Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet Read online

  Suddenly, the Tasmania began blowing itself apart in flaming sections. Finally, there was a brilliant flash as both ship and crew died together in the inferno of atomic expulsion.

  Paladin just watched, seemingly unmoved.

  "Damn!" Winslow's voice echoed his astonishment in a sad tone.

  For a moment, there was only silence on the bridge.

  "Commander," the communication's crewman broke the quiet, "all units are reporting in. The Earth forces are withdrawing."

  Paladin’s taught eyes finally blinked in relief, while he paused for a moment before he spoke. "As soon as the Earth ships are out of range, give the order to recover all fighters and send a message to Damon to be ready to have his transports lift off on my command."

  "Sir, with all due respect, I'd like to keep a few fighters for cover," Winslow showed his concern.

  "No. In less than an hour, the Earth's Directorate Council will discover that nearly the entire Martian population is in rebellion and immigrating elsewhere. They're going to send everything they've got to stop us. We're going to have to run like hell. Our fighters can't make the jump to hyperspace on their own and I'm not leaving anyone behind if I can help it. I'll deploy them only if there is no other option."

  Winslow nodded, but then dropped his head slightly.

  Paladin knew something else was wrong. "What else, Mr. Winslow?" he inquired.

  "Among our casualties was the cruiser Viking. She was lost with all hands—including Deputy Commander Noda," the junior officer reported.

  Paladin closed his eyes for a minute and tightened his jaw. The news to him was heartbreaking; Noda was his closest friend.

  "Sir, you'll have to appoint another second in command."

  "Any word from the Crazy Horse?" Paladin questioned with some grief in his tone.

  "No, Sir, not since the last of the communications and battle satellites was destroyed. There's too much debris causing interference."

  "Well, we'll just have to sit tight until they do. It's all up to Wakinyan now," the aged veteran officer spoke, turning his back to glance out into space.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 2: Devil's Furnace

  The sun rose majestically over the endless red cliffs of Valles Marineris: the Grand Canyon of Mars. So long was this Martian canyon system that it could easily stretch between San Francisco and New York City. Yet despite its ungainly size, the canyon was magnificently beautiful in the rays of the early morning light. The radiance of the rising sun illuminated a glittering rainbow effect on the surface of rocks and boulders. They in turn reflected sparkles like dancing fairies. However, a howl grew upon the winds and the sparkles drew into darkness, for this day had not only started with a war, but an enormous raging dust storm as well.

  The tempest of swirling wind and particles quickly roared down the canyon's rocky corridors, diffusing the sun's rays into a scarlet gray and casting everything into a murkiness of grainy shadows. The storm of red dust covered and cloaked the landscape at amazing speed. Faster than two hundred miles an hour, it seemed that nothing could outrun the momentum of the swirling clouds of dirt—almost nothing.

  Suddenly, a large mound of sand bulged and then swelled away from the forward wall of the advancing earthen squall. It quickly formed a huge teardrop, which sped ever so quickly away. The mound’s speed was tremendous, and the ionized red iron particles that formed the outer coating quickly streamed off. A metal skin began to show in patches, which grew bigger and united. Finally when all sand was left in the trailing wash, a grayish-blue warship was revealed. It resembled a bottlenose dolphin with a massive revolving laser cannon protruding beneath its chin. Strangely, no insignia other than a huge red lightning bolt and two opened blue squares were displayed on its hull. But a proud name was boldly engraved on her bow, MWS Crazy Horse—and she bore the telltale signs of battle.

  The Martian space destroyer Crazy Horse zigzagged violently through the canyon and far below the tops of the ragged cliffs, with the vessel rising and falling just as fast in consideration to the distance between it and the canyon floor. Occasionally coming uncomfortably close to a harrowing and fiery end in the confines of the vast trench, rocky walls passed as blurs while the ship sprinted through this natural and huge obstacle course.

