Galactic Empire Wars: Destruction (The Galactic Empire Wars) Read online

  This was the smallest of the training domes, and it had taken some special tinkering with the assignment rosters to get these Humans assigned to this particular facility. Many of the other domes had much larger numbers, with the largest domes holding just over two thousand. What the Humans didn’t know was that the majority of their people were still in stasis and wouldn’t be awakened until they were needed to replace casualties. That’s how the Kleese worked. The sixty thousand Humans they had abducted would serve them for decades in a military capacity as they were awoken in small groups. Marken should know; his own race had been abducted in much the same way.

  Chapter Seven

  Michel Kirby swore as he fought the controls of the Raven. The fifty-meter prospecting ship was descending through Earth’s turbulent atmosphere.

  “Winds are gusting to over seventy,” Brian reported worriedly, as both of them worked to keep the ship steady. “Stabilizers are barely holding us on the flight path.”

  “What flight path?” Kirby complained as he fired several thrusters to keep the ship stable as it continued to descend. “We should have waited for the winds to calm before attempting this.” Small external wings had been added to the Raven to help increase flight stability. At the moment, they didn’t seem to be helping.

  “Ten kilometers to the ground,” Marcus Santos reported as he watched his instruments closely. “We’re coming down slightly southwest of our targeted landing zone.”

  “Damn,” Kirby muttered as he tried to adjust course. He glanced at the viewscreen just above the control panel, but all it showed was a thick dark cloud layer.”

  “It’s going to be crap down there,” commented Brian, shaking his head. “I just hope the people we’re going for are ready.”

  “They better be,” Kirby responded as another high gust of wind buffeted the ship. “Extend the landing struts; I’m taking us in.”

  The ship continued to descend, dropping down through the thick cloud layer into the blackness below. It was mid afternoon, but the land was covered in eerie darkness. The cloud layer was full of ash and dust, and very little light was penetrating. It was one month after the initial catastrophe and the Earth still hadn’t finished dying. Kirby knew it was now in a nuclear winter, one it might never recover from.

  The ship dropped down over a small city in Central Missouri and after a moment, brilliant searchlights snapped on to shine on the ground below. For a few precious minutes, Kirby scanned the viewscreen until he saw what he wanted. “That shopping center parking lot is big enough, we can land there.” With precision, he brought the ship down until he felt the landing struts touch the ground.

  “We have solid contact,” Brian reported with relief in his eyes as a number of green lights flashed on the control panel in front of him.

  “Engines off,” Kirby responded as he reached forward and flipped off several switches.

  The engines shut down, and all that remained were the steady sounds of the ship’s power and environmental systems. They had made a safe landing.

  “Let’s go find our survivors,” Michael said as he unbuckled his safety harness and stood up.

  Going down a short corridor and through several hatches, he arrived at one of the newly modified cargo holds. Four army rangers were waiting there for him, all heavily armed.

  “Open the hatch and lower the ramp,” Michael ordered as he put on a heavy parka from a nearby locker.

  He watched as the hatch slid open and the metal ramp extended until it touched the concrete of the parking lot. Volcanic ash swirled around in the outside air, reducing visibility. Michael knew the ground was covered in a thick layer of the stuff, which might make getting to their destination difficult.

  Letting out a deep breath, he walked over and climbed into a refurbished Humvee that had been designed just for this type of operation. The four army rangers climbed in and one took the driver’s seat, starting the engine. A moment later, they drove down the ramp and set off toward their destination. Glancing behind, Michael watched with satisfaction as the cargo ramp slid back up and the hatch closed. No one could now enter the ship and the crew should be safe until they returned.

  “Who is this doctor we’re supposed to rescue?” Sergeant Andrews asked as he gazed out the bulletproof glass windows of the vehicle.

  They were driving down a wide street covered in volcanic ash. Andrews figured it was already over six inches deep and getting deeper every day. The Humvee had been equipped with special air filters for its diesel engine as well as an air filtration system to take out the contaminants in the atmosphere so the occupants wouldn’t have to wear masks. The air outside was still fit to breathe; you just had to be careful about the falling volcanic ash and make sure you wore a breathing mask anytime you were out in it. The ash could fill up and shut down your lungs like concrete.

  “He’s a disease specialist that worked for the CDC,” Michael responded. “He’s supposed to be quite brilliant, and they want him up at Luna City. There’s growing concern that with the steadily worsening conditions, a disease outbreak might occur in the people we are rescuing. Also, having so many people cooped up in confined environments such as the Luna City domes or the interior habitat at Vesta, they wanted some specialists on hand in case a disease were to break out that the local doctors couldn’t handle. The hospital and the civil defense center are still operational in this community, and Holbrook station managed to contact them over the emergency frequency.”

  “I am surprised that more of them are not demanding to go up on the Raven,” Sergeant Andrews commented as he scanned their surroundings carefully, ensuring that there were no threats. The Humvee had a number of large spotlights, and these were being used to light up the surrounding streets and buildings as they drove.

