Chapter 19: Countdown

Ben stirred, opening his eyes to see that Lozka was sitting up, her ears swiveling. He trusted her Araxie senses enough to know that something was coming, struggling out of their shared sleeping bag, making his way into the cab.

“What have you got, Lozka?” he asked as he began to tap at his console. It was still very early, the sun hadn’t started to rise yet, his breath misting in the cold.

“The crawler draws near,” she replied, Mizi rubbing her eyes groggily as the Araxie crawled out from beneath the sheets.

“What’s going on?” she asked, opening her jaws in a yawn as she stretched her sheaths.

“Seismic readings confirm,” Ben said, returning to the bay to find some clothes. His two companions were already getting dressed, Mizi searching around for her discarded pressure suit.

“They weren’t making a course correction after all,” he said, returning to his seat to strap himself in. Mizi darted past him, still zipping up her suit, sliding behind the wheel. “They’ve driven all the way back, their present bearing suggests that they’re going to roll right past us.”

“We should remain hidden,” Lozka suggested, gripping the turret’s joystick as she manned her post. “The netting should conceal us from the Rask, assuming that they do not run straight into us.”

“Roger that, we’ll stick around,” he said with a nod. “I’m calling this in. Hang on,” he added, reaching up to swipe at one of his monitors. “Getting reports from the scouts that are shadowing the other two crawlers saying that their targets have turned around too. Looks like their current courses are going to converge.”

“So, they’re turning back and regrouping?” Mizi asked with a confused flutter of feathers. “What for?”

“Who knows?” Ben wondered, his eyes playing across his readout. “I’m going to wait for orders before we take any further actions, hold tight for the moment like Lozka said.”

The vibrations became apparent even to Ben and Mizi as the giant vehicle neared, its monstrous tracks shaking the ground like a small earthquake. The engines that powered it were loud enough that their din began to rise over the storm, Ben double-checking its course to make sure that it wasn’t on route to crush them. It wasn’t long before command had analyzed the data from the scouts, sending new instructions.

“We’re supposed to wait for the crawler to pass us, and then resume shadowing it,” he announced. “The higher-ups are just as confused as we are, they want to know what the Rask are up to. At this rate, all three vehicles are going to converge within range of the artillery company. The plan is to hit all of them at once.”

“A wise decision,” Lozka added. “We shall remain hidden as we track them, observe their behavior.”

“The huntress wants to hunt,” Mizi joked, turning to glance at her crewmate. “Who could have guessed?”

“I don’t think it’s going to come within visual range,” Ben said, “but the fucker sure is loud.”

“Looks like breakfast will have to wait,” Mizi grumbled.

“The Crewmasters of the Volcano and the Earthquake will be arriving shortly, Admiral,” the comms operator announced. “Where should I send them?”

“Have them meet me in the conning tower,” Korbaz replied, straightening her sash as she peered beyond the slatted windows at the windswept deck beyond. “Crewmaster, I’d like you to greet them on the gantry.”

“As you wish, my Admiral,” he replied with a bow. He left his place at the holographic table, making his way out of the room. Korbaz polished one of her medals with the pad of her thumb, making it gleam, steeling herself for what was to come.

The orders had been given, all three remaining crawlers were en route. In a little more than a day, they would be sailing in close formation, moving to head off the Coalition. Korbaz had summoned all surviving Crewmasters to join the banquet that was soon to be held. It was to be their last meal, their final battle, and it was an opportunity to go over their strategy face to face. It should be a time of celebration, all Rask dreamed of a glorious death, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the Matriarch’s edict had been premature. There was more that could be done, Korbaz was certain of it, but the choice was not hers to make.

She waited for the Crewmaster to return with his counterparts, the bridge crew lowering their heads in a show of respect as they entered the room. There was Gazga, Crewmaster of the Earthquake, an accomplished sailor who had served under the Matriarch even longer than Korbaz. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his sash so crowded with medals and accolades that there was scarcely a hint of purple visible. He had suffered severe burns at some point during his distinguished career, leaving his head bald, one of his ears reduced to a stump. One side of his face had been scarred by the incident, making him look like he had partially melted. Even so, he was a handsome specimen, and he wore his injuries with pride.

The second was Torzi. She was young, ambitious. She had risen through the ranks quickly, catching the Matriarch’s eye, landing herself command of the Volcano seemingly on merit alone. She sported fewer medals, and her skin was far clearer than that of her counterparts, but Korbaz knew from experience not to underestimate her. She was ruthless, having racked up almost as many successful raids as Korbaz in a fraction of the time.