  The destroyer’s high speed and extreme maneuvers were not only due to the urgency of its mission, but also in evasion of the Earth fighters and warships that tracked and pursued her from behind. However, the turbulence and sensor jamming distortion created by the magnetic red iron dust forced the Earth vessels to reduce their speed while also affecting the accuracy of their weapons. The Martians, on the other hand, were use to such blinding conditions on their planet. With their scanners and computers long since modified to compensate for it, the Martians clearly held a tactical advantage. Regardless, however, the situation became the source of criticism from a very rankled officer on the bridge of the Martian destroyer.

  "This has got to be one of the nuttiest schemes you've ever come up with yet!" Lieutenant James Randall confessed confidentially and with some irritation to his long-time friend and commanding officer, Captain Richard Wakinyan. "I almost soiled myself in the briefing room listening to you! Destroying that Earth forces base guarding those space ports without getting ourselves killed, is going to be a real miracle!"

  Wakinyan just smiled at the handsome, but somewhat upset first officer of 29 years, who bore a striking resemblance to a 20th Century actor who had played the movie role of “Batman” several times. “Miracles sometimes happen, but don't worry; it’s going to be a good day!"

  Randall turned for a moment and studied his muscular and broad-shouldered 35-year-old captain. Wakinyan's reddish tinted skin, almond eyes, broad nose, black hair, and high cheekbones more than just hinted at his American Indian ancestry.

  Besides being athletic in appearance, Wakinyan held an air of distinction that was as solid as his ship. He inspired all around him with his self-confidence and indomitable spirit. Randall had always admired this in his captain, regardless that he felt very uneasy with Rich's willingness to take seemingly reckless but calculated risks. In the same breath, however, it also attested to Richard's personal bravery. Coupled with his years of intense study and training in the martial arts, Wakinyan was the very essences of a true and noble warrior; a man who never faltered in meeting the enemy or to rescue those in distress. Yet, he was quick to partake in the more worldly pleasures when time and circumstances permitted it.

  This was evident in a few noted over-indulgences that were excessive enough to have Wakinyan subjected to the unheard practice of having him restricted—under hack—on his own ship. It also had cost him a promotion to squadron commander, twice.

  Randall mused that Wakinyan had done this deliberately though. It was no secret that Rich preferred that the Crazy Horse act alone as a fleet scout. It was far safer than being a part of a squadron or mass division of ships being targeted by an enemy. Also there was no concern about the interference or stupidity of other captains and superior officers. Wakinyan easily saw their shortcomings in character and thinking, the product of assembly-line military training fouled with the stench of personal agendas and politics.

  Randall knew Wakinyan’s past intimately though, and saw him more than just as an intensely proud and spirited warrior. He was also one of innovation and skill. Having spent most of his adolescence life as a crewman aboard his uncle's aging star-freighter, Wakinyan had worked every position from cook to navigator. It was an invaluable experience in itself that had drawn the very best out of him. Wakinyan's leadership abilities were solidly molded from those many years of hard work, hauling cargo to distant and strange worlds, while his peers merely sat in classrooms studying about them.

  But a darker side also tainted Richard Wakinyan, contributing to his subtle status of social outcast. He was a man who was intolerant of any threat, and was swift to “neutralize” them. It was a
part of a strangeness that was quietly accepted by his crew as well as the change of attire that precluded combat. Before Wakinyan would knowingly enter any battle, combat boots were traded for old, yet colorful pair of boot moccasins. Added to this, was an ancient and broad “Bowie” knife, which was sheathed to his right calf by leather thongs.

  The aged steel blade of the knife was well kept and sharp. It also had been meticulously engraved with ancient characters that Randall could not decipher. Its handle was crafted from an elk horn that was inlaid with stones of blue and green turquoise as well as a small tarnished silver coin on either side. They added a particular beauty to the weapon. Yet, the knife was as deadly as an ion pistol. The young officer knew this from first-hand experience, for Wakinyan never hesitated in using it in past hand-to-hand combat encounters, and this scared people.

  From his outlandish conduct, many officers within the fleet considered Wakinyan to be "a wild savage" and nothing else. Richard never seemed to mind it though. He cared little for their opinions and whenever, avoided their company. What's more, Wakinyan never sacrificed his crew or ship for his own personal ambitions like they did. Perhaps, this was one of the reasons why Paladin had turned a blind eye to his fierce and solitary demeanor.

