Desaroth Space Wars

[Webbicles]

Hi to all. This piece of fiction is my first space story here, and to warn you ahead of time doesn't have anything to do with WCIII. Enjoy. Oh, and a note to moderator Flak: this story gets bloody, but I didn't see any rule forbidding that. If you have a problem with it take it off and I'll edit it.

Thankee,
Webbicles.


The Desaroth Space Wars:

19 Years Before This Story Takes Place:

First contact with the Desaroths came with the battle between two galactic ships of war, the Desaroth's Fire of Hell and a Human prison ship, The Reaper, that was raided by the aliens. Within a year’s time the alien species had withstood all offensives of the Humans and pressed deep into the heart of Human space, quickly arriving to the planet Alinam. In the battle that followed the Desaroth arrival, the aliens unleashed a massive bombardment of Alinam in preparation for their final invasion. It never came. The flagship of the Desaroths was destroyed by the Humans, and plummeted in pieces to Alinam. Lacking their main fighting weapon, the Desaroths were slowly defeated and the war made to an end. The Human and Desaroths never made complete peace after the war, and with the arrival of a radical Desaroth headship, many alien species have predicted a future war between the Humans and Desaroths. Recent attacks from both Human and Desaroths battleships indicate that this shall soon come to fruition.

PLANET: THE DUNE PLANET ZURHELL
ARMY: HUMAN
LOCATION: THE FORTRESS NORION, NEAR THE RIVER SOL.

Dust billowed up, and the sun blazed down upon the desert climate of Zerhell as a long line of troops marched. They were armored in teal suits of the meteoroid alloys of interspace mines. They were surrounded by small, worn fortifications of stone and steel. Perched atop wooden turrets were heavy caliber machine guns & shock rifles. Before them, under the brilliant, deep blue sky, was a hard, desert baked plain of trenches and ruts and the remnants of tank tracks. Two rows from the head of the column of troops walked Farin.

The troops had been marching from their drop-off ship, the Redeemer. Suddenly Farin stopped and tilted his head northward, across the plain. He heard a noise that sounded like trucks, that noise that blew across the desert to his ears. If it was, it was not their own.

Suddenly the road began a swirl of dust. Dirt flew into the air, and blood sprayed into men’s faces. The drilling sound of machine guns roared across the desert. Chaos enveloped the soldiers. Farin’s commander was shot tens of times; his body was grossly dismembered. The wooden turrets were blown away. Rockets flew into the ground, the air become heavy with the taste of explosives. Armored cars, some equipped with machine guns, others with three-barreled rocket launchers, tore across the landscape unleashing deathly volleys. No inch of ground was untouched by bullet, explosive, or shell.

Madly, Farin and those of troops still alive ran to the squat turrets and fortifications, and the shallow trenches and bunkers of the Scorched Pit. Bullets lined the tops of the trench; again and again rockets exploded. Some fifty away blinked a blue light in the trench, the alarm. Farin ran to it and slammed it. Immediately the pulsing, droning noise rang out. Seconds later the humans returned fire: machine guns, rocket launchers, shells, lasers, and photon cannons blazed. Atop a tall dirt mound fired a large machine gun. Farin took hisown revolving gun, cocked it, and fired at the nearest vehicle. A few soldiers joined him. The explosions never ceased. Again and again the enemy tanks fired, again and again their shots slammed into the desert. The ground roiled with bullets. The air was thick with rockets, dust, heat, smoke, and blood. A trooper stood up and was suddenly riddled with bullets. He fell screaming. Another soldier ran to help him. Just as he reached the man a rocket tore his head from his body. Suddenly a machine-gun mounted vehicle swerved in front of Farin’s trench. Someone called “Get down, damit!” before the enemy pressed his trigger. All at once the tips of the trenches eroded. Bullets whined; their innumerable shells rolled across the sunbaked dirt until the ground was a blanket of brass. Farin waited a moment as a spray of lead swept over him. Aritillery pounded about him. He raised his rocket launcher and fired. The enemy vehicle exploded, flipped, and flew upward.

Barely discernable above the noise came the sounds of air cover and speeders. Troopers flew from the south, firing relentlessly upon the enemie's vehicles and tanks. Fires raged from exploded vehicles and downed fighters. Gasoline spilled and burned. Desaroths jumped from their vehicles and tanks and fought hand to hand with the humans. One thrust his hand into the chest of a soldier, drawing his beating heart out amidst writhing cries. Mad with hate a trooper came up to the alien and blew him apart. The troopers fired their machine guns relentlessly. So did the enemy, and in greater numbers. A handful these, flamethrowers, reached the Trooper bunkers, thrusting their flamethrowers inside. At once the bunkers ignited. Farin fired a rocket at them rocket. It exploded among the flamethrowers, and their packs burst aflame.

Machine-guns raged on. Desaroths fired their weapons again and again and again. Farin could not move without getting shot. An alien leaped in front of a Trooper, loosing his weapon. Behind him a tank reared up on a blockade of concrete. Its turret turned, aimed a squad of fleeing humans, and fired. Limbs flew into the air. Blood rained down. A trooper sprang up behind the Desaroth and fired a flak cannon. The alien’s body was blown apart. A Skaarj swep a machine gun mounted on the tank towards the trooper. Farin fired another rocket. It severed the alien’s arm; the Desaroth thrust his claw over the wound, holding back the gushing blood. The Trooper killed the alien quickly. Suddenly three rockets slammed into the tank’s hull; it exploded. Shrapnel flew everywhere, and the Trooper fell to the ground bleeding from the head. Farin, cowering, ran to him, and saw the Trooper’s jaw missing and his throat cut. Still the shells burst, lasers fired, and the air was thick of bullets. The trooper screamed hoarsely. He grabbed Farin’s machine gun and thrust it into his own face, pressing Farin’s finger on the trigger. At once the head was gone. The ground was soaked with blood. It mixed with the sand to become dark mud. Still the machine guns fired. Vehicles reached the front of the trenches and swerved. Desaroths jumped off. Above them fired rockets and bullets and lasers. Their fingers touched their own triggers, and they strode forward. Suddenly the ground convulsed and exploded. Desaroth limbs, heads, and bodies fell among the Troopers, and the vehicles exploded. The mines had been detonated. At once Farin and all other Troopers leaped from their bunkers and trenches and fired their weapons indiscriminately. From the fortifications, rocks, and sand dunes poured machine-gun fire as cover.

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The enemy tanks and vehicles returned fire. Behind them reared up a massive tank, a Desaroth Greater Tank. It shot a laser at the largest of the Trooper’s fortifications. The laser became unbearably brilliant; suddenly the fortification shattered.

Desaroth vehicles began to circle the bunkers, still firing. All yet alive found cover behind great heaps of burning concrete. They could only cow. Bullets chipped away at their cover, and slowly it leveled with the troopers’ heads. Some fell sooner than others. Farin reached up over the concrete and fired his gun indiscriminately. He had run out of rockets. Suddenly something grabbed his gun, wrenching it away from Farin’s grasp with great strength. A great Desaroth leaped over the concrete, smashing into Farin. A furious combat of knives ensued and fists ensued until suddenly, as an angel of deathly life descending from the sky, a great ship skimmed over the tree tops raining down deadly fire. The alien was shot. Farin heaved him off to see the ship alight just above the ground to the right of the blasted fortification, the hell on earth. It was no enemy, and several troopers came from it, motioning the besieged to come to safety.

“Let’s go!” someone cried.

At once tens of troopers emerged from their hiding as Desaroths took cover under the ship’s volleys. Never did any of the soldiers think they could run so swiftly. Farin was the last to leave. Already most had boarded the ship, and the rest called for him and others to come. They were only a few paces ahead, the last remnant of the troopers. A few hundred feet were all that was left between hell and heaven. But hell has teeth that are not easy to flee from, and from over the ridge there came the rumble of fresh tanks and the clank of new soldiers. Not all would come through to safety, they vowed. They caught up to the very last straggler, he who would not leave any behind in the fires of death. A great Desaroth captain leveled his pistol at the unknowing Farin and fired into his neck. Blood flew into the air, and Farin fell to his knees. The captain rushed past with his troopers. Farin was on his knees now in a daze. Vaguely he saw the craft beginning to rise as the Desaroths enclosed it, and a wretched feeling came upon him. Then, some Desaroth saw Farin. He drew his pistol and shot into Farin’s back as he sprinted past. Farin's eyes rolled back. He fell into the scorching ground. He heard and saw no more.

[Webbicles]

garrrr! sry to moderator, i accidentally posted the thing twice. :g-shake:

[Ogrey-Author]

Nice, i enjoyed it. Although the portrayed the entire scene extremely well, it needs a lot of editing and proofreading.

[Inquisistor7]

Good, except, as was said, it needs some proofreading. The descriptions were good though.

[Webbicles]

Hey guys, thanks for the posts. I'm planning on editing it, and writing a new part. I'll have it up in a few.

Webb.

[Webbicles]

Here's another part to the story. I hope enough people come back to read it! Enjoy,

Webb.


There Farin lay into the cold night of the desert world. All about him lay the gross signs of battle An oasis of fading life among the heaps of death, Farin struggled to stay alive, even in the dark dreams of his unconsciousness. Night faded, and the sun rose over the jagged mountain peaks far away. At first nothing but the hot breeze could be heard. But there came across the sands the peculiar, droning sound of light speeders--not human speeders, but Desaroth. Soon a troop of twenty or so came up to the battle-field. They slid off their speeders and scattered, scavaging what weapons, armor, and technology they found useful. Lastly they searched Farin. But the Desaroth who found him was the Captain, and a smart Desaroth. He thought Farin's body was much too warm to be dead, and checked his pulse.

