The Retreat (The After Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

“Uh, guys?” Phobos said. “We seem to have the company of one rather large battleship.”

“How big?” Deimos asked.

“Like . . . I would say one of its guns is the size of our entire battler.”

“That’s pretty big.”

“Yep,” Phobos said, creating a popping sound on the “p.”

The gigantic craft rose into view on Romy’s side as Knot 27’s battler spiralled past, and if she was unsure before about fear’s effects, she wasn’t now. For a stretched second, she forgot she held a gun, forgot she should breathe. She just froze, staring at her death in the form of a gigantic metallic spacecraft, unable to even blink. It was goliath, bigger than any other poacher craft by twenty times. Nearly a quarter the size of the Critamal’s mothership!

The shouting within their battler brought her back to the present.

“Don’t you think I’m
trying
to get out, Phobos?” Elara screamed.

Romy swallowed and stared down at her gun as she was thrown backwards and forwards by Elara’s piloting. Her hands were shaking so hard, she couldn’t maintain her grip on the weapon.

This must be why the poachers chose to mobilise their entire force! She observed the craft as closely as she could while being tossed around. The ship manoeuvred smoothly despite its size. And the guns. . . . Romy’s mouth dried. A single hit from those guns and Knot 27 was dead.

Romy’s tone was grim. “We need to take it out. Or this battle is only ending one way.”

Elara grunted, voice strained as she did everything possible to keep the knot alive. “Underside?”

Deimos hummed in doubt. “I would usually say yes, but the poachers aren’t stupid. I think they would have hidden the fuel cells elsewhere.”

“I second that.” Romy broke from her shock. “There’s no way this new craft will have the same weaknesses.” Her chest rose and fell faster than it ever had.

There were at least ten smaller poacher crafts hot on their trail. Romy had no idea how Elara was evading so many.

“Should we focus on the thrusters, then? There’s always rocket fuel there,” Phobos added.

It was also one of the best-protected places of any craft. No one fired there expecting to get an actual hit. It was a desperate suggestion, worthy of their predicament.

Romy readjusted her grip on the dual triggers, grimacing at the slick sweat inside her suit gloves. “I think we’d have a better chance shooting underneath the cockpit. If we take out their stabilisers, it will buy time.”

“You got it, Ro,” Phobos said.

If Elara was the best pilot in their knot, Romy was the best gun. Romy liked to think that if rank was decided on battle skill alone, their knot might fare a bit better.

“Roger that, honey,” Deimos added.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was sitting unusually still in front of the gun. It wasn’t just her body that was experiencing fear, then.

“Drop us, Ellie,” Thrym ordered.

Unfortunately, they were already upside-down when Elara obeyed, and Romy’s stomach rose into her throat. She hardly noticed it as she screamed, “Fire!”

She didn’t know if she was the only one shouting, or if everyone screamed at the same time. Knot 27 threw a wall of explosive power at the underside of the poacher craft.

Romy struggled to retain her sense of direction as Elara threw them in stupefying twists and spirals.

How many poacher ships were in pursuit? It would only take one laser strike in the right place for their craft to become an inferno.

Someone in their craft was crying, “Die!” at the top of their lungs. And Romy was afraid it was more likely to be them dying than the Critamal.

Knot 27 had agreed at fifteen years old that they’d rather die than be taken hostage. The Critamal’s hostages were never returned alive. And never in one piece—a string of pieces would be a more accurate description. But the worst thing was that their comrades’ eyes had always turned yellow—the same beady yellow as the Critamal’s eyes.

No one knew what interrogation by the Critamal involved. And it wasn’t worth finding out.

Romy kept up a steady wave of bullets until Thrym called a halt. Romy’s plan hadn’t worked. The control panels were strongly reinforced.

“Why isn’t it working?” Thrym’s voice rose above the din.

Romy swallowed repeatedly as they swung and lurched through space. She could only glimpse the smallest bit of red fire and grey battlers in the distance. Their force. Too far away.

Phobos was gagging behind her from the relentless dodging.

“Is it me, or is the fat ship keeping us on one side?” Deimos asked, unaffected by the motion.

Romy studied the ship, lips pressed in a grim line. “No idea.” She fired at three Critamal ships in her sight. They were relentless! No matter that Elara was keeping them alive, she just couldn’t shake them from Knot 27’s tail.

“Let’s see.” Elara dipped, slamming on the thrusters, spiralling atop the massive craft and to the other side.

The ship starboarded away.

“I think you’re on to something, Dei,” Thrym said, voice tight with excitement. “Do the same manoeuvre, but this time we open fire across the port side.”

This time Elara swooped along the underside of the ship. It was a dangerous move. That’s where the poacher’s guns were located. But it was also an unexpected move.

When you’re up to your neck in poacher poop, the unexpected is your best chance, Romy thought.

As their tiny craft rose in line with the colossal battleship, Romy tensed her body, hovering her thumbs over the triggers. She tilted her head to the right, waiting,
waiting
.

The scream to fire echoed in her ear. Without blinking she directed her weapon across the port side of the poacher’s ship.

Her sense of hearing was useless in the booming uproar of fire. Romy pivoted the gun on its axis, giving the enemy everything she had. Their battler jerked backwards as one of Thrym’s missiles bulleted towards the back end of the craft.

Elara spiralled them underneath the massive ship once more, and for the longest second in Romy’s short life, she stared straight into the mouth of a gun—one hundred times her size.

And then Thrym’s missile connected.

The dark space was lit with the initial explosion. It was large enough that their stabilisers couldn’t counteract the entirety of the force. They were flung backwards, along with dozens of smaller poacher crafts. Groaning, Romy craned her head to watch as secondary explosions erupted all along the port side of the ship.