  Regardless, Wakinyan was still Randall's best friend and his remark had brought out a smile on the lieutenant's face.

  "You know, I really hate every time you say that," Randall admitted.

  "Why?" Richard inquired.

  "To put it simply, it means fill our pockets with jam, because we're about to become toast!"

  Suddenly, the bridge shook from a distant explosion.

  "That's just great," James complained further, "their aim is improving! DAMAGE CONTROL, REPORT!"

  "Minor hit on the stern, Sir!" the crewman called out, "No casualties!"

  Satisfied with the summary, Randall turned to Wakinyan. "Captain, you sure you want to go through with this?"

  "Jim, there's no other way. Without cover, they'll blast us into the Next Kingdom," Wakinyan stated his reasoning bluntly.

  Randall snickered lightly. "You think they're dumb enough to follow us?"

  "We'll soon see," Richard said with a sly smile.

  "Sir, approaching the Devil’s Furnace," the navigator alerted Wakinyan.

  Richard then turned to the helm's man. "Smitty, what’s our speed and altitude?"

  "Two thousand air knots at five hundred meters, Sir," the man replied.

  "Descend directly into the Devil’s Furnace. Reduce speed to thirty air knots. Mr. Edwards, stand by to begin your run."

  A huge, black vent hole from one of Mars' largest volcanoes loomed before the Crazy Horse. Appropriately named the Devil's Furnace, the ancient orifice was a monument to Mars' violent beginnings.

  Plumes of hot gases still escaped from the black opening, despite these volcanoes having been classified as extinct. Some early explorers had even claimed to see lucid flames and phantoms, possibly the souls of the damned, dancing in the opening’s mist and giving rise to both myth and its name. These were likely ionized auras that were created by regional distortions in the magnetic field. Regardless, the Martian ship slowed its descent and slid into the darkness of the Devil’s Furnace.

  As the Martian ship slipped and vanished beneath the ground, three pursuing Earth fighters reached the entrance. Breaking off their chase, they circled high above the cave and waited for the arrival of their warships. Moments later, they were joined by the Earth space destroyer Gladstone.

  Captain Jamel of the Gladstone was in total disbelief at the flight leader's report. As the officer studied the large opening, Jamel concluded that either the Martians aboard that ship were extremely desperate or just plain insane.

  "Jamel to Ortega," the officer called the captain of the Earth cruiser Louyang, "We have stopped pursuit. Repeat, we have stopped pursuit."

  A second later, Ortega's voice questioned the decision angrily, "Captain Jamel, what do you mean you have stopped pursuit?"

  "Just that, we have stopped pursuit! Those Martian lunatics just flew into some old volcanic vent hole! They must have just barely squeezed in!"

  Ortega was furious. "I don't give a damn where they've flown, follow them!"

  Jamel's defiance hardened. "The hell I will! I'm not going to risk it! There's no telling what's down there! If we try to follow those crazy Martians…."

  "Captain Jamel, that's a chance you'll just have to take."

  "Chance I have to take? If you’re so damn eager, Ortega, why don't you do it?"

  "Don't be absurd. If a destroyer can barely fit in there, how could I possibly do it with my cruiser?" Ortega justified his reluctance. "Besides, it's evident that their objective is our base at Epson Planum. And if they succeed in destroying it, I'll make quite sure that your name and this conversation is prominently displayed in my report to Earth Command!"

  Jamel gritted his teeth and glared angrily at the vent hole. A moment later, however, he cut the communication's channel with the Louyang and issued new orders, "Helm, make speed of twenty air knots and bring us down into that cave! Mr. Kuto, order the fighters to continue pursuit of the enemy vessel, immediately!"

  Within a minute, the three fighters broke their holding pattern and plunged into the vent hole while reducing their speed. They were then cautiously followed by the Gladstone.

  As the Crazy Horse descended further and further into the vent hole, Wakinyan had the ship's forward floodlights switched on to reveal the features of the cavern hidden within. Finally, the ship entered a large chamber that was in reality an immense subterranean lake surrounded by craggy walls of rock and the blackness of an eternal underground night. Steam rose off the illuminated boiling water, filling the chamber with an eerie vaporous haze. What was most disturbing, however, was the color of the water that appeared in the floodlights—it was blood red.