Along with Crewmaster Lortz, they greeted her, then took up positions around the table. Their yellow eyes reflected the glow of the hologram as they examined the readout, glancing at one another warily. With so many Rask of equal standing cooped up in one room, the potential for someone to assert their dominance over the rest would have been great if it had not been for the Admiral’s commanding presence.

“Crewmasters, thank you for coming,” Korbaz began as she spread her arms wide. “You have all received your new orders from the Matriarch, but due to the ... final nature of our task, I thought that speaking face to face would be appropriate. I hope that the drive was not too uncomfortable.”

“Then, there has been no mistake?” Torzi asked. She leaned her furry hands on the table, examining the course that had been plotted for the fleet. “When I received your message, Admiral, I was ... skeptical. The Matriarch truly has ordered us to meet the enemy head-on?”

“That is correct,” Korbaz replied. Clever. Torzi had phrased her question in a way that could not be interpreted as criticism of the Matriarch’s orders, but the implication remained, unspoken as it was.

“This will be a difficult task with the resources that remain to us,” Gazga added, his voice deep and powerful. “Even at full strength, our strategy was to maintain a safe distance from the enemy convoy. I would have suggested mounting a series of smaller attacks to delay the enemy.” He reached over the table, pointing to locations on the translucent map with a clawed finger. “There are several choke points where we could mount a more effective defense.”

“I offered several alternatives, but the Matriarch rejected them,” Korbaz replied. “Her wish is that we should throw everything that we have at the interlopers, inflicting as much damage as possible in a final stand. We are to buy her as much time as possible while she fortifies the East Gate.”

Torzi and Gazga exchanged glances. It seemed that they found the orders as strange as Korbaz did. Only Lortz seemed unfazed, having already accepted his fate. Perhaps his position had been earned more through loyalty than battle prowess.

“Then we must do what we can to maximize our odds,” Gazga added, ever the pragmatist. “I would suggest holding the Earthquake back during the initial assault. We can soften up the Coalition lines with artillery strikes before sending in the Volcano’s vehicles, then we can bring in the crawlers themselves to provide support.”

“The crawlers aren’t designed to take that kind of punishment,” Torzi protested, “the enemy tanks will tear them apart. Besides, what weapons do the Volcano and the Wildfire have? The Earthquake has naval cannons and missile launchers, but we only have point defense guns. We can override their radar systems, maybe depress them enough to fire at targets on the ground, but it hardly seems worth putting the crawlers in the line of fire for that alone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lortz interjected, his counterparts turning their heads to glare at him. “The Matriarch’s intention is for us to fight to the death, we must expend all of our assets in this engagement in order to inflict maximum damage.”

“Running is no longer an option,” Korbaz added, the Crewmasters switching their attention back to her. “We do not yet know how, and we likely never will, but the aliens have found a way to track our movements. We do not have the speed or the maneuverability to stay out of their range any longer. We either mount a last stand ... or we surrender.”

Torzi laughed, perhaps considering the second option a joke, but Gazga seemed lost in thought as he stared intently at the flickering hologram. He had more experience than everyone else at the table combined, and Korbaz found herself hoping that he might yet find a solution that would somehow satisfy the Matriarch’s demand without killing the fleet.

“We have some hours yet to devise a strategy,” Korbaz added. “We shall dine tonight, and you may return to your crawlers in the morning. I have made accommodations available to you in the meantime.”

“I wanted to speak with you alone,” Korbaz said, walking beside Gazga as they made their way along one of the cramped corridors of the Wildfire’s underbelly. The noise of the engines was loud enough here that there was little chance of them being overheard, and what they had to discuss was sensitive. “Back in the meeting, I sensed that you were ... somewhat critical of the Matriarch’s plan.”

“Is your intention to expose treachery?” he replied, cutting straight to the point. “I am dying tomorrow, Admiral, I have little reason to hold my tongue.”

“But...” she glanced pointedly at the many medals that adorned his sash.

“I serve the Matriarch,” he continued, clasping his hands behind his back as they turned another winding corner. “And I served her predecessor before her. I fight not for personal glory, but for the advancement of my territory, and I always have. My loyalty is not in question. I will follow any order that she gives, as is my duty, but that does not mean that I cannot be critical of her strategy.”

“You believe that there are alternatives, then?”

“I do,” he replied, “but none that would appeal to her. To rush into a direct confrontation with the Coalition convoy is folly, I do not believe that it will even accomplish the goal of slowing them by any significant margin.”