“Ha! Ha!” He gloated. “Look at this!”

At once the group crowded around Farin.

“Can you beat it?” the alien shouted. “There’s actually one still alive!”

The rest laughed. “Wake him up!” they cried. “Wake him up!”

The alien delivered a punch into Farin’s jaw. There was a crunching noise as he did so. His eyes’ fluttered.

“Slow, eh?” the alien smirked, and struck him again. Still Farin did not wake.

“Hand me your blade,” the Desaroth said to another. The blade was delivered.

“Now I’ll show you all how to get this bastard alive again,” he said. Taking the edge of the knife, he thrust it into the wound on Farin’s neck. And this time he did indeed wake, letting out a cry of pain. Faint from loss of blood, Farin took in his surroundings as best as he could, and it did not take him long to figure out what was happening. The aliens hooted.

“Ha!” They cried. “Way to go, chief!”

The “chief” gloated, but not for long. Taking Farin he threw him into the back of a large speeder, and made ready to depart. The others followed suit, and soon in a great caravan they left the battleground and made their way north. Farin did not know it, but the aliens were traveling to the vast Sea of Dunes beyond the ruined human fortress. After some time the speeders left the realm of the rocks and came upon a vast, gently rolling desert of sand stretching east, west and north as far as any eye could see. It was still morning, but the sun was climbing quickly. An hour or so passed when the speeders began to slacken their pace, coming to a broad sand dune noticeably larger than the rest.

[Webbicles]

There was no wind here, only the harsh sun, the blue sky—and the brilliant sparkle of the sands. Resting their speeders, the chief grabbed Farin and climbed up the gentle slope of the dune. He troops followed. Atop it were bodies of humans tied to sticks and poles. Some had fallen onto the sand; only a few were recently placed at this place of slow torture. Most bodies were brown and dried, their skin shriveled. None were alive. Dumping Farin onto the ground, the Desaroth captain produced a long stick and thrust it deep into the sand. Then, dragging Farin up to it, he tied him tightly to the stick with cords. The Desaroths returned to their speeders and began to drive away when the Captain turned, took out his shock rifle, and fired twice into Farin’s legs. He slumped down, unable to come to his knees due to the tight cords, and so delirious he barely felt the shots. The Desaroth speeders turned and left. Slowly the steady hum of the speeders retreated, until at last it faded completely, and silence came. No noise in the least was made. Only the scorching heat could be known, that same that had blasted the planet since the beginning; and here it was hottest, for here were the tropics of the planet.

The hot sun was unbearable, a terrible scorch that burned with intensity unheard of on most other planets. Farin’s lips became parched and cracked; blood began to ooze out of them. His mouth and throat were dry, and every breath stung. His head felt swollen, and his wounds throbbed with a pain redoubled. His headache was so fierce that Farin at last fainted. He hung from the stick like a beaten dead thing, beyond any hope of renewal. And so it was when the sun set at last, and bitter cold crept over the world. Strange stars shone piercingly clear in the desert sky. But Farin did not see them, for he was at the very door of death, and few things could bring him back.

[Inquisistor7]

Grim stuff, but well written. I hope to see more.

[Webbicles]

well, I'm glad I have one person telling me what they think! thanks. I'll put more up.

Webb.

[Webbicles]

Not much, but this is some more. Enjoy all,

Webb



There was a ship on Zerhell, and its captain was Morgby Darsin. A man who took his authority seriously, he ruled his craft with an iron fist and a hint of benevolence. His was a large scavenger ship, and it took a solid captain to make enough profit at this trade to be worthwhile. That it had. However, three consecutive unnseccessful missions had left his crew, a nice number of five-hundred, complaining of poor prospects on the planets they had been too. Only secretly, when he talked to himself (a habit of his), would Morgby reveal that he was disappointed as well. Fuel costs were much to expensive to be dithering about from one planet to another and finding no tanks, scrap metal, parts, weapons, and the like. But one of his scout ships had reported a battle on Zerhell thirty hours ago, and it seemed Morgby could make a profit off of it, if he came early enough. That the Desaroths had won would be a problem, but he felt confident enough to chance it and scour the battlefield for anything valuable. And so he did. Landing in a tiny mountain cluster north of the Sea of Dunes, he set out himself with two-hundred men, each manning their own speeder. Morgby’s plan was to divide into twenty groups and scour from the tip of the continent to the landing site of his craft. It was an expensive venture, but Morgby needed an expensive catch.

The craft had landed a few hours before sunset. Aside from stirring up a considerable amount of sand, it remained relatively quiet until night fell and the temperature became hospitable for creatures to be about. A great hole opened in the bottom of the ship, which was above the ground due to four massive legs supporting it, and like bees there began to drop a great number of speeders. As soon as twenty would amass, that group would speed off into the darkness. At last the captian's group descended. Morgby was in a festive mood, for he had arrived at Zerhell earlier than he thought, and prospects seemed high.

“About time too,” he said to himself as he flipped controls on his speeder. He then propelled it a ways out, spun it around, and addressed the other scavangers.

“Well gentlemen,” he began, “its looks as though he have a great catch coming up!”

The men cheered.

“Yes,” the Captain said, “but only if we do our jobs here. Keep frosty. I don’t doubt we’ll get some good materiel, but there are Desaroths loitering about, so watch for ‘em. Understood?”

Answering in the affirmative, the party set off due south. As these things went, it was a pleasant journey as the temperature, though falling, was fresh and cool, much better than the stuffy ship they had left.

So they continued on for many hours. The stars of that world burned brilliantly, and there was no moon. The humming of their speeders and the soft desert wind was all they heard. Late into the night, their scanners revealed a great valley of rocks approaching. Directly ahead stood a large dune that, on their scanners, seemed to have several small dots scattered about the top of it; looking up, the group saw several slim shapes hiding the stars.

“Should we stop?” one of the men typed out on the speeder, sending the message to Captain Darsin.

“We’ll have a look,” he typed back.

The party slowed down the speeders as they approached the hill. Rearing up over its slope, they came to rest at the eastern crest. The sound of their craft’s engine whirred into silence. The men slid off speeders and walked towards the objects. Even in the dark of what must have been midnight, it was clear what was there.

“What a horrible way to die,” one of the men said as he walked among the corpses.

“Desaroth’s work, I believe,” Darsin said, disgusted. “I’m not surprised. Let’s move out.”

The troop began to plod back to their speeders when someone cried,

“Wait a moment! Take a look at this!”

Darsin turned around and walked over to the man. He was looking at one of the corpses. As the group gathered around, they saw that, unlike the others, this corpse was fresh. There was a great amount of blood on his body, and it was still moist.
Giving the soul their sympathies, crew began to walk away, but Darsin looked hard at the body. “Hold a moment,” he said. They stopped, and silence followed. Darsin touched the corpse for a moment.

“This guy is still alive,” he said.

“What are you talking about, Captain? He’s dead!” sneered one.

“We all saw him,” said another.

“Anyone here want to tell me I don’t know a dead man from a live man?!” the captain roared.

A few men came back to the body and felt the pulse of the man’s neck. “By God, he’s alive!” said one. The rest soon returned, confirming Darsin’s claim.

“Get ‘m in the speeder, Josh,” the Captain said. “Bring ‘m back to ship.”

Josh, the crew member who had found the man, cut the cords that bound the captive to the stick. With the help of another crew member he loaded the him onto his speeder.

“I guess this means I won’t be getting scrap?” he asked as he saddled onto his craft.

“Yes, it does,” the Captain responded. “Get going.”

Josh, answering politely, set his speeder into high gear and sped off northward, into the darkness. Behind him, the Captain and the rest of crew resumed their journey south. Already the time had passed midnight, and by the time a gentle glow began to increase in the east, Josh had arrived at the ship. All was dark there, presumably because most were asleep. Pressing a small blue button on his speeder, the bottom hole, or port, of the ship opened, sucking Josh up into the belly of the ship. The dock of the speeders was a long, dimly lit hall that extended evenly to the right and left of the port. On its sides were large numbered slots where speeders were stored. As the port closed beneath him, Josh slid off his speeder and walked it to slot 32. Once it was docked, he came to a com-link, flipped a switch, and spoke into it:

"Hey, Zeg? Zeg! You there?" he shouted.

There was a moment of silence before the link erupted with a voice:

"Yes, of course I'm here! Where else would I be? And you don't have to shout. Some are trying to get some sleep!"

"Sorry. I got a wounded that Captain had me bring back. He wants you take a look at him"

"Bring him up,"

"I'll be there in a few. Out."

Josh, with the help of a guard, took the man and slowly made his way to Zeg."There", of course, was the medical station of the Morgby's ship. The captain was quite proud of it, as it was far beyond what most scavanger ships had to offer. It was well-equipped, comfortable, and overseen by the best doctor Morgby could find when he started his business, Zeg Weck. A huge, old, crackly cybernetic, Zeg was obsessed with finding an antecdote for this, a pill for that, and was a fine doctor. Whether Zeg could do much for the man Josh was bringing him, though, remained to be seen.

[PissingPanther]

cool story i didnt even find any errors please continue

[Webbicles]

well Pissin, Inquiz, I wrote some more. Again, not much, but I'm planning to write alot more soon. Enjoy all.

