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Dark Crimson By Nick P.
Chapter III

            Ahead of me, the two men stirred. The general straightened up and took the burned-out cigar stub out of his mouth. His nose twitched and he began to fumble with the stub between his fingers, switching it from forefinger and thumb to pinkie and thumb, his gnarled hands dancing.

            The colonel yawned and ran his hand through his face. I noticed that he had started to sweat profusely. I guess space travel was not his thing either.

            “ETA in ten minutes. Double-check all harnesses and make sure that there are no loose objects flying around. Last time, one soldier was nailed in the head with a card deck. Bled his brains out. Alright, primary checklist…”

            The throttle burned on and off, flinging me to my left continuously.

            “Secondary checklist is green, Vector IV bound co-ordinates successfully entered in the computer. All results satisfactory.” I could almost see the pilot grin. “Get ready, ladies, cause your going straight to hell!”

            There was a really violent jolt and I felt the craft swerve up and to the right.

            “Shit,” I heard the colonel mutter. “I hate this.”

            The craft jolted again and I felt sudden acceleration.

            “Five minutes.”

            I continued to be thrown up and down and forward and back, as well as to the right and left. The spacecraft accelerated, decelerated, climbed and fell and jerked perpetually. And all the while, it was rolling and yawing. I was going to vomit. What kind of person wouldn’t in this hell? A sudden upward jolt only boosted the already-rising food up my oesophagus. I did my best to keep it at bay, gazing at the general to keep myself under control.

            “One minute. Communication closure until Stroggos airspace. Over and out.”

            And so we were left in the silence to suffer the bumping and jolting. I closed my eyes because the blurring of my surroundings only added to my nausea. One more minute. Just one more. Even less by now.

            The general continued to fumble with the cigar stub.

            The colonel vomited and was thrown a disapproving look by General Sanders.

            I shut my eyes again. I wasn’t going to do the same.

            And then it came. It was an odd feeling, one that I can’t explain. It was as if everything in the universe suddenly changed its velocity. It was sudden and once it came, it didn’t fade away like a normal change in speed and direction, but it stood, lingering. I wasn’t pressed against my harness but I felt as if everything was suddenly stopping, my restraints included. Blood was unevenly garbled through my body and I felt waves of unconsciousness coming. I tried to scream but the universe was filled with sound. I tried to see but the universe was filled with nothing.

            It was just a picture, an image caught in time: the general and his cigar, the colonel with his eyes squeezed shut, the eternal black beyond the window. It didn’t move, but I felt the heavy feeling continue to live throughout me. It was so heavy I couldn’t move, as if everything had suddenly slowed. My consciousness gave way, then came back and froze with the frame. The feeling was the most horrible ever, a sensation of absolute helplessness. Not that you’d need help because in the stillness, there was nothing to threaten you.

            Then the heavy feeling ceased and I felt light. People do not realise how light and unrestrained they are until they’ve travelled through such a distorted place of space and time. When the trip is over, the uneasy gut, the heavy decelerated feeling all fades away. This effect was, undoubtedly, doubled by the fact that weightlessness came over me yet again. But a sickening sensation lingered and  I vomited.

            The colonel was looking rather sick himself, though he hastily snapped back to his usual, professional type. His eyes dancing across me and the puddle of digested food that was floating in the air in front of me. He grinned. “First time through a space warp, eh? Yeah, not the most fun way to travel.”

            I couldn’t talk so I nodded as I coughed.

            “Well,” the pilot broke in. “We’re there. Or here. Whatever. The Stroggos system, ladies and gentlemen. Not much more to say except that we’re looking at a descent in about forty minutes; we’ll be entering the Stroggos asteroid belt shortly. So just keep still and pray that we reach the atmosphere safely.”

            “They always cheer us up,” said the colonel.

            “Yeah.”

            The general grunted in his usual manner and after what had seemed hours, shifted his position and trained his eyes on the floor again, gazing through the spheres of multicoloured liquid that floated there.

