sent from Earth. His
face showed no expression as he watched casually and listened to
the cracking of military communications over a loud
speaker.

"Five enemy fighters at ten o’clock high."

"Two more fighters coming in at three o’clock
low."

"Damage control! Hull
breaches on aft decks two and three!"

"Port side, enemy star
cruiser burning and out of control."

"CONROY! CONROY! YOU’VE
GOT ONE ON YOUR TAIL!"

"Zeta Leader to Zeta
Flight, reform on my wing."

"HANSON! EJECT, DAMN YOU! EJECT!"

As the man stared unceasingly at the conflict in
space, an awkward smirk betrayed his contempt for the entire
affair. Although the voices of military men and women filled the
air with their both desperation and bravery, he found little to
maintain his interest in the titanic life or death struggle. Truly
this was an historical moment, but all he felt was a great
annoyance for the interruption of his political career.

"Will someone shut that damn thing off and give it a
rest!" Damon raised his voice in an infuriate tone.

Captain Jacobs, an aged and balding man of many
years, looked up momentarily at the administrator and then turned
to the communications crewman. "Shut it off," he ordered.

The captain raised his hand
and stroked his graying moustache and goatee. For a few seconds,
the starfarer studied the administrator as the man persisted in
gazing up at the afar haze of combat. The sailor then strolled
gradually over to the tall man.

"I thought you would be interested in hearing about
the progress of the fleet?" the captain finally quizzed Damon.

"Progress of the fleet? Don't make me laugh! We both
know how this is going to end. Personally, I can't wait until this
charade is over with," Damon conceded his sanctimonious
thoughts.

"I'm sure Commander Paladin would be quite touched
by your concern and loyalty," Jacobs offered sarcastically, but
Damon just ignored the remark.

"I'm going to my cabin. Notify me when the battle is
over with," Damon said in a huff. He then turned and headed towards
the hatchway.

Captain Jacobs watched as
the man departed. His disdain for the politician showed readily in
his narrowed eyes and tensed brow that cast a hint of anger and
disgust. Even though Jacobs was a man who would do mostly anything
for money, he felt sorry for the poor souls on both sides now
engaged in the fighting overhead. As he looked up through the large
porthole and surveyed the distant death of ships and crews, an old
prayer remembered came to his lips. Suddenly a large explosion
appeared in the void and shimmered brightly, but it soon vanished
along with his quiet words. With a deep sigh, the vessel's steward
went back to his ship's business.

* * * * *

In the cosmos around Mars, fighters zoomed through
the void trying to dodge other spacecraft and the all too apparent
twisted and shattered wreckage wroth by war. Their plasma bullets
of super-heated gas, and energy-seeking missiles sometimes found
their marks—and sometimes didn’t. Regardless, pulse cannons of
other fighters as well as the lasers of larger warships targeted
the small speeding craft themselves. In the hectic chaos and
carnage, hulking remains and broken bodies were left drifting
everywhere—forever tumbling slowly in the coldness and solitude of
space. This was the stark testimony of mankind’s habitual insanity
brought about by hatred, injustice, politics, and lust for
domination.

Among this moving maze of bloodshed and desolation,
a damaged Martian shuttle zigzagged in evasive maneuvers. It
ferried to a hopeful safe haven the only survivors of a ship that
no longer existed. However, some things were never fated to be.
Even though it wasn't a combative craft, it soon became the prey of
two Earth fighters. Within moments, the two teardrop spacecraft
with stubby delta wings let loose streams of plasma pulses at the
unarmed craft from their nose-mounted weapons. After several direct
hits, the burning plasma ignited fuel and oxygen instantaneously in
a blasting rupture. The shuttle then dissolved into a brilliant
ball of fire, killing all aboard.

After destroying the
shuttle, the two Earth fighters then picked out an old Martian
cruiser making its way through the heart of the battle. Circling
from behind, the two daring pilots chose to make their run on the
dark grayish-blue ship. They increased their throttle and headed
in.

The old ship for the most part resembled a huge
orca: an obsolete design concept that echoed the importance life
once held by humanity. However, conards were substituted for fins,
while gun blisters, and compartments punctuated the vessel. Also
added to her silhouette just above mid-ship was a magnetic field
accelerator that took the shape of a flat ring dome. It was
connected topside by a huge dorsal fin, and was used for creating
the massive and complex rotating magnetic fields needed for
hyperspace travel as well as defensive shields. Beneath her, a
large rectangular flight bay hung from the bottom of the vessel,
while smaller engine pods on either side of her were mounted for
maneuver and reverse thrust. Ominously, the rounded bow of the ship
was fitted with a ramming plane that traveled its diameter: a
leftover from battle tactics of long ago.

As the
old vessel traveled through the conflict, both pilots fired their
plasma weapons simultaneously at the ship. However, the Martian
cruiser christened
Mariner
was heavily armored and returned their fire almost
immediately. A direct hit transformed one fighter into millions of
tiny flaming fragments as the second fighter pressed its attack—as
well as is luck. This ultimately proved fatal, as one of the
warship's laser cannons severed an engine and several control
surfaces from the fighter. The small craft spun out of control,
ending its flight with an explosive impact near the bridge of the
big ship.

The
bridge of the
Mariner
rocked from the volatile collision. Normal lighting dimmed and
blinked off, replaced by an emergency subdued red illumination for
a moment. It faded the bridge into a temporary surreal atmosphere
of glimmering instruments being attended by shadowy figures. But an
instant later, normal lighting snapped back on and was
restored.

The
bridge crew of the
Mariner
paid no heed to the lighting as they felt the ship
rock from the violent encounter. Like crewmen of any ship, they
continued to carry out their seemingly endless tasks of tending
positioned instruments mounted against the bulkhead walls or around
the main holographic viewer. Dressed in dark blue flight suits that
covered their bodies from their black combat boots to their necks,
the crewmen were methodical, yet hasty in their
actions.

A small, stocky man with two stars on his collar
paced the deck as he talked loudly into his wireless headset. His
snapping and crackling ciphernetic voice came from an
electro-mechanical device that was implanted in his throat many
years ago. This added to his unsettling appearance of cropped white
hair bounding between the normal right side of his face and the
artificial skin that covered the left side like an off-colored
mask. It was a constant reminder to all who viewed him that
starship warfare was indeed a dangerous game.

Commander Paladin's dark
eyes and harsh voice were charged with fury as he directed his ship
and the Martian military’s order of battle. "Angel Fire to Angel
One! Angel Fire to Angel One!" Commander Paladin voiced in urgency.
"They're trying to reform several wings at 2-0, 3-1-7, 1-1-5,
over!"

"Wait one," the female voice of Angel One replied
over his headset.