--Webb.

The sun rose over Zurhell, announcing the return of the squads of speeders that had been scavenging. Last to return was Captain Darsin's group, which arrived just as the sun cleared the low mountains to the east of the Sea of Dunes. Already the temperature was rising rapidly, and the ship's fans were whirring noisily throughout the vessel. When Darsin and his group docked their speeders, the Captain came to the medical station. Like the rest of the ship, it was dimly lit. Dangling from the ceiling were white bulbs, and from the walls glowed faint neon lights. Crumpled in a corner was a slim teal suit with the words, CPT. FARIN. In the center of the station was slim tank filled with a green liquid. On a padded steel cot lay the man his troop had found. Bent busily over him was Zeg. He glanced at Morgby before continuing his work. Morgby came by the cybernetic and watched as he removed a bullet from the man's back. The white pad under the man was stained red. Suddenly Zeg stood up strait, lifted the man, and ascended a set of stairs leading to the top of the liquid tank. He placed an oxygen mask over the man before dropping him into the liquid. Bubbles rose to the lapping surface from the man as he breathed. The green liquid became infused with blood, and the man's wounds became hideously obvious. Zeg looked intentedly down in the tank, making sure nothing was wrong with the treatment.

"Glad he made it," said Morgby, looking up at Zeg.

"He nearly didn't. Had a great deal of blood lost, and was pumped full of shrapnel and bullets. The sun sucked him dry too. It was tough surgery. He's healed now, or will be once he's finished with the leech tank, which makes me wonder what you'll do with him," Zeg said. He descended the stairs and tapped a few buttons on a control at the base of the tank. He saw Morgby shrugg his shoulders in the reflection of the glass.

"I've an idea," he said, and drew up a chair for himself from Zeg's desk. "I don't have time to say it now. I finally have a good catch, Zeg: busted tanks, metal, weapons--you name, we found it. When this guy heals it'll be interesting to hear what he says happened. There's a mess of things just south. And not only that, but we also found a ship near a river. Desaroths shot it down, and their guarding it. Now I'm thinking, just thinking, that we could steal it from 'em and sell it."

The cybernetic laughed, a crackling, wheezing, mechanical sound that sounded as if Zeg's maker hadn't fined tuned that response. "How?" he chuckled.

"I don't know yet. I've got to review the analysis of the ship we made; see why its down and how many Desaroths are guarding it," Morgby said. He stood up. "I'm off to that. Tell me how it goes with this guy. I'll be back in a few hours."

Zeg, still busily punching keys at the tank, waved that back of his hand. Footsteps announced the departure of the captain. A heavy metal door creaked aside on its own, and shut as the captain passed out. Zeg was left alone, and he continued to work on his patient unceasingly. Outside Zurhell's sun climbed higher into the sky and the planet grew hotter. Time passed slowly, and still Zeg stood at the base of the tank, watching the man's wounds slowly dissappear.


-----------------------------------



All was dark. Like when his eyes where shut, there were dark green and purple things swirling in his mind, set against a fathomless blackness. All was dark. He felt detatched from his body, though it's pain still throbbed. In his head rang the sounds of weapons, droning on and on. Suddenly he felt coldness climb up his body. He felt his limbs free. His mind cleared a little. The colorful wreaths swirling in his head dissipated. He became aware that he was lying down. He opened his eyes. Light burned them, but they adjusted quickly. Suddenly something blocked the light. A large squarish head loomed over him.

"You awake?" It said.

Farin squinted.

"Hey! You awake?!"

Farin felt a metallic hand sit him up and slap his back.

"Yeah, I'm awake," Farin sputtered. His eyes had cleared completely, although his breathing was shaky. Turning his head, he saw a large, bulky cybernetic staring at him. "What's your name?" Farin asked.

"Zeg Weck," came the metallic answer. "I'm the leech on this ship, the Syzygy, and Morgby Darsin's the captain. We're on Zurhell to get scrap from your battle. Morgby found you on the dunes and had you brought here to get healed."

Farin felt his neck and back. The shot-wounds were now no more than little pinpricks in his body, and the severe sunburn on his face was just a faint red glow. His headache was gone.

"All I remember is punched and shot, then the ship was gone," Farin said, looking down. "Where are the Desaroths?"

Zeg shook his head. "I don't know. But now that your up Morgby's gonna want to see you. He's got plans to take a ship that crashed. I read him well: guaranteed he wants you to lead some attack."

"Lead it?!" Farin said. "I'm a captain in the Army. I have to get back to my company!"

"Your company is destroyed, Farin. The ship's human. You said one tried to rescue you? It's been shot down," said Zeg. "You'd best deal with it. Your going to be here awhile." Zeg turned at occupied himself with something across the room.

Farin sighed, taking a moment to look at his surroundings. "Thanks," he said at length.

"For what?"

Farin held his arms out and looked out his body. "This," he said.

Zeg turned his head. He nodded, and left the medical station.

[Maps9me]

Not bad at all! :y-thumbsu

[Webbicles]

thanks. I'll try to work on some more soon for you guys.

--Webb

[Webbicles]

Here's some more for everyone following. Enjoy, and I'll have more up soon.

--Webb.



There stood a tall, fearsome Desaroth, armed with an incredible array of weaponery, looking through his bincoulars. He focused sharply on the crashed, grey hull of a large ship. Billowing up into the sky were lazy puffs of black smoke. A small fire or two crackled out of the ship's broken windows. Dug out in the sand around the ship was a broad crater, evidence of the craft's harsh impact. Around the ship, at a respectful distance, was arrayed a solid ring of attack-vehicles, trenches, and Desaroths, who, like a devious wall around a city, meant not to protect the inhabitants but to keep them inside.

The Desaroth surveyed the ship carefully, taking his time with his present occupation. At last he took his eyes away from the binoculars and muttered a strident word to a Desaroth beside him. The latter raised a red flag hoisted atop a tall white pole, and raised also his hand. The ring of Desaroths became tense. The sounds of cocking their weapons, turning on their energy knives, and setting themeslves against the ship came across the barren sands. Minutes passed. The sun burned down in a terrible glare upon the planet. No movement was made. Then, abruptly, the Desaroth threw his hand harsly down. The Desaroths leaped foward and charged the ship. The ring became tight. They slid down the crater. In a few moments they were upon the craft. A great troop of them came to ship's entrance, standing cautiously on each side of the yawning entryway. One peered cautiously around the corner, and then threw his head back swiftly. He shook his head once. The Desaroths crouched. Taking grenades in their hands they tossed them pass the entrance. A terrible explosion. A barrage of shrapnel flying out. And then they stormed the ship.

On and on the streamed in, until nothing remained outside save for the vehicles and those in them. Deeper and deeper the Desaroths ventured into the ship. But the farther they ventured the more suspicious the became. Only a soft drip, drip, drip of some leak could be heard. White lights flickered. Little fires burned intently here and there along the dark hallways. The Desaroths divided themselves into large groups. They searched cautiously, peering around corners and firing their weapons into possible traps. But the ship was silent. So it went on, until the main group of Desaroths turned a corner and found themselves at the control room. Bodies were sprawled in hideous fashions over chairs and the floor. Wires lay everywhere, sparking erratically, providing the only light in the huge, dark room. A Desaroth readied his gun to be sure all were dead. Suddenly the dead bodies came alive. They rose from behind chairs, control panels; they hung down from the ceilings. Into the Desaroths were sent volleys of lead. No alien survived there, but it was clear that the ship was very much alive with resistance. Their comrades fared similarly: throughout the ship the groups were brutally ambushed. The Desaroths, beaten drewback and exited the craft, swearing to take revenge.




Farin lay on the cot for hours, allowing himself more time to rest. Though his wounds were healed, his body still felt weakened--though perhaps weakened wasn't the right word: drained, spent, needful of long, long hours of mental and mindful rest. This he had for the day, but as that face of the world turned from the sun, Captain Morgby Darsin decided to pay a visit to his rescued soldier. Zen had told him all about Farin's awakening, and Morgby felt obligated to see how the man was doing; this aside from the plans he had for the man, which he wished to reveal as soon as possible. Zen came with him. The metal doors creaked aside as the two entered, waking Farin. He sat up and nodded to the the two as they came to him.

"This is Morgby," Zen said.

Farin shook the captain's hand firmly. "Thanks," he said.

The captain nodded, and sat down on a nearby metal stool. Zen stood. Morgby was the first to speak.

"You look good," he said.

"That's good," Farin said indifferently.

"We think so," Morgby said. He sat up and scooted the stool closer to Farin. "Maybe you'd be interested to know about your squad?"

Farin narrowed his eyes at Morgby. "What do you know?" he asked.

"What I know is that there's a army cruiser crashed away south. The ship that rescued the other troops, I think," Morgby said. "Whether its salvageable or not, who knows. But if it is, it would be a great catch. And so I'm going to raid it. Yes, there's Desaroths surrounding the ship, but I doubt they'll be a problem."

"Why?"

"I've been watching the ship since we found it. The Desaroths tried to storm it and got repulsed," Morgby answered. "They haven't had time to ship in the amount of troops needed to take it yet, though I'll admit more have already arrived. In any case, I plan to storm it, scavenge it, and then get out of here. And why am I telling you this? Because I want you to help. There's still soldiers in the craft. Once I get what I want off the ship, I'll take whosever left, and you, and put you all off at the nearest fortress. But you won't say a word about raiding the army's ship: that's my price."

