The Overlord: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel (20 page)

16

THE BEAST OF BURDEN

Ember Nightwood, reporting in again without withholding. The day we attacked the Lair, I was more than just President of the United Corps. Some leaders of the past never understood that authority must extend beyond physical requirements. A leader must also safeguard the hopes and dreams of its people. As my ship, the "Beast of Burden", led an aerial armada toward the Lair of the Thralldom, I thought to myself that this was the hour for fulfilling that obligation.

Nobody was speaking, not a word, not even in mindless chatter. The United Corps fleet held itself in silent reverence as it sought to carry out our imperative task. The crew of my ship, as well as every crew, knew the stakes well. We each had something that was navigating our hearts as we flew across those skies.

I cannot speak for anyone else, but I chose to think of the children back home. Such joy they could always find in the mundane freeness of dirt playgrounds and broken toys. Such hope they had.

There is an invisible hope inside every child. They never know that it is there, but we mothers always do. Our children carry the hope of the future, the hope of life. That truth is what pushed me forward as I made my way to war.

A war with the Thralldom could mean the death of all mankind. I knew that if the Free World fell beneath the power of the Thralls, the hope of our children would vanish. As my ship approached its dreaded destination, I found myself a mother first and a warrior second.

The sky was dim and the clouds were shadowed as our fleet crossed the Thrall boundaries. Though it was morning, the Lair was shrouded in darkness. From out of these murky curtains, we were met with a barrage of their defenses.

Ever since the Last Day of the Last War, the Thralls had been waiting for a chance to strike us. Now was their chance and we would be shown no pity. It would not be the truth if I did not admit that we of the United Corps had also been waiting for any opportunity to break the treaty, even from when the pact was first made. The day of war had come, at last, and it mattered not anymore who was stronger or weaker, who had more or less. For one side or the other, it would be utter death. One of us was finally going to be eliminated.

The glassy forms of their angled aircrafts spun all around our bulky ships. The Thralls sparked out their best shots into our reinforced steel exteriors and taunted our fighters. It was an orchestra of fireworks across the clouds. Aerial engagements were breaking out all over. One on one, a few on one, or many on many, the whole battle was a scrambled mess of a thousand different engagements. Whether it was old squabbles or new frustrations, deadly appointments made long ago were being fulfilled. It was with all fury and no mercy.

Though our engineering was antiquated, our outdated ships succeeded to get the best of the Thrall guns during the onslaught. Almost nothing could get past our hardened shells. The see-through ships of our enemy, as menacing as they looked in all their angles, were easily brought down. Tougher skins prevailed and the battle seemed to be in our favor.

With every bout and bang, the fleet was working together for a singular goal, to clear a clean path for the Overlord. Down in the outer airfields below our battle, Deadstock and my daughter were on their way to secure the "Tomahawk." It was the only ship agile enough to penetrate the strongholds of the Thralldom. Thus, it was imperative that Sentria got herself back into the cockpit.

Her custom ship had been pinpointed inside an old magma chamber, hidden along the ridge of the Lair. The entrance had been sealed, likely by Zero's doing. All of the lava tunnels connected, however, and another way in wouldn't be hard to find. As soon as they reached the "Tomahawk," they could use the ship's guns to blast the blockage away and fly out.

Out of range and out of sight, I would have no idea what was going on down in that cave system. The fate of the theft was revealed when I finally caught sight of the axe headed ship as it soared out from the midst of the Lair.

"This is the Overlord," radioed Deadstock. "Sentria has taken the ship. We're on our way!"

"Good work!" I cheered. "The air's still pretty hot, though. Stay clear of that altar until we can knock out some of these aces up here."

"Copy that," said Sentria as she banked her ship away.

The ship's nose had been purposely designed to withstand a crash into another craft. For now, however, they'd have to play it safe. Like a wedge into the weeds, the "Tomahawk" plowed through the aerial battle, taking out numerous Thrall fighters as they flew from prime danger.