  “The back of the Humvee is packed with emergency medical supplies and several crates of MREs,” Michael explained. “We’re going to turn them over in exchange for the doctor and his family. They have also agreed to gather certain materials for us that we will pick up at a later date. We promised them that we would come back and evacuate additional survivors. They also know that if there are any difficulties with this exchange, we will not be returning.”

  “It’s a tough world out there now,” Andrews said in a quiet voice as he continued to gaze out the window at the desolation. “I pity anyone that is trapped down here.”

  Michael nodded, gazing at several large buildings in their spotlights where roofs had collapsed from the weight of the ash. All the lights in the town were out as the nation’s power grid had finally collapsed from the damage caused by the volcanoes and the earthquakes. There was no doubt in Michael’s mind that there were probably other survivors still in the town, but the horrible atmospheric conditions prevented them from coming outside. Most were encamped in their homes trying to stay warm and living off what food they had stored. Michael knew that by now the supermarkets, convenience stores, and any other places where food was sold had been stripped clean.

  “It’s just up ahead,” Sergeant Andrews spoke as they pulled onto a side street with a big blue sign with a white H in the center, indicating a hospital was up ahead.

  As they drove up to the hospital, they were surprised to see the interior lights were on, with several National Guard troops standing outside under the breezeway at the entrance where they were safe from falling ash.

  They pulled up beneath the breezeway and stopped. Sergeant Andrews climbed out and went to speak to the two soldiers. After a moment, one of them went inside to return shortly with an older man. Michael got out of the Humvee and walked over to them.

  “This is Doctor Prescott, who is in charge of the hospital,” one of the National Guard troops explained.

  “I’m Michael Kirby,” Michael said, reaching out and shaking the doctor’s hand. “We have some supplies for you inside the Humvee.”

  “Thank you,” Prescott replied with gratitude in his eyes.

  “You still have power,” commented Sergeant Andrews
, gesturing toward the lights in the hospital. “Are you running on an emergency generator?”

  “Sometimes,” Prescott replied as he looked over at the heavily armed sergeant. “The hospital was fortunate; several years ago we installed some wind generators as a cost saving measure. As long as the wind blows we have plenty of power; when it dies down we have a large diesel generator that kicks in.”

  Michael nodded his head approvingly. He would make sure to include that in his report to Darren when he returned to Holbrook station. If the hospital had a dependable source of power, they could possibly survive for the long term as long as they had food to eat.

  Sergeant Andrews had the Humvee pull up as close to the door as possible and they began unloading the supplies. Several more National Guard troops appeared and pitched in.

  “That’s more than I expected,” Prescott said with a huge sigh of relief. “I don’t know what I can do to repay you.”

  “How many people are still alive in your town?” Michael asked curiously.

  Prescott was silent for a moment as he thought over the question. “We have about five hundred survivors here at the hospital and the nearby buildings that serve as part of our medical annex. We just shut down the civil defense center at the city hall and moved those people here. There are probably a few hundred more scattered around town. We don’t see the others too often.”

  Michael saw a young man and woman along with three children step out of the hospital door. All were dressed in heavy coats, and the kids all looked frightened. He knew that these must be the people they had come to get.

  “When we get back, I will see about getting you some more supplies,” Michael promised as one of the army rangers escorted the family to the back of the Humvee.

  “Thanks,” Prescott replied with a grateful smile. “We will take all the help we can get, particularly food. We’ll also start gathering up the items you requested and let you know when they’re ready.”

  Getting back in the Humvee, they started back toward the Raven. Looking in the back, Michael saw the doctor and one of the army rangers talking. He was sure the doctor and his wife were full of questions about what would happen to them now. The three kids were quiet, not sure what was happening.

  They were nearly back to the Raven when several shots rang out, striking the window of the Humvee. Michael instinctively ducked as the driver slammed on the brakes. One of the army rangers popped open the upper hatch and soon the M280 machine gun opened up. The three children started screaming in fright. Michael watched as a trail of brilliant tracers penetrated the darkness to strike at where the unknown gunman had fired. After a moment, the firing ceased and the spotlights were turned in the direction of the shots. Michael felt sick when he saw two bodies lying beneath the lights.

  “It’s like this in every city we go into,” Sergeant Andrews explained with a sad look in his eyes as the Humvee started moving again. “People are starting to kill one another for food.”

  Michael nodded in understanding. The world was a dangerous place due to the earthquakes and the volcanoes, but the struggle between the scattered survivors made it even more dangerous to anyone who dared to venture out. Looking in the back, he saw the doctor and his wife comforting their kids. Michael knew they had all been shaken by the sudden attack.

  They pulled up to the Raven and after signaling Brian, the cargo bay hatch opened and the ramp descended. The Humvee quickly drove up and was soon anchored down in the cargo hold. Ten minutes later, the Raven leaped back into the air as her main rocket engines fired. It was time to return to Holbrook Station and see what their next mission would be.

  -

  Lawrence and General Wainright were in the main operations building at Jornada looking out of the large quartz glass windows at the darkness outside. It was more like a dark twilight as the ash fall here was not nearly as heavy as it was just to the north.