Farin did not answer immediately, as he wieghed the choice carefully in his mind. At length he spoke:

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"He probably wants you to raise hell," Zeg said, and Morgby nodded.

Farin smirked. "Fair enough."

[PissingPanther]

I found a couple spelling errors here and there but otherwise it's a great story

[Inquisistor7]

Pretty good. The desciptions are good, and the characters are solid.

[Webbicles]

thanks for the posts! for all those keeping up, i'll be posting some more in a few days.

--Webb

[Webbicles]

The night on Zerhell passed quickly. Inside the Syzygy the order had gone out from Morgby to prepare for the assault on the crashed ship, and the crew had since been busy preparing themselves. Zeg had cleared Farin for the mission, as his wounds were now well healed, and Morgby had placed Farin just under his own authority. The captain was going to rely heavily on Farin's harsh military training to conduct the attack.

"We've done things like this before," he told Farin, "but it'll come off better if you lead it."

Since his order was given, Farin had been occupied with preparing Morgby's crew. Four hundred of them had been chosen to directly attack the ship, while the one hundred (led by Zeg) would, as soon as the others had left, move the Syzygy towards the assault to load the scrap as quickly as possible. Morgby knew, as did everyone there, that if the attack was successful it would not be long before the Desaroths retaliated with reinforcements. Morgby's plan was to set off in the speeders and suprise the Desaroths with lethal speed. The most recent report on the downed craft had revealed a relatively small number of Desaroths guarding it, and so his chances seemed prime. They would set off at dawn, and when they reached the ship, they would, as Zeg termed it, "raise hell". That time was fast approaching. Farin had inspected the crew carefully, making sure all weapons functioned. Morgby had outfitted them with Slicers, or energy bayonets, to attach to their shock rifles, a weapon borne by all.

An hour before sunrise their preparations were at last finished. Each fighter had come to his speeder, and in the great bowels of the ship they waited in long lines before the ships opening. A red light above them flashed faster and faster as the sunrise came closer and closer. Then it stopped. A siren rang out. The ship's belly opened, and from it came the speeders, like a swarm of wasps humming menacingly southwards. There was a slight breeze blowing across Zurhell as they sped across the dunes. Behind them lay the Syzygy, glowing a blood red in the dawn light. Zeg had idled the ship's engines, lighting up the sands with a soft blue glow. The sight became dwindled to a small glow of red as they sped southwards, eventually becoming hidden by the shifting dunes. They rode closer and closer to the beleaguered crash, evident from the blinking red dot on their scanners that was quickly finding its way towards the center. After thirty-minutes or so, the dot had come to the center of the scanner. The sun's fiery tip was rising above the sands, and in the increasing light they could see soft billows of smoke rising from the south. They were close, and now Morgby's plan began to unfold. He sent a signal to Farin, telling him to begin. And he did. The speeders spread out, moving towards the flanks of the fast approaching ship. Soon the huge shape of the crash loomed up from the desert.

"Alright, this is it," Farin said to the crew.

The right and left flanks of the speeders encircled the craft, while Farin, Morgby, and the rest of the team continued their course. In a matter of moments the ship was surrounded. They shut down and hopped off their speeders, kneeling in the sand with their weapons aimed at the craft. With the whirring noise of their speeders fading, an strange silence descended. As far as they could see, there were no Desaroths visible. But the crew had not descended the crater, and who knew what was there?

"Morgby," Farin said, using his com-link.

"Copy, Farin, what is it?" Morgby replied.

"We're moving closer."

"Copy that. Go ahead. I'll hold the left flank."

Farin communicated his order to the crew. Leading them stealthily across the sands, they drew near to the ship's smoking hull. Behind them, in the sun's face, Morgby and a small group gave them cover. Farin and the crew quickly came to the lip of the crater and peered over it. Debris was scattered around the crater's floor, and there were dried pools of blood, but the Desaroths seemed to have abandoned the ship.

"Morgby, I don't see any Desaroths. I'm going in," Farin said.

"Copy. We'll tell you if anything happens up here. Out."

Sliding down the crater's slopes, Farin and the crew cautiously made there way to the entrance of the ship. Their weapons ready, they entered. The darkness of the craft was deep, and they switched their lights, breaking the inky back before them. But what met their eyes was not what they had expected. Heaps of grossly dismembered corpses of humans and Desaroths lay everywhere. They pointed their lights down the craft revealing more of the same. There had been a bitter struggle here. The blood was still moist, and the air smelled of explosives. Farin shook his head.

"Morgby, this is Farin," he said.

"Copy, Farin. What is it?"

"You can start your scavenging now, Morgby....they're dead. They're all dead."

"Copy that, Farin. I'll take a look. Zeg's arrived. We'll start right away."

Farin sent the crew deeper into the ship, but this only confirmed what he had told Morgby. Sometime during the night the Desaroths had decided to stage a final assault. If they had won, it had been a costly victory: the corpses of Desaroths far outnumbered those of the humans. The ship was full of grisly sights. The Desaroth bodies they discarded onto the sands. For the human's they decided to give a honorable burial. Though some bodies were unrecognizable, Farin saw many faces that had come with him to Zurhell. It was an ironic, and to some extent a heavy thought that made him realize that in not coming aboard the ship, his life had been secured.

[Webbicles]

More, for those still reading. Enjoy.

--Webb.



Zeg had arrived quickly, and now the entire crew was busy scavenging the prize. To Morgby, it was a good catch: weapons, fuel, metal, and a host of other things had been found and were being dragged out of the ship. This transfer of materiel was taking hours, considering the crew had had to take shelter from the heat during the mid-day inside the Syzygy. As the sun descended closer to the horizon, the crew emerged from the ship and began their work again. Farin had decided to aid the crew, and was busy hauling a large tank of fuel, when Morgby called him on his com-link.

"Come to the command center, fast," he said. He spoke with an uneasy tone.

Leaving the transportation to a crew member, Farin entered the Syzygy and made his way to the command center, the heart of the Syzygy. There Morgby and Zeg were waiting for him, standing next to a monitor manned by Josh.

"What is it?" asked Farin.

"We've picked up a fleet on the fringe of the system," Morgby said. Josh tapped a few buttons and showed Farin. There, on the monitor, were numerous small green spots dotting the fringe of a real-time map of the planetary system.

"They came out of hyperspace a few minutes ago, sir," Josh said.

The spots were moving quickly towards Zurhell, Farin noticed, but this did not catch his attention. The signal of the ships was being displayed as well. Perhaps Morgby and Zeg hadn't noticed it, or perhaps they didn't know what it meant, but Farin did. It had been ingrained in his mind many times in his brutal training: the war signal, the signal from the Human Fleet sent out to all who would listen, telling them to prepare, telling them that they were coming, and with them the bloody flood of war. Farin faced Morgby and told him so. "They will be here soon," he said, "and you will not be able to leave for days."

The news shocked and unnerved Morgby. "Why?" he said. "Why are they coming here? What could they possibly want?" Morgby knew what planetary battles could be like.

"It must be the Desaroths," Farin answered. "War must be erupting on the fringe between our space and the Desaroth's. This is why they attacked us. This is a border world, Morgby. They must have some plan for it. Perhaps its a staging world. In any case the army will try and stop them."

"I wonder if your scavenged ship didn't send some message," Zeg said. "Or would they send this signal for some other reason?"

"Likely," said Farin, "but they may not know if anyone is still alive."

"What about the Desaroths?" asked Morgby. "Where is their fleet?"

"Probably already here," Zeg said before Farin could answer. "Our scanner hasn't been up for two days. Who knows what could have landed here?"

At that moment there came a terrible roar across the desert. It was followed by a deep tremor. Then came an omninous, foreboding silence. Farin and the others stood tense, waiting. And then it came. Roar after roar, rumble upon rumble, pounding after pounding. The ship shook violently. On the monitor, a single green dot trailed the others, then faded completely.

"Planetary Cannons!" Morgby said under his breath. "I know the sound. Get the crew in the ship now Josh!" he shouted. "Zeg! Farin! Follow me."

Morgby, Farin, and Zeg stormed out of the command center, passing through a hall to a narrow set of stairs. Climbing them, they came to a small, rotating watchpost on the roof of the ship. Zeg pressed a button and moved the post westward, the direction of the rumbles. Shielding their eyes from the sun, they took up a pair of binoculars and scanned the horizon. Even in the sun's glare the three could easily see large flashes on the horizon. The tremors continued. There is no mistaking this: the Desaroths were not simply on Zurhell, they were massed on the planet. Each knew that weapons of this magnitude accompanied only the largest of armies, the grandest of fleets. Such was on the planet. The flashes raged on. Below the watchpost could be seen the crew struggling madly to bring what scrap had been extracated inside the ship. Many had already entered and had taken their posts.

"How far do you think the cannons are?" Morgby asked as he peered through the binoculars.

"Sixty, sevently miles away at most," Farin answered. "The Desaroths set up perimeters around them. Those troops must be at least forty miles away, if not closer. If we leave, the fleet of the Desaroths will shoot us down."

"I'm aware of that," the captain said. "We'll stay here for the time being. Hopefully we'll evade their watch. Zeg, get back to your post. Farin, you keep watch. Let me know if anything else happens."

"And you are going?"