  The scene on the viewer had brought a complete halt to the activity on the bridge of the Crazy Horse. As each member watched, they were all haunted by an uneasy feeling. Still the ship and crew continued onward.

  "It sure looks like hell itself, doesn't it," Randall leaned over to Wakinyan and quietly spoke. I just hope we don't run into a cave wall or something."

  "Relax, I've done this a dozen times in a shuttle," Wakinyan tried to comfort his friend.

  "A destroyer is much bigger and less maneuverable than a shuttle, or haven't you noticed?" Randall restlessly pointed out.

  "I've noticed. You remember anything about Mars' volcanism from school?"

  "Nope, I was too busy trying to lay every girl in sight," James stated as a matter-of-fact.

  "I'm glad you were so diligent in your studies," Wakinyan chuckled, knowing of Jim’s reputation with the ladies as well as his half dozen girl friends.

  But then Richard’s tone grew serious. "This lake is the only place on Mars where water exists as a liquid. In this area, the core is still very molten creating a gravitational field nearly that of the Earth’s. That’s why the atmospheric pressure here is dense enough to keep the water liquefied. It stretches for at least several hundred miles in underground lakes and canals. Much of it is still unexplored. Its red color comes from the iron oxide in the rocks. The lake system was slowly formed after the last major eruption many thousands of years ago."

  "Like I really care," Randall replied. "What makes it steam and boil like that?"

  Richard glanced at his friend, "The magma chamber located beneath the lake bed. Only a small amount of rock separates the two."

  "And if it didn't?" the lieutenant inquired.

  "Then Mars would have the largest active volcanoes in the solar system again."

  "Let's make damn sure that doesn't happen!" James showed his uneasiness.

  "Amen to that," Richard agreed, realizing it was time to get back to the business of war. "Mr. Edwards, commence your run."

  "Aye, Sir!" the navigator snapped briskly. Edwards went
back to monitoring his three navigational hologram screens while glancing at his digital stopwatch display for timing. "Helm, level the ship off and make heading of two-seven-five degrees, speed twenty-four knots."

  "Ship leveled, course two-seven-five, speed twenty-four knots, aye," the helm's man acknowledged.

  The Crazy Horse began to maneuver in the dark chamber.

  "First leg on my mark, course two-nine-zero, speed thirty-eight knots." the navigator commanded. "Five, four, three, two, one, mark!"

  "Course two-nine-zero, speed thirty-eight knots, aye," the helm's man again acknowledged.

  The bridge of the Crazy Horse began to lean as the Martian ship shifted into the turn. The big ship came about and straightened herself easily as it journeyed through the cavern.

  Once again the navigator guided the helm's man, "We're in the lane and approaching the second turn. Decrease speed to twenty-seven knots. Up angle two degrees. Come right to course heading zero-three-one in thirty seconds."

  Suddenly, the sensor crewman yelled out a warning to Wakinyan, "CAPTAIN, THREE EARTH FIGHTERS HAVE APPEARED ON MY SCREEN AND ARE CLOSING FAST!"

  Without hesitation, Wakinyan issued new orders, "Increase speed to fifty knots and recalculate! Weapons, prepare to release missile decoys!"

  The navigator quickly punched in the new speed and course, and was promptly greeted by the blinking red bolded words “Speed Too Great For Turning Arc – Danger Of Collision!”

  “CAPTAIN, COMPUTER INDICATES COLLISION inevitable AT THAT SPEED!” a now panicky Edwards screamed out.

  “Navigator, increase speed to fifty knots and recalculate!” Wakinyan forcefully repeated his previous order again charged with his authority.

  Edwards was astonished. The crewman realized the danger of even a minor miscalculation and turned his head to Lieutenant Randall to appeal the command, but Randall wasn't about to.

  "NAVIGATOR, RECALCULATE FOR FIFTY KNOTS!" James angrily reaffirmed his captain's order.