  “Do you have any family?” Lawrence asked as he watched a shuttle taxi down one of the three long runways in preparation for taking off.

  “My wife and son are back at the base,” Wainright replied. “They’re safe enough for now.”

  Lawrence nodded; he wasn’t married and only had a sister. Fortunately, she also worked here at Jornada and her husband and two kids were now living at the spaceport in temporary housing that had been erected by the military. It was a relief to Lawrence to know that he had family nearby.

  “We’ve been bringing in a lot of military families,” Wainright added. “General Pittman has been instrumental in that. We have helicopters flying rescue missions daily looking for people as well as supplies. There are nearly one hundred thousand military personnel and their families at White Sands and the two military bases now.”

  “What’s our latest census count here?” Lawrence asked as he turned and walked over to another set of windows where he could look out over the temporary housing settlement.

  The military had worked miracles in construction. Over two hundred barracks made out of wood and sheet metal stretched out for nearly as far as the eye could see. Several underground tunnels linked all the barracks so people didn’t have to go out in the now cold temperatures and steadily falling ash. Behind the barracks were long rows of massive tents that housed even more survivors.

  “We have nearly one hundred and twenty thousand in the barracks and tents,” General Wainright reported with a heavy breath. “As we empty a barrack of survivors, we move people in from one of the tents. From there we bring in qualified survivors from those waiting outside.”

  “How many are outside?” asked Lawrence, knowing that more people were still arriving. However, as of late the influx of people had slowed as fuel became harder to come by and travel due to the falling ash and earthquakes was becoming virtually impossible.

  “Almost seven hundred thousand at the last count,” replied Wainright, recalling the latest numbers. “We’re starting to lose a few in the outside camp due to disease and freezing temperatures. There are just too many people crowded into a small area, and our medical facilities are maxed out.”

  “What about food and water?” Lawrence asked. The people at the spaceport had been eating MREs for over two weeks as the regular food had finally given out.

  “We are sending out helicopters scouring military bases and other facilities that might have food in storage,” Wainright answered. “I would guess we have food and water supplies for another six months and then I don’t know what we will do.”

  Lawrence nodded his head in understanding. He needed to speak to Mason about the food situation. There were still many survivors scattered around the country, and if they wanted to save them, they would have to come up with a viable source of food. He also knew that the number of refugees at the survival facility south of Amarillo was rapidly growing. There was another smaller facility in Georgia, but communication with it had been intermittent.

  -

  Captain Stevens and Lieutenant Griffith were walking through the tent city outside of the heavily guarded fence that protected the spaceport. Six other marines were with them as support. Close to three thousand troops from the marines and the army had been assigned to patrol tent city to help keep the peace, and another two thousand were on duty inside the fence. Each wore a white breathing mask over their mouth and nose as well as protective goggles over their eyes to protect themselves from the ash.

  “This damn ash is everywhere,” complained Lieutenant Griffith as he kicked it with his boot, sending it flying ahead of him. “It must be several inches deep now.”

  “I’ve heard it’s even deeper than that farther north,” Mark replied as he glanced around the tents to see if anyone was out and about. “I heard one of the helicopter pilots mention that, in Montana and Wyoming, the ash is already over a foot deep from the Yellowstone eruptions and getting deeper.”

  “Sheesh,” muttered Griffith. “A foot of this crap; that’s hard to imagine.”

  They were nearing one of the large tents that served as a
mess hall for this side of the camp when they heard what sounded like a fight. They could hear yelling and angry people. Rushing forward with their weapons at the ready they burst upon the scene. Just inside the mess hall, several soldiers were scuffling with a group of rough looking men armed with baseball bats and two by fours. Other people stood nearby, unsure what to do.

  “We want some decent food!” one of the men demanded, brandishing a bat in his hand in a threatening manner. “These MREs are a bunch of bullshit!”

  “It’s what everyone is eating,” one of the soldiers shot back as he was shoved by one of the other men. The soldier didn’t know how to respond to this verbal and physical attack.

  “What’s going on here?” demanded Stevens, striding up to the men. The marines behind him stopped and carefully held their weapons at the ready.

  The man clearly had not expected to be challenged in such a manner and he backed off, eyeing this new arrival. “It’s the food; it’s a bunch of crap.”

  Mark stepped over to a serving table and picked up an MRE out of the stack that was setting there. “Look around you,” Mark spoke in a loud and commanding voice. “Hundreds of millions if not billions of people are dead because of this alien attack. Millions more are in the process of starving because this ash has destroyed our ability to grow crops, and you have the gall to complain because you can’t eat a steak. I want you to know my men and I have been eating the same MREs you have for weeks. There is no other food, so you can either eat it or go without!”

  The man hesitated and looked back at his supporters. Most of them had their heads hung low or were looking at the ground. “I just want better food,” he grumbled as he turned and walked off.

  “What about you other men?” Mark demanded.

  “I guess we were mistaken,” one of them replied in a quiet and cowed voice. “It won’t happen again.”