"Back to my command," Morgby said gruffly. He descended the stairs and dissapeared from view. Zeg followed, leaving Farin to himself. Morgby had left the binoculars on the metal sill. Farin picked them up and scanned the horizon. The number of flashes rapidly increased, as if numerous cannons, perhaps those with a shorter range, were now firing. Farin com-linked Josh, asking where the human fleet was. "Close," Josh said. "I'd say they'll be here in a few minutes."

By this time the sun was setting, bathing Zurhell in a firery orange glow. The flashes roared on. Soon Morgby came on the ship's com-link, telling the crew that the Human Army's fleet was entering orbit around the planet. Looking into the sky, Farin saw numerous, indistinct spacecraft descending slowly upon Zurhell. Their silver hulls glowed blood red in the light of the setting sun, now creeping into the horizon. Looking once more to the west, Farin spied other ships as well: but these were not human. No, they were to challenge the massive armada that brooded above the planet, for they were the ships of the Desaroths. They were far away from the Syzygy, tiny black specks, but they were coming closer fast. The cannons did not cease their barrage. Streaking above the Syzygy came repeated blasts of lasers. Farin looked at the fleet and again, craning his neck to see them. The lasers were wearing down the shields of the ships, but they hadn't done so quite yet. Lost for a moment in the terrible spectacle, Farin now realized that the fleet was landing near the Syzygy itself, and quickly told Morgby. The captain passed the message on to his crew. Already the deafening roar of the fleet's engines could be heard, rattling the Syzygy as if the ship would fall apart. The cannons continued.

Out of the dying sunset came the Desaroth destroyers, no longer specks but large, menacing craft, bearing down on the human fleet. From them streamed bursts of lasers. Above the Syzygy battle erupted. The two fleets opened fire on each other. The noise was deafening. Soon Morgby came back to the watchpost and took a glance for himself, as the sky became filled with the the glow of the ship's engines, the blue and red flashes of the lasers, and the looming presence of two terrible fleets combating each other. In the west, the sun had nearly set. It's tip sent a sparkling ray of red light onto Zurhell, lighting up the ships with a terrible glare. For a moment it persisted, and then with a snap the light went out. The metallic hulls of the ships returned to their natural color, lit now only by the fire they exchanged. On and on they fought. Debris plunged to the ground like firery meteors. Explosions rained down shrapnel. Night crept over the world. The battle continued.

Above the din there cam the sounds of a ship's engines coming nearer. Morgby and Farin looked up and saw troop carriers dropping out of the battle, lit only by the fires raging in some of the crafts. One by one the gargantuan ships touched the surface, opening their hulls to reveal tens of thousands of soldiers. The Syzygy became surrounded by scores of ships. The battle raged on. An hour passed, and another. The sands became a field of firery debris, lighting the ground up under the sparkling velvet sky. The battle raged on. At last the blasts of the lasers ceased. The Desaroth ships, their hulls burning and smoking, retreated slowly westward. The human crafts, faring no better, did not pursue them. Many were ablaze, reams of smoke drifting upward from their hulls. The soldiers had set up a defensive shield on the surface, and it was into this haven that the battered carcasses descended, surrounding the Syzygy with a forest of lights, troops, smoke and fire.

[Inquisistor7]

Sorry, I have been a little busy recently so I haven’t had a chance to read. Here is some feedback.

They would set off at dawn, and when they reached the ship, they would, as Zeg termed it, "raise hell".

Not especially original, the whole starting at dawn as well as the “raise hell” quote, but I don’t really mind. Finding more original phrases and settings will come, but since none of us are professional writers it is fine to have a degree of cliche material..

The ship's belly opened, and from it came the speeders, like a swarm of wasps humming menacingly southwards. There was a slight breeze blowing across Zurhell as they sped across the dunes. Behind them lay the Syzygy, glowing a blood red in the dawn light.

For sentences like these, a slight touch of extra detail would help in creating a better image in the reader’s mind (in my opinion). The rest of the paragraph is solid, but often when I’m reading your writing I feel the detailing is just a little lacking.

The right and left flanks of the speeders encircled the craft, while Farin, Morgby, and the rest of the team continued their course. In a matter of moments the ship was surrounded. They shut down and hopped off their speeders, kneeling in the sand with their weapons aimed at the craft. With the whirring noise of their speeders fading, an strange silence descende

The repetition of the word “speeder” is sort of troublesome for me. Also, I forget what they look like. So, some more description would be nice.

The darkness of the craft was deep, and they switched their lights, breaking the inky back before them. But what met their eyes was not what they had expected. Heaps of grossly dismembered corpses of humans and Desaroths lay everywhere.

I am pretty sure you meant to say “black” in the first sentence. Anyway, I liked these sentences since they painted a good picture.

It must be the Desaroths," Farin answered. "War must be erupting on the fringe between our space and the Desaroth's. This is why they attacked us. This is a border world, Morgby. They must have some plan for it. Perhaps its a staging world. In any case the army will try and stop them."

This helped explain what is going on overall in the story. At least for me it did.

At that moment there came a terrible roar across the desert. It was followed by a deep tremor. Then came an omninous, foreboding silence. Farin and the others stood tense, waiting. And then it came. Roar after roar, rumble upon rumble, pounding after pounding. The ship shook violently. On the monitor, a single green dot trailed the others, then faded completely.

Their silver hulls glowed blood red in the light of the setting sun, now creeping into the horizon.

It's tip sent a sparkling ray of red light onto Zurhell, lighting up the ships with a terrible glare.

Good stuff, man.

Oh, and I liked the repetition of the phrase “The battle raged on” in the last paragraph. It was well used.

As far as the characters go, they are solid, in my opinion. To be honest, though, I think they could stand some more development. It just seems to me that they are only around to fulfill a role, that is, (as someone once told me), they need to be “brought to life.”

Don’t get me wrong, though, I like this story. Please keep it up.

[Webbicles]

Hey to all. Here's some more (better late than never). Thanks to Inquiz for comments. Enjoy all.


Another day dawned bright and clear over the dunes of Zurhell. The sun, its light bursting upon the sparkling sands, rose above the world, sending into oblivion the dark shadows of night. In the midst of these sands and dunes, looming up from them, were tens of vast mettalic craft. In the morning, their hulls greeted the sunrise with a glow of gold. The shadows cast across the deserts made the ships seem like monsters brooding beneath a pall of smoke, not yet dissapated from the lack of wind. Now, in the coming mid-day, they were fully illuminated and were revealed for their true selves: battle-scarred, blackened, but strong, the human fleet stretched across the desert, the tips of the ships' hulls pointed west like menacing phalanx set against the Desaroths. On the sands under the shield were the vehicles of war: seemingly endless streams of tanks, troops, speeders, and other, more powerful weapons poured from the ships. It was a grand and terrible sight.

In the midst of this fleet was a comparatively small craft: the Syzygy. Among the few ships undamaged, the it stood as a strange core to the fleet surrounding it. This did not bother its captain, for Morgby Darsin had never been surrounded by so many powerful craft and was awed at the might around him. Zeg, in his usual, cybernetic manner, did not seem to preoccupied with this turn of events. Farin, however, knew it was a signal to return to the army.

Even as the ragged destroyers had landed the previous night, the troops of the carriers had been busy erecting their weapons and vehicles. As they stared out the watchpost, Farin and Morgby watched with great interest the troop's work. The vast shield that they lay under would provide protection from most bombardments, but both gathered that the army would soon leave this protection to venture out in the sands before them and fight the Desaroths. Despite his interest, Morgby had ordered the crew to remain inside the ship. Only Farin was allowed to leave. In his own mind though, Farin had decided to remain on the Syzygy and stay out of the way of the trooper's preparations, for the time being. It was not long, however, before a message was sent to "the Syzygy's captain", calling him to the destroyer Inferno immediately.

Soon an escort came to the Syzygy. It was not long before the captain came to them, accompanied by Farin, Zeg, and a few high crew members. The soldiers escorting them wore suits similar to Farin's teal one, but these were colored various shades of beige, camoflauge. They were lead past the assembly areas, past the vast tanks and assault vehicles, past the thousands of busy troops, to the largest craft of the fleet. It bore the marks the last night's battle, and in some parts still smoked. It did, however, look fully fuctional, and the least damaged of the ships. The size impressed Morgby's group the most, even Farin, for the craft was vast beyond imagination, its crew numbering into the thousands. From its holds were still streaming equipment and weapons, and was up a large ramp that Morgby, Farin, and the rest ascended into the gargantuan ship.

They entered a narrow hall, enough room available for only two men to stand abreast. The halls were well lit. Leading them through these twisted passages, the escort lead the men from the belly of the ship towards its pinnacle, the control room. Along the way they passed numerous soldiers and crew members. As they entered the control room, large metal doors quickly parted, revealing a vast control room. Monitors were ablaze everywhere, soldiers and crew were everywhere; this was the hub of the ship, probably of the whole fleet, and it was furiously busy. The soldiers led them past the work of men towards a man nearing his middle ages. His suit was completely black, bearing a dragon's head in the middle, and looked to be made of a tougher stuff than the rest of the soldier's suits. Around it was strapped a chain-like belt, from which hung two pistols and a long, curious handle of an energy blade. His hair was long but neatly cut, dark black. He turned to see the leader of the escort salute him, murmur some words, and present Morgby, Farin, Zeg, and the crew to him.

"Introduce yourselves to the Admiral," the escort said.

The men did so, ending with Farin, who introduced himself as a captain and soldier.

"You are a captain?" The General asked. "From the fortress Norion?"

"I am. I was rescued from execution by Captain Morgby and his crew," Farin answered.