            I loosened my harness and twisted around to gaze through the tiny window that was on my side of the craft. The sky was black, sprinkled with thousands of stars, all bearing luminosity that could only be seen in space. I could see them drawing near, asteroids. They were a greyish brown and unpleasant to look at. And they came in thousands, their separate outlines visible at first and eventually fading away into what seemed to be a perfectly smooth and formed ring. I could only see an edge of the planet Stroggos. It was a bright orange, different shades of the reddish-yellow hue swirling as storms and clouds.

            The planet itself was a bit larger than Earth and this mass difference could be felt, or so said those who had been there. It was constant exercise to move across its surface, but it only built strength. It wasn’t that big of a difference anyway. Still, I wondered just how it felt.

            An asteroid whizzed by my window and I felt the troop carrier twist to the side and then dodge downwards. More rocks flew by, some tumbling and some still but all cratered and unsightly. And some unmistakably held metal structures. It was well known that the Stroggs had many structures built into their asteroid belt (some rumours even hinted that the Makron had a hidden chamber there) and this worried me. So this is what the pilot implied when he had said that we should pray that we at least reach the atmosphere.

            Soon enough I felt the craft violently lunge downwards and a missile flew by, heading into the distance. Through the window opposite of me, I could see another of the troop carriers dodging asteroids and the occasional missile, moments before it slipped too low to be seen from my point of view. It was replaced by other asteroids whose craters and forms all moulded and seemed identical to me.

            The craft jumped again, then rolled to the right. More celestial bodies flew by, supplemented by Strogg missiles.

            The troop carrier shook violently; the missile had impacted an asteroid (or maybe another troop carrier) and the shockwave struck us bluntly. The windows had become a torrent of twisting and turning rocks, all weaving as the craft wove between them. There was an occasional explosion as a missile nearly hit our craft, seeking metal but finding rock instead.

            The rumour mill has it that these missiles were technology the Stroggs actually borrowed from us. It wasn’t, after all, the Stroggs that invented violence.

            Another near hit.

I have to admit, the pilots really earned my respect afterwards. I was utterly amazed at how well they handled all of the oncoming weapons and things, the pressure of it all. Their skill was, in my mind, unmatched.

            I’ll have to buy them a round of beers back on Earth, I told myself. If I make it back, that is.

            “We’re looking at another two minutes until entry. Hang on tight, soldiers, we’re almost there.” The pilot again.

            There came another violent jolt.

            I closed my mind and tried to think, to focus on someplace besides the rattling, shaking spacecraft to which I was strapped. To ignore the jolting, the tumbling asteroids and streaking missiles. To not be in the coldness of space but in the warmth and security that only Earth could offer. That is, before even the skies could not be trusted. Before the Stroggs paid their costly visits.

            I was thrown upwards then violently back down. How much longer?

            “Phew! That was a hair width’s worth of precision, there! Surgical precision! Uh, ok, clearing asteroid zone, systems nominal. Ok guys, we’re making planetfall in four minutes, right after releasing the Marine capsules. If you thought that asteroid bit was fun, you’ll love hurtling downward through the atmosphere at thousands of kilometres per hour…”

            This idea made me sick.

            “Releasing Marines, over and out. Communication loss expected in one minute.”

            I twisted myself again as to look through the tiny window. Below me was a light thump and panels flew open as dozens of tiny, highly aerodynamic cocoons with likes as described above were jettisoned into space. The bright orange of the Stroggos clouds danced across the curved surface and spread out over the flat, tiny and frail tail wings. From behind each one-man cocoon, three small ionic engines were set aflame and these capsules joined those released by the other seven troop carriers. There were so many that, as they drew away and into the atmosphere, they became a cloud that soon lit up as metallic hull rubbed up against the atmosphere’s gases.

            Soon, we’d do the same.

            “Jettison successful, engage in preparation for bombing run. Gunners: remain strapped until an altitude of two thousand metres. Communication loss in fifteen seconds. Have a fun ride!”

            With that, the craft dropped downward briskly and I felt a sensation similar to that of travelling through the space warp, but not quite. It wasn’t as intense, though it made me feel as if my stomach was a metre or so below the rest of me. It was freefall, absolute freefall. The feeling was not much different from weightlessness, and yet I knew what was happening and the tiny windows, which had started to glow a bright yellow, only reinforced this thought. I was dropping at thousands of kilometres per hour towards the hostile Stroggos surface. What was there not to fear?