Soon after, I caught a glimpse of something awful. It was out of the corner of my eye. Through the observation windows, I saw a white flash spark through the dark clouds. Lightning was cracking out, again and again. From the shuddering black puffs of cloud, the silhouette of a crescent moon flew out amidst its own thunder. The moon then headed straight for my ship. It was that which I had hoped I would never come to face. It was the Thrall flagship, a nightmare of a vessel, the "Lunar Wrath."

Lightning struck out from its thinly curved edge. The flailing bolts reached for some of our smaller ships, nearby. Each of our fighters overloaded and burst into flames upon being hit. None of them even managed to put a dent into the flagship's hull before imploding. Back on the "Beast of Burden," not even our heavy guns were doing much damage.

It was then that I realized there was only going to be one way to fight that soaring evil. We had to last it out, endure whatever punishment it could give until a door could finally be opened for us. None of our other ships could take it. It would have to come down to the sole opposition between our two behemoth ships.

We came at each other. My ship's hull shook in the turbulence as the "Lunar Wrath" flew by. Our discharges nicked and scraped while they sprung lightning at us. Our two crafts then veered back around at each other. I ordered defensive tactics. The "Beast of Burden" fired back as our trajectories met once more. We passed by each other again as we sustained the necessary blows.

A wingtip of the "Lunar Wrath" then carved into our side, screeching and scratching. Warning sirens rung out as its width cut into us. My officers bustled about in a panic, tinkering away at this screen and that. The ship was destabilizing rapidly and wasn't going to last another round. As our two ships swung back around to contend with each other once again, a reckless idea came to mind.

Situated on the bridge of my ship, I called out to my operations officers, "Shut down the shields. Cut off every engine. I want all power reverted to the cannons. Begin supercharging every turret for one simultaneous volley. We're going to blast that infernal shard of plastic and glass into a million pieces. At my signal, we kick humpty dumpty off his wall! Does everyone copy?"

Rightfully, one of them fought me on the insanity of the order, "Ma'am, the ship won't withstand! We'll be thrown into freefall!"

"Then I guess we better hold onto something," I stated back without conviction.

"Copy that! Shutting down all auxiliary powers now!" My pilot trembled as the "Lunar Wrath" progressed toward us. He then turned to me with a grave and worried face. "President Nightwood, Ma'am, it's been an honor."

"And it will continue to be an honor," I promised as I fearfully gripped the metal railing of the bridge while the whole ship went completely dark. The illuminated screens of all the consoles disappeared. The overhead lights sparked off. The ship paused in mid-flight and the steel of the hull groaned out.

"Charging up all cannons," said the weapons officer.

In a gradual descent, the "Beast of Burden" then began to fall from its place in the sky. It started out slow, but began to take speed very quickly as wind roared across the exterior of the ship. The whole bridge wobbled violently and I held on all the more tightly to the rail. My knuckles lost all color.

The weapons officer shouted intensely in the upheaval, "Ready to fire in three, two, one! All cannons ready, Ma'am!"

With every breath in me, I ordered through the cataclysm, "Fire!"

As we plunged through the clouds, a torrent of impressive firepower blew out from our broadside guns. The rounds pierced through the "Lunar Wrath" like rocks into a sheet of ice. So powerful was our volley that the blasts went all the way through its clear, crescent contours. Exit wounds blasted through its main engine and the "Lunar Wrath" splintered apart in a mayhem of electric currents among slivers of its former shell.

Avoiding being done for ourselves, we reverted power back to the engines. Rising up, we retook our place in sky. Not since before the days of the Last War have I heard so much cheering over our radios. If only for a moment, the Free World had just tasted their first victory over the Thralldom in nearly a quarter century.

"They're on to us," radioed Deadstock, worriedly breaking the momentary triumph. "They're on our tail!"