"Good," the General said. "I am Sirion Fallis, Admiral of this fleet, commander of the I, II, III, and IV armies, and captain of the destroyer you are in, the Inferno."

Farin saluted, while Morgby and his crew briefly bowed their heads.

"You are a scavenger, captain Morgby?"

"Yes, sir, I am. I came here to reap the remains of the Desaroth's attack."

"The rescue ship?"

"That is correct."

"And you found captain Farin?"

"That is also correct."

The Admiral paced about for a moment, his hand on his lip in a meditative gesture. Suddenly he looked at Farin.

"You are a captain, and will continue to be," he said. "Several of mine died last night. You shall take one of their positions. As for the rest of you, you cannot leave Zurhell until we have the victory or until defeat is absolutely certain."

"I thought so," said Morgby. "I was a considered to be a conscript once, in the first war, and I think I will help you out now. So long as the downed rescue ship is mine, I will aid you in whatever manner you deem best, and whatever manner I think will not bring undue harm to my crew."

The Admiral was taken back by this, though he showed it very briefly. He was a man who could hide his thoughts well, and the visage of surprise flickered on his face but for a moment.

"I don't know what you mean by undue, but I accept. Return to your ship," he said.

Morgby and his crew bowed and were escorted out of the ship. Farin watched them leave the command center, until the Admiral adressed him again.

"Is Morgby trustworthy?" he asked.

"Yes. A good man, as far as scavengers come," Farin said.

"He could be of some use, you think?"

"I'm not sure. He is an excellent fighter, I think. It depends on what you want him to do," Farin said.

"Obviously," said the Admiral. A silence passed between them as the Admiral paced about again. Finally he looked up at Farin.

"The invasion was brutal," he said.

Farin turned, pausing for a moment. "Yes, it was," he said. "War is brutal."

The Admiral came close to Farin, and looked hard at him.

"Do you know why they are here? Because this is the launching point, the launching point for a second war against us. That must not happen. They have sent a massive fleet against us--thousands of troops and weapons. Very soon, today perhaps, they will march against us. To lose here is to open the ghastly wound of war, a wound that has for years been healing. If Zurhell is taken then the enemy will have a staging ground to assault the rest of human space.You, and I, all of us in this fight, must fight as we have never fought before. This is the battle at the gate. To lose the gate is to lose the war. Your battle was brutal? It will pale in comparison to the this."

"I guessed as much already," Farin answered.

"Good," the Admiral said. "Then you know how important this is. Go and choose your division."

"Yes, sir," Farin answered.

Farin left the command center. A soldier had given him a list of the leaderless divisions, and Farin randomly chose one. Within a few minutes he had assembled its members and told them of his leadership. Then he set them about to work. The Admiral had sent a message to all captains and generals, telling them to prepare to advance eastward. But the horizon in that direction was as clear as possible, and from it came no Desaroths.

Farin was for long busy with the preparations for battle, but found the time to speak with Morgby. He found the captain in his own command center, busily monitoring the horizons.

"Do you have a moment?" Farin asked as he entered the center.

Morgby looked up from a monitor. "A few," he answered. "Come to my quarters."

Farin followed Morgby to a small room adjoining the command center. There was a small window looking out towards the desert, a metal desk, and a red light shining above. The quiet pulse of the Syzygy droned about them. Morgby did not sit down, but turned and asked Farin what he wanted.

"Several things," he answered. "First, let me ask whether you still will help in the battle."

"I will, 'same with the crew. We have no love for the Desaroths, I doubt many do. But in any case, Farin, I think you and that Admiral need all the help you can get your hands on," Morgby said.

Farin smiled wryly. "Maybe. There's a catch to all of this: for you to fight, you can't lead your own men. The Admiral wanted you to be under an authority to coordinate attacks and so forth, and I convinced him to put you under me. So I'd like to know, and be honest, if you have a problem with that."

Morgby grunted. "Not that you asked me first, not that he listed that as a condition," he said.

"No. The Admiral speaks less then he thinks."

"Like most generals and Admirals, I would imagine," Morgby said, "except for the flamboyant ones who really like war."

"Something like that."

"Well, Farin, perhaps that's the whole reason we found you: for you to lead us. Fate can be a powerful god, my good fellow."

"If it were a god, I suppose."

"Yes, if it were. Do I have a problem with it? Yes, a slight one. Probably a pride issue more than anything else. But I'll give you a warning, Farin: don't play around with the crew. We're fighting because we want to. Remember that."

"I will," answered Farin.

"Then we are at your command," Morgby said, perhaps not without a tinge of stubborness intertwined in his tone. He saluted, and Farin saluted back.

"My first order would be to have things remain as they are. You have control of the ship for now, I'll handle battle preparations. I believe I can outfit the Syzygy with some armaments and defense, so some of the crew will do that. Perhaps you can keep them if we win," Farin said.

"I'd sell it as sure as I'm sitting here," Morgby said.

Farin smiled and turned to leave, when Morgby coughed a bit and asked him to stay a moment.

"Where does Zeg fit into all of this?" he asked.

"A medic I suppose," Farin answered.

"Don't you think he could do a bit more? Zeg isn't just a medic," Morgby said, his eyes narrowing slightly on Farin.

"How so?"

[Webbicles]

"In the Desaroth Wars, a few cybernetics were built from odd parts to help fight. When it ended they learned new practices besides fighting. Zeg was one of them. He became a medic, but I daresay he still knows how to fight. That's why I take him with me on skirmishes. He's a warrior," Morgby said. "He was built for fighting."

Farin was surprised. He had heard rumors of cybernetics being built for war, mechanical beings sent against the most fearsome Desaroths. Rumors of who they really were also abounded. But they had been discontinued after the war, for they were expensive to build. Perhaps there were other reasons as well, perhaps not. The news however was encouraging to Farin. From his look alone Farin knew Zeg to be a formidable soldier.

"I'll ask him first," Farin said. "In fact I'll be going to see him now.

"Good," Morgby said.

The two left the room, and Farin, upon exiting the command center, came to the medical station. There he found Zeg busily punching away at the keys to a monitor.

"Hello again, Farin," he said. "Morgby told me about your command."

Farin walked in slowly, his hands behind his back. "What do you think?"

"I think? Ha!" he laughed, sounding that strange mechanical weeze that he did days before. "What I think doesn't matter, Farin. This is your command."

Farin paced silently about the medical room, only the sound of his footsteps and the humming of machines breaking the silence. "You like being a doctor?"

Zeg continued to furiously tap the keys. "Yes. It's a very interesting profession."

"How would you feel about fighting?" Farin asked.

Zeg stopped, and raised his head. His back was facing Farin, but he quickly turned his head, his green eyes glowing.

"Why do you ask?" he said suspiciously.

"You're a cybernetic," Farin answered, "and you seem an able fighter."

Zeg fell silent for a moment, weighing the choice. For some reason he seemed hesitant to accept Farin's offer, for an offer it was and not a command. Eventually he spoke.

"I'll fight," he said.

[TJiZzle]

Finally! You haven't posted in ages. Anyway it was a nice continuation and just keep it up.

[Inquisistor7]

Well, well, well. I was a little afraid that you given up on this story, but then you reappear, and present us with a well written chapter that presents the best character development yet. Good job. I wish I had the time tonight to go over the parts I liked, but alas I will only will deal mostly with he flaws I noticed.


were tens of vast mettalic craft.

The desrciption of there being “tens” of them doesn’t really work for me. I don’t know why, but it seems a little odd (IMO).


Now, in the coming mid-day, they were fully illuminated and were revealed for their true selves: battle-scarred, blackened, but strong, the human fleet stretched across the desert, the tips of the ships' hulls pointed west like menacing phalanx set against the Desaroths.


I liked the detailing, but this sentence is a run-on. After the word “strong” you should’ve started a new sentence.


Among the few ships undamaged, the it stood as a strange core to the fleet surrounding it.


You don’t need the “the” before the “it” after the comma.


Despite his interest,


I would suggest using a different word than “interest” since you used it a short time earlier and it feels repetitive to me.


and stay out of the way of the trooper's preparations,


I think you want to use the plural possessive in this case (id est, troopers’).


and was up a large ramp that Morgby, Farin, and the rest ascended into the gargantuan ship.


This phrase seems to be missing a pronoun or an article. Perhaps if it went like this it would work better: “and it was up a large....”


a man nearing his middle ages.


This is an odd phrasing, IMO. I think it would be better as “a man nearing middle age.”


and a long, curious handle of an energy blade.


Instead of “a” use “the”; I like the detail, however, that you are putting into your descriptions.


His hair was long but neatly cut, dark black


The “dark black” would work better, IMO, before “hair.”


"Good," the General said. "I am Sirion Fallis, Admiral of this fleet, commander of the I, II, III, and IV armies, and captain of the destroyer you are in, the Inferno."


Umm, wouldn’t he say “first” or “1st” instead of just numbers?


It will pale in comparison to the this."


You don’t need the “the” before “this.”


But the horizon in that direction was as clear as possible, and from it came no Desaroths.


In general it is a good idea to avoid using conjuntions to start sentences, but I don’t have a problem with it here. Still, the sentence feels a little clunky to me.



need all the help you can get your hands on


The “your hands on” seems superfluous.


"No. The Admiral speaks less then he thinks."


It should be “than” not “then” methinks.

Overall, this chapter was well done. Thanks for posting and please keep it up!