            The professional attitudes of my crewmembers eased me, though the colonel had again started to sweat profusely and to shut his eyes. I tried the same, telling myself that I was floating in space and not hurling towards the Strogg surface. It didn’t work.

            But perhaps there was a bright side. With each second, I drew several kilometres closer to war. War. Just what I wanted.

            Outside, the gaseous layer that blanketed the planet screamed in protest at our intrusion. It was a high-pitched howl of wind that was burned away at the bright-blue plasma that had now formed on certain parts of the spacecraft.

             “Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” The intercom came back with the pilot howling in utter thrill. “Woooo!”

            The aircraft was thrown upwards by a violent air current.

            “I hope you guys are having as much fun as we are! Dropping to ten thousand metres and counting, gunners be prepared. Sector V and VI of Karoggon are clear in our scopes. Starting decompression now.”

            I gazed through the window, but all I saw was streaming plasma.

“You guys don’t jump around too much back there, we’re having a hard time keeping this baby under control. And that’s without those damned Stroggs firing at us, too! Just sit tight, planetfall was never stroll through the VCA’s offices. Almost there, seven-thousand and counting.”

Then came the unmistakable feeling of deceleration.

“Coming level, lowering speeds.”

The plasma ceased and I could see orange clouds flying and gliding by, wrapping around the craft’s instrumentation.

“Four thousand feet, gunners prepare yourself. Nearing primary target.”

The two gunners unstrapped themselves, and I did too. The two doors at the sides of the craft slid open and hot, humid Stroggos air rushed in. It blew in, immensely strong at our speeds. Beyond was nothing more than clouds.

The gunners positioned themselves at each door and each person swung around a gigantic weapon that covered most of the opening. The general threw the burned-out cigar through the doorway and it was flung out and away, carried by the winds. He then manoeuvred himself back to his weapon. I recognised them as heavy cannons, launching nearly gaseous globs of energised lead at almost light-speeds at whatever targets there were. I edged towards the general’s side and stood at the door’s edge. Beyond me was a wall of clouds, and where the ledge of the door was, below stretched four thousand feet of harsh Stroggos air.

I felt the troop carrier drop down, then slightly lift again.

“Turbulence,” I heard the pilot’s distant voice mutter, drowned out by the wind.

Then the clouds suddenly fell above us and I could see the main Strogg city, Karoggon itself.

From first sight it was evident that it wasn’t human. The buildings were black and wicked-looking with half-spheres and rectangles, stretching to and fro, from which protruded high into the sky towers and gigantic buildings. Reinforced walls fell over hard Strogg stone, below which were more buildings. There were no streets, no uncovered areas but few. The entire city was compounds, warehouses, power stations, and the usual processing facilities where human prey was taken. It looked like a gigantic factory, highly industrial. The biggest factory anywhere. A factory of pain, of war. The blackness prevailed, with odd patterns running along and the usual skull with the six outward-spreading rays, the Makron’s mark. And all this black was dotted with tiny white points of light, windows, drawing here and there. The sharp peaks and sudden needle-like protrusions into the sky were lined with red points of light. They were sharp, cutting into the orange sky. And this landscape spread far into the distance until it reached the horizon. The Stroggs had only one city, and it was truly gigantic.

And in the distance, to my left, I could see the fading outline of the infamous ‘Big Gun.’ It seemed so small from my point of view, and yet there was so much fear around it. And somewhere behind those distant walls was Bitterman, wandering about suicidally. Yes, I wished I was in his place. His mission seemed to be of more importance, the pinnacle of the glory of war. But here I was, escorted to kill some deranged colonel. In the eyes of military intelligence, he was a potential menace, a possible threat after the war that could take advantage of Earth’s weakened state. In my eyes it was absolute absurdity.

“Fire, check your ten!” the colonel yelled over the wind.

I saw bright objects trailing grey smoke rise up from a platform etched over the intricate Karoggon irregular surface. They rose towards us and narrowly flew by. The general besides who I stood opened fire on the platform, sending the streaming lines of grey that were the high-velocity lead. Explosions erupted throughout the platform, engulfing and devouring missