POLITICS AND SOLDIERS A LOVE FOR WAR
Pagal Griffin Vengance
2005 09 09
The ship looked like a nightmare from the outside, but the crew knew better. Despite the patches, open power lines and an obvious enormous hole near the engines, the ship was in fact fully operational. According to the techies, the alien plasma weapon was so hot it actually vaporized it's targets, leaving nothing but dust and memories. They were poor against the Skylord's shields however, so now most ships had their shields running at 200% or more, the Saviour being no exception; her primary and secondary shields, not to mention the triple shielding over critical areaswere all at 1281%. The previous morning, in a completely disastrous attack on the alien base on Antares, nearly all of the heavy duty cruisers had been destroyed. Only a dozen were left, and the only operable one left apart from the Saviour was her sister ship the Messiah.
The alien forces still outnumbered the Skylords easily, but they were poorly equipped, with some quite obviously made of spit and prayers. The Admiral prayed the Council would accept his plan; if not, then Twilight Citadel would just keep be grinded down until final invasion. And after that would come iDG, LTC/TLT, TSR, SC...all would fall. Twilight Citadel HAD to be a victory. There were no ifs or buts in the matter. It HAD to.
With a deep breath, the Admiral stepped through the doors...and came to the attention of the dozen men and women who were the most famous in the Galaxy. Few ever met them; they were thinning in number, and some predicted it wouldn't be long until their special powers became extinct.
These, THESE were the true Skylords, the humans embedded with special powers and had nurtured humanity to greatness. Still, they could not reproduce according to scientists, and despite their incredible life spans they were dying regularly. Only this dozen, the few remains of a race that had had thousands were left. Skylord Chaos, to which Twilight Citadel owed it's life; Infernal Shadow, a great one of TSR; Hope, whose very existence had dissolved the tyrannic clans; Bert, one of the greatest trainers; swimmerdude, also one of the mightiest trainers; VS, formerly Filas, one of the greatest of all time, founder of Space Cowboys; MBIK, who, with his now-dead brothers had once ruled the Galaxy; The Wizard, to whom many owe their lives; Cydionia, one of few women, yet one of the mightiest ever and finally, Deemers, who had injected a tiny bit of fun into everyone's gray lives. The Admiral's own Skylord, Griffin, had died at the Battle of Ferios in a sacrifice to save Flying Fortress. Nobody was left alive who remembered him, but his memory would live on forever in the Halls of Wings.
Satdning before this collection of both sadness and hope (literally), the Admiral bit down his rising butterflies and started speaking.
"Skylords, I have a plan that may finally rid the alien menace from our space. It is dangerous, but our only other choice would be a head-on battle similar to our first...and I don't know about you, but I would consider that a last stand.
On this screen,"The Admiral indictated, "is my plan. the combined SAS and Delta Fleets will infiltrate Antares and destroy their airfields with their own devices. I have spoken already to the captains and Admiral Gerald and they say they can do it. With their airfield's neutralized, the enemy will have no or very few Seraph fighters, allowing us a small measure of leeway in battle. I will pull out the Infiltration Fleet in a direct sky-ward manuveur, where we will have ships hiding in the atmosphere. When the enemy pursues, we willambush them and fight them on our own terms. The Reinforcements coming from Flying Fortress will launch a sneak attack on the enemy base, so when they retreat we will hopefully have them in a pincer movement. It may work, it may not. Nevertheless, I believe it is our only choice...or the entire Galaxy will fall."
A profound silence fell. The Admiral could practically hear their minds clicking.
And then, looking up simply, Chaos looked at him. It was a piercing stare, more then an X-ray. It probed and made itself uncomfortable, but the Admiral held his ground and returned the stare with cool professionalism. They held it for a second, then Chaos surprised the Admiral with a smile.
He looked to his brothers and sisters, and, smiling even wider, Chaos nodded.
In his deep, resonating voice, he spoke.
The Admiral saluted them all, then turned on his heel and got the hell out of there. In reality he didn't like the Skylords; apart from Griffin, who's actions saved Flying Fortress, he considered all of the other ones complete and utter hypocratic regal idiots. It was because of THEM that his parents had died; in the unprecedented attack on the Jarot system. THEM.
The Admiral walked with a tense pace, his thoughts imagining their big fat heads getting crushed so easily by hi-
The sheer beauty of that voice stopped him in his tracks.
And siding perfectly with the vocal beauty came what the Admiral later recalled utter heaven on Twilight. Her hair flew with the flow of the wind like it was wind itself; her face was a masterpiece, painted and lovingly carved. Her physique was the definition of perfection, slender legs, flat chest, heavenly, angelic eyes...the Admiral didn't know what world she hailed from, but the only world he could think of in that moment was Heaven.
Then reality came crushing down.
This was the Primeminister's niece, Sarah Dewing. She had turned down too many eligible bacheolers; there was no reason why she would accept him to her side.
While a moment before the Admiral had been in ectasty, now he was the deep, bottomless hole that was sadness.
Heaven had turned to Purgatory.
The Admiral collected his completely shocked wits.
"Um...would you mind if we met this evening? At Dewing Manor, 8pm?"
The Admiral couldn't believe nobody could hear his heart beat. But maybe they couldn't hear it because it was gleaming proud in Heaven.
"Sure...and call me James."
Later that night, James took the full pie, and the next morning, with her firmly in his protective grasp, he realised that now he was complete.
He was in love.
Ju'Mahmee licked his fangs, and looked upon his crew, Many were the best in the Empire, borne of fine warriors and beautiful mates.
Ju'Mahmee, Grand Commander of the Holy Reclamation Army was a happy alien. A happy Reter indeed.
For, within 48 hours, the Galaxy would be theirs.
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