[Webbicles]

Good feedback, Inquiz.

To all, here's a page or so more:




For much of the rest of the day, Farin prepared Morgby's crew for fighting the Desaroths. In truth, he had only to drill them but a little more, for they were well versed in fighting styles. Farin secured for them improved weapons and suits of armor, although their's would be a dark red to distinguish them from the professional soldiers. Farin wondered why the Admiral had not allowed them the camoflauged beige suits, but he had his private opinions. Of them he spoke nothing, preferring to see if his guesses were proved true. The crew found the suits to their liking, though Farin warned them that they only provided protection against shrapnel and a few direct shots.

"Don't think that you're invincible," he said.

The new weapons they also liked, but found them more bulky than their old models. Farin secured target practice for them in the fields set up by the army and in the Inferno, where ship to ship warfare training was taught. This would prove to be vital to their survival in the coming days. And if the crew had expected any snobbery from the professional soldiers, they were suprised to recieve nothing but advice and encouragment, though the latter was scant. The heavy pall of battle was descending upon the soldiers. Their target practice, drills, and preparations were come to an end for the day, the only avenues to escape the anticipation of battle. The sun had set serenley in the west, and night shrouded Zurhell in its dark mists. In the west could be seen small flashes, and on the soft breezes came the sounds of metal set on metal, and faint laser blasts. The enemy was preparing.

While the soldiers slept, the Admiral called a meeting in the Infero. Farin came with Morgby, seating himself in a large, dark, circular room at the center of which was a large map of Zurhell. All other captains, commanders, and generals were also present, from all of the armies. The map was the only substantial light in the room, lighting the faces of those present with an eerie glow. The Admiral was first to speak.

"As most of you know," he said, "we have opened up a three pronged front against the Desaroths. To the north lies the I army, to the south and IV." Here he pointed out the positions of the armies. "At the center are stationed the II and III armies and us. Tomorrow there will be battle. Our cruisers above have espied the enemy opening his own front in an offensive manner. At dawn's light, they will move. We must do likewise. Generals, you know our plans, and the commanders too. You captains, will be informed of your orders tonight. All of our movements shall be offensive. The battle shall be waged on the hard sand flats to the west, in the dunes and mountains to the north, and in the scant shrubs and trees that grow along the river Sol. There will be tanks, cruiser battles, and fire-fights, and, perhaps, ship to ship warfare. That said, I have recieved dark news: the Desaroths have sent against us their most prized battle-cruiser, the DarkStar. This will give our enemy a great advantage, and though reiforcements are coming to even the scales, the cruiser will arrive well before them. We must be daring and cunning to defeat the enemy. We must show no mercy to the evil enemy yonder."

There was a round of warm approval of the Admiral's words. He sat down, and bade the men to closely examine the map and their own positions. They did so, and the room soon hummed with talk of strategy and speculation. Farin and Morgby conversed with a general who would be leading the II army into battle, and, incidentally, the general under whom Farin was under.

"Do you know what our task is tomorrow?" Farin asked him.

"Yes. Your order came directly from Admiral Sirion. You, along with a small crack force from my army, shall stand by to assault any battlecruisers the Desaroths choose to send against us," the General answered.

"Do you mean assault or boarding," Farin asked. "And what of Morgby's crew?"

"Boarding, captain, with the hopes of capture and the expectations of only disrupting enemy bombardment of our troops. The crew will accompany you. Have them and your division on standby, captain Farin. Battle is fast approaching."

Farin saluted, nodded and turned his attention to the map. Morgby was nearby, discussing the probability of bombing by air-craft during the battle, and whether they would reach the camp. To his pleasure, he was told the shield could withstand a continual bombardment for several days before weakening. The Syzygy would be safe. Once Morgby was done talking, Farin drew him aside and told him their orders.

"I thought they would do this," Farin said. "Your crew has had some experience boarding scrap ships and such, and I think they thought you would be best taking a cruiser."

"We've never invaded a cruiser, Farin," Morgby said edgily.

"I know, but I had the crew some training in it today, in this very ship," Farin said. "And they will have my division alongside them."

"That will help. But if the Desaroths have hardened troops on board, then things will go sour quickly."

"Sour or not, that's what we're doing," Farin said. "Are you coming?"

"I've never turned down a good tussle," Morgby said.

The two stayed in the room a while longer, gaining a clearer idea of tomorrow's battle. They learned that during the night they and the Desaroths had been digging opposing trenches on the flats. The two enemies had not attacked each other, but had silently dug long trenches in which thousands would fight. There was a feeling running strongly in every man there that the next day would dawn with battle, for the digging of the trenches could mean nothing else. Their guesses would prove to be correct. For while most of the army slept, and the many sentinels watched, far away the Desaroths prepared for battle. The great flashes had ended. The diggers had returned to their camps. Nothing could be seen on the horizon, but on the winds continued to drift the sounds of grinding metal and warriors preparing.

[Bullroarer]

Nothing better than good old sci fi

[Webbicles]

Here's some more. If follow ups don't come quickly, it doesn't mean I've dropped the story. Enjoy,

-Webbicles.



The Battle for Zurhell:

The next day dawned strangely silent across Zurhell. The soft breezes of the night had ended. The cold air had warmed. The sun had cast its golden rays across the human camp, lighting the furious preparations of the army. If one could pull into the reaches of space and view from some point there, he would see that the main camp was indeed the center of a long line stretched across the desert like a shallow crescent moon. Perhaps fifty miles away, the observer would see another crescent, similar in appearance to the first. Like two, dark opposing moons, the lines were stirring fervently.

Already the humans were enacting their plans. In the south their first divisions were entering the dry shrub-forest on the river Sol. In the north, small platoons were advancing cautiously amongst the narrow canyons and tall slopes of the mountains. And in the center, where the strongest ships lay, the army was preparing to embark. Scouts had already sighted slow advances by the Desaroths in their direction. The tanks were started, the speeders and vehicles, the roar of their engines rumbling across the baked sands. Suddenly, from the south, came the sound of lasers and shots. Scattered, but ominous. Battle was coming. And it was at this moment that a loud siren blared forth. The siren that signaled the approach of deathly bombers. Already the long range artillery of the army was firing shots into the west. But from that horizon came no return fire.

Farin and Morgby had had a few hours of sleep; their men much more. Now they were awake and alert, positioned at the rear of the camp, preparing to board a vast warship named the Brimstone. Though not as large as the Inferno, the Brimstone was a threat on its own merit. Armed with hundreds of laser cannons, rockets, machine gun platforms and other weapons, it stood second only to its vast cousin. It was a hybrid between a carrier and destroyer: its purpose was to carry to send multiple little vessels against a similar Desaroth ship. These small ships, filled with perhaps one-hundred soldiers each, would dock with some enemy craft. The front door would slam down, and the troops would pour into the hangers of the enemy vessel in an attempt to take it over by invasion. Of all the methods of warfare, this was most feared by each side. For the traps that could be laid, the amount of troops on board, the possibility of whether the captain would destroy his ship, all these were great unknowns. On the other hand, if the invaders gained a quick advantage, then they would almost certainly gain the command center and claim the craft for their own.

As of yet, the Desaroths had not yet sent any warship against the army. Far above them rained down small bombs, but against the shield these did little damage. Scattered fire was heard now both from the south and the north, but on the whole the fighting seemed to be at a dreadful lull. This lasted for an hour, until there suddenly came the sound of artillery opening fire. Not the human's, but the Desaroth's, and in the vast field of hardned sand that stretched before the army, shells pounded into the dust. On the very edge of sight could now be seen advancing tanks and speeders, and behind them, the bloodthirsy infantry of the Desaroths. And suddenly there rang out a blaring siren, different of the tone used to warn of bombardment. It was more sinister, more urgent. It was the signal to prepare to advance. The soldiers, tanks, vehicles and speeders formed their ranks, and waited. Soon the Admiral himself emerged from the Inferno, standing on the craft's roof.. He wished to address them one last time, before the battle began. The enemy's shelling continued to pound the flats before them, as an ominous war drum.

"Soldiers!" the Admiral cried out, and his voice carried to every man there, even to Farin, Morgby, and Zeg. "Before us lies the enemy! I need not tell you of their cunningness, their strength, or their power, for they are a foe that we all know well. I need not tell you the price of defeat. I need not say what shall happen if we fail." The Admiral paused, gazing at the mighty army assembled before him---"But we will not. We will challenge and destroy the hellions who march against us. Their war will end here. Let no man hold back, let no mercy be shown, for we must, we must win through, no matter the cost! Forward, in the name or your people, your ruler, and all things you hold close! Forward! destroy the enemy, and let none escape your wrath! Forward!"

There erupted from the army a shout of agreement, so loud that it shook the very earth of Zurhell.

"The battle will be savage today," Farin said as the Admiral ended.

At that moment the siren became a long, droning sound. The vast army of the humans pulled away from the haven of their ships into the field of war. Tanks roared across the desert, transports followed, and the steady hum of the speaders screeched across the plains as they advanced. Ahead could be seen the lines of the Desaroths stretched out across the land, advancing with great speed. Like two terrible giants aroused from sleep and pitted against each other, so were the two armies. High in the sky raged small fighter craft, each side sending some to attack the other. But the defense of the advancing armies was solid, and these attacks did little damage. Closer and closer the two armies came. Tanks and artillery fired a lethal barrage of shelling. Soldiers on each side fell. Closer they came. Snipers began to fire. Machine guns blazed. Closer and closer, until each side at last found cover in their trenches. Suddenly fighting erupted on all flanks, and the soldiers began to fire at each other across the trenches. The true battle had begun.