Swooping over to the observation window of the bridge, my eyes zoomed in to the "Tomahawk." Every Thrall ship that was not already being engaged had focused in on the little craft that carried our hope. I do not know how they were tipped off, but I am betting it was not hard for them to figure out our scheme.

I shouted into the speakers to all, "This is the President.  The 'Tomahawk' is taking heavy fire. We've lost strategy. Break formations and cover that ship! All available fighters to the 'Tomahawk,' now!"

The "Tomahawk" swung through the clouds like a prey. Its hungry predators were not far behind. Sentria maneuvered her ship to engage, but there were too many of them. Damage was getting worse with every volley and the chance of making it to the altar was becoming unrealistic.

My fleet finally came to aid, but they would prove to be of slight help. The Thralls were already ejecting from their ships, catapulting an army of jet packs into the sky. The singular targets would be too small to hit and all too quick to aim accurately. Their armored boots stomped onto the surface of the "Tomahawk," locking on with magnets.

"They've made contact," cried Sentria as she swung her ship into a barrel roll. "I can't shake them off!"

Assisting fighters weren't making it any easier. In attempt to clear the jet packers from the "Tomahawk," the fleet was firing onto the ship's very position. Each successive shot was getting too close for comfort.

Deadstock beckoned through the radio, "Ember, this friendly fire is hardly helping. Call off your fleet."

I agreed with his request, "Copy that. Pulling the fighters to standby. We are keeping close."

Soon enough, we gave them some room. Regretfully, there was nothing more we could do except to watch it all play out. Heart beats quickened, pounding in all of our ears as we witnessed the enemy's attempt to bring that precious ship down.

"Sentria, keep the ship steady," I heard him say as a topside hatch popped open. "I'm going outside for a brisk walk."

Braving the high wind and velocity, Deadstock was personally going to take out the invasive jet packers. He arose from a maintenance shaft, catching the attackers off guard. It was a nearly suicidal endeavor, given he had been recently stripped of his power. He was vulnerable and I admired his strength through his weakness. What followed was a violent brawl atop the "Tomahawk" as he wafted rounds from his Dragon's Throat.

Jet packs, armor, and flesh all burst into grisly fragments. The remains immediately washed away in the airstream. Impressive as it was, he couldn't kill them all. These Thralls and their jet packs were like ants crawling over a fresh carcass.

I sighted an anomaly, "Doctor, they have Demon Eggs!"

"Sentria, close up every exhaust vent and airflow chamber," exclaimed Deadstock as he caught sight of one of those notorious grenades being activated.

"Shutting the ports now," she quickly complied. "What's your status?"

"They've got Demon Eggs live and ready up here," he radioed back as he ended a deadly scrap.

The last outlet was closing up when a Thrall got a forearm jammed in the vent. Deadstock madly crawled over through the wild gusts to confront, but it was too late. The Thrall let out an awful sneer before breaking free and flying away. I knew what it meant and so did Deadstock. A Demon Egg had found its way in.

"Oh, no," I whispered under my breath with all severity.

All that Deadstock had time do was yell out our daughter's name in the panic, "Sentria!"

A flash of blinding light and then, boom! A wing and half of the compartment imploded, sending the "Tomahawk" into a twisting plunge downward without any hope for control of the aircraft. Deadstock stuck his knife, the Dragon's Tooth, into the outer shell of the ship and held onto to it for dear life.

"We are going down, we are going down." Sentria kept calm as she did her best to steady the disastrous trajectory, allowing Deadstock time to slide down and slip inside the hatch.

I commanded at the top of my voice, "Secure your chutes and eject!"

A seat then burst from out the cockpit as Sentria confirmed, "The Overlord is away."

Deadstock separated from his seat and a silver parachute plumed out from his back, holding him safely up through the aerial mayhem. Yet, Sentria had strangely not ejected along with him. Something had gone wrong, perhaps purposefully.

With a sad rasp in his lungs, Deadstock asked "Sentria, what have you done?"