The roar of the explosion was followed by an eerie silence, as though a blanket had been thrown over Romy’s senses. And in that black hole, her insides quaked at what she knew was coming.

“Get us out of here!” she screamed, slamming her safeties on.

Elara dropped the battler in a violent uncontrolled loop as the biggest explosion Romy had ever seen blotted the expanse of space in a wall of white and red.

The rocketing force slammed her against her harness as a hundred thousand wreckage meteors whizzed in all directions like shooting stars. If not for the suit, her entire chest would be cut to bits from the harness.

She couldn’t contain her screams as they zigzagged. Nausea threatened to best her. In those few moments she wouldn’t have known if there was a Critamal sitting right next to her. Her ears were roaring, her eyes still blinded by the flash.

“We’re nearly there.” Elara’s voice crackled in her ear.

The silence in the cockpit spoke louder than words. Something nearly tangible—fear, she supposed, saturated the small atmosphere of the ship.

Romy didn’t dare open her eyes.

Until. . . .

“Stabilising now.” Elara sighed the beautiful words. “E2.”
Safety
.

Her sound of relief was echoed by the rest of the knot. E2 was directly in front of Orbito One.

Romy’s mouth dried in disbelief as she looked back at the wreckage back in K4. Fragments littered the battleground. Not only had they destroyed the colossal battleship, but the resulting explosion seemed to have eradicated a fair number of the Critamal’s smaller crafts as well.

There was a goliath hole in the poachers’ defence!

“Do you see that?” she whispered.

Knot 27 watched from relative safety, listening as new orders fired through the orbitos’ communication system. A third of their force was ordered to launch an attack on the breeched defences of the Critamal. Out to her left, Romy could see the forces from Orbito Eight streaking through space to help them.

“Did we just do that?” Deimos broke the silence.

Phobos replied in the same awe-filled voice, “We must have.”

The tell-tale high whining filled their helmets. “Knot 27, this is Commander Cronus. Excellent job, soldiers. Return to battle docks immediately.”

“Roger that, sir,” Thrym whispered, clicking off communication.

“We did it,” he said into the silence.

A lump formed in Romy’s throat at the yearning in his voice. This was what he’d been waiting for. This was what Thrym deserved. Knot 27 would be promoted for sure.

“We’re going up, guys and gals,” Thrym shouted. He leaned over Elara and gave a single strong burst of the thrusters towards the landing docks.

Cheering filled the cockpit and Romy leaned back in her seat, laughing until tears streamed down her cheeks, fogging up her helmet. Part of her knew it was a reaction from the shock and adrenaline of battle, but part of it was real.

Maybe a promotion wouldn’t be so bad!

Phobos was dancing in his seat, arms raised overhead.

He lowered them as a beeping noise cut through the craft.

“Turn that racket off,” joked Deimos.

Elara was pushing at the flashing dashboard. “If I knew what it was, I would,” she replied.

Romy’s chest tightened. “You don’t know what it is?” That was a first. She gripped the gun without thinking.

Elara threw a glare at her while reaching for a switch. “What did I just—”

“Thruster failure. Thruster failure. Thruster failure.” The computer’s clinical tones blared in their ears.

Romy caught Elara’s alarmed look as she turned to face forwards again, flicking switches in a frenzy. A second beeping noise added to the first. Then a third, and a fourth. There was a high whining in their helmets, telling Romy that Command was attempting to communicate, but she couldn’t understand the disjointed message from their station.

Elara and Thrym were desperately working at the controls, while Romy and the others could only watch their frantic movements in horror with one eye and the Orbito One station with the other.

They approached the station with no control, no thrusters. Battlers were returning from battle, docking on the white stretched cylinder of the orbito.

It was the only home she’d ever known.

Romy blinked in disbelief as they rolled beneath Orbito One and past it. As she watched, the station became smaller and smaller.

“No, no, no!” Elara cried. “The thrusters won’t turn on!” She was jabbing buttons and flicking switches in a blur of her suited hands.

They needed to go back!

Phobos was trying his best to calm her. “It’s okay, Ellie. We’ll just orbit until we get picked up.”

But Romy was busy watching their declining altitude towards Earth. The battler would only stay in orbit above a certain height. Thrym’s last action with the thrusters was to jet them downwards. Given enough distance they would eventually lose the added velocity and get caught up in orbit.

But. . . .

“What’s the lowest height we can go to before we exit orbit and plummet to Earth?” Romy whispered, not daring to take her eyes off the altitude gauge—currently showing
248 kilometres
.

“One hundred sixty kilometres, and then air resistance will override orbital velocity,” Phobos replied, tone grim. He was already following Romy’s thought process.

“And then?”

“Then we get pulled into Earth’s atmosphere, possibly disintegrate, and die,” he finished.

“That’s what I was afraid of.” She swallowed a dry lump in her throat. “Thrym, what’s our velocity?”

He didn’t have to reply because everyone was looking through the window and knew the battler was moving fast. Too fast.

“One hundred ninety five kilometres,”
Deimos said. “We ain’t stopping in time, guys. Let’s run Earth Protocol. Wait, is this thing even capable of entering the atmospheric layer?”

“Yes,” responded Elara instantly. “We’re equipped with parachutes. But we sustained enough damage to cause thruster failure. I don’t know what other damages we might have incurred. If there is any external damage to the wings, gas could make its way in. . . .”

“And?” he asked.

“And we die,” she shouted into our helmets. “What do
you
think, Deimos? How am I supposed to do any damn protocol with a broken ship? We’re supposed to contact the Orbitos and, and then coast along in orbit until we’re picked up.” She muttered her way through the protocol. “And if we fall, then we . . . we drop any extra load.”