On the Sol they fought in the dense foilage of the shrubs. In the mountains they fought amongst the rocks. On the sands they fought face to face, and raged against each other in a fury of lasers, bullets, and artillery. To this the assault on Norion seemed but a forshadowing, or a cheap imitation. For here was true battle in all its terrible glory. It quickly accelerated. Advances were attempted on both sides only to be brutally repelled. For long minutes the comabt raged until there emerged a mighty Desaroth captain, standing above the trenches of his soldiers. Lasers and bullets raged about him. In his right hand was a red flag, bearing the insignia of his army: a black spider with hideously long legs set against a red field. At the tip of the flag was an energy blade, yet unlit. In his left hand he held aloft his gun. Suddenly, with a terrible cry he lit his blade and pointed the flag at the human trenches. The whole of the first Desaroth line emerged with a shout of death and charged. Tanks and speeders followed them. The dark tide washed over the desert, and with a fury bore down on their enemy.

The humans did not flee. Again and again they fired at their foe, yet the Desaroths did not stop. From the vehicles an endless hail of bullets poured into the lines of the Desaroths. Hundreds fell, staining the desert with their blood, until at last they reached the trenches. Suddenly the humans lit their blades and reared above the trench, colliding with the Desaroths. Their front line was destroyed. Again and again the humans thrust their bayonets against the Desaroths. Brutal combat emerged. Tanks fired within twenty feet of each other. Speeders harried the flanks. Small fighters strafed the lines of their enemies. And finally, above the carnage, out of the west, there came speeding with ferocity anew the warships of the Desaroths. But from the east came the challege of humans, storming against their enemy with unearthly speed.

[Bullroarer]

Time to get things started, yo.

[Flak]

Oh, and a note to moderator Flak: this story gets bloody, but I didn't see any rule forbidding that. If you have a problem with it take it off and I'll edit it.

No problem. Just, as you did, make sure to include a warning so that those who might be offended don't read it.

Thanks.

[Webbicles]

During the battle Farin, Morgby, and Zeg had stayed at the camp. They had heard the roar of the fighting, though it only served to make them uneasy. Farin's troops and Morgby's crew were assembled at the bottom of the Brimstone, awaiting orders to move. To ease their nerves the soldiers talked with each other, or did useless excersises meant to distract them. Then the order came. The roar of battle became occulted by the blast of the human's warships preparing to launch against the enemy, for the Desaroths had sent their warships into battle.

Gathering Morgby's crew and his division, Farin, Zeg, and Morgby boarded the Brimstone, coming to special docks made specially for boarding troops. It was not more than a minute after this then the ship's massive engines thrust them away from the camp into the bright, blue sky. Their power shook the ship violently. There were a few windows in the dock, and the soldiers looked out from these. The camp grew ever smaller, until with a violent halt the ship ceased its rise. Its main engines were engaged, and with a terrible power and speed they made for the battle. Flying alongside them were many other ships: some smaller, many large. The Inferno was not among them. Darting ahead and amongst them were thousands of tiny fighters. Suddenly there rang out a droning siren, and the words of the Brimstone's commander:

"We are approaching the battle. Prepare for combat."

"Lock and load!" Farin shouted. "Form ranks!"

Their nerves suddenly racked beyond their imagination, the soldiers formed lines to the great boarding ships in the dock. Farin looked out of the window and beheld the battle far below. Even from his great height, Farin knew that on the desert there was reeking terrible carnage. Looking up from the battle he saw the vast fleet of the Desaroths ahead. Racing ahead of the cruisers, the fighters of the humans and Desaroths attacked, darting amongst each other in aerial combat. But the cruisers did not fire, until they were a mere thousand feet away. Then, with a sudden fierceness the fleets opened up on each other. Farin now beheld firsthand the fearsome warfare that now engulfed him. Shot after shot was fired. The roars of the guns shook the ships violently. Lasers flashed between the fleets. Rockets fired one after the other, again and again. Closer and closer the ships came to each soon. Around them raged the dogfights of thousands of fighters. Again the again the Brimstone was pounded with terrible fire, and again and again it returned it. Explosions. Tremors. Fear. None in the hanger knew what exactly was happening. Outside the ship roared the engines of some enemy cruiser, pounding away at the Brimstone. Into Farin's com-link at last came the order to "...." to what? It was cut off!

"Say again!" Farin shouted. Silence."Say again! Damit!" Silence. He looked around helplessly, cursing. Suddenly there was a terrible explosion. Farin and his troopers were thrown to their backs. The hull of the hanger fell away in a rain of firery debris. Shrapnel flew into the soldier's suits. Wind whipped into their faces. Quickly they stood up to see the brown hull of a Desaroth warship loomed into view. Out of it were pouring hundreds of Desaroth boarding ships. Many were less then twenty feet away.

"Form you're ranks!" Farin shouted, "Form you're ranks!" But the troopers could not overcome their surprise.

The Desaroth vessels boarded the Brimstone Their doors fell down with a clash, and the Desaroths charged, firing their weapons into the ranks of stunned troopers.

"Fire! Fire!" Farin cried. Suddenly the whole of the humans began to fire their lasers. Everywhere the hanger had became a flury of lasers. Chaos engulfed the battle. A Desaroth leaped at Farin. The captain took the butt of his gun and struck the Desaroth in the face, forcing him off the ship down into the wide space below. Farin could not see Morgby or Zeg, an turned to look for them, when another Desaroth leaped onto him, swiping his rifle away. He raised his energy blade high, and plunged downward. Suddenly a great metallic hand caught the hand and crunched it. The blade fell. The Desaroth cried out, and was delivered a lethal laser shot. Farin grabbed his rifle and continued to fire. Beside him was Zeg, a shock rifle in each hand, shooting into the Desaroth's line. But the Desaroths were a cunning enemy, and despite the desperate defence of the soldiers, they were soon forced against the hanger wall.

There was only one exit from the hangar, a door small enough to allow only one soldier to pass through it at a time. It was opened, and one by one the soldiers left the hanger. The door designed to hamper the enemy now choked the exit of Farin's troops. But they held firm, and at last Farin and Zeg passed through the door, last to leave. They slid the door shut, cutting off the deafning noise of the laser blasts. Against the door they could hear the Desaroths firing lasers and shouting orders to each other.

They were now in the halls of the Brimstone, and save, if only for a few minutes. Farin quickly organized a bulwark of soldiers at the door, ready to kill any Desaroth that might pass it. In the chaos, Farin had not seen Morgby come into the halls.

"Where is Morgby!" Farin shouted to Zeg.

"I saw him get through the door!" Zeg answered, and then suddenly stood straight. The Desaroths had become strangely silent, save a single sound. Farin heard it, that click, click, click, before a bomb exploded.

"Get back! Get back!" he shouted. "Get back from the door!"

The door burst apart, sending shreds of metal into the soldiers. Out of the billowing smoke came the Desaroths. Battle erupted again.

"Hold them at the door!" Farin cried. "Fight!"

Pushing soldiers away, Zeg came to the gaping hole where the door once stood. Before him stood three strong Desaroths. As if his rifle was a club, Zeg smashed them against the wall. The soldiers kneeled behind him and fired. Many fell, but at the door there grew a pile of slain Desaroths. Then the pile was drawn away, and a mighty Desaroth stepped forward. He pushed Zeg back against the soldiers, entered with his own troops, and began to fight the humans with energy blades. Farin charged a grenade and threw into the midst of them. Yet the door had been breached, and the Desaroths, furious at their slow advance, assaulted the soldiers in a rage. But they did not budge.

Farin and Zeg stood in the midst of the battle, slaying many Desaroths. On his com-link had come no orders yet, as Farin suddenly realized. He drew back slightly.

"Hold the line, Zeg!" he shouted. "I"ll be back!"

Zeg nodded as Farin slowly retreated from the battle. Forcing his way through the cramped lines of soldiers was difficult, but at last Farin came to the end. Gathering his strength he ran from the battle to the command center. He must find out what was happening there. Within two minutes he came to a long, dimly lit hall that led to the center. At the end was supposed to be a great metal door, but it had been blasted apart to reveal a center filled with slaughtered humans. From his position Farin could see a great gash in the ship's roof, made so by some enemy warship's relentless fire upon it. A great shadow darkened the control room. Farin crouched to see the hull of a Desaroth cruiser stationed above the Brimstone. Into the center were Desaroths sliding down on long cords. Some were already in the room, tinkering with some a small, round metal ball. With horror Farin realized what they were doing: placing a marker for a battlecruiser's main weapon to aim on. Without thinking Farin placed two grenades in each hand and threw them into the room. But he was too late. They exploded, killing the Desaroths, but the marker remained. Farin fled. For two minutes the marker remained, and Farin at last came to the battle near the hanger, reaching the front line of the battle that still raged. Just as he did so, a brilliant laser shot into the Brimstone's command center. Building into a great fireball, it suddenly exlpoded. The Brimstone listed to one side and then other, then begin to spiral downard, down, down, down, into the battle that raged below. The Desaroths lost their footing, and with a terrible cry slid out of the hanger. The Brimstone, fires raging in its halls, smoke seeping from its windows, slipped out of the battle, past the raging fighters, down towards the desert. The Brimstone spun, gaining a terrible momentum before smashing into the desert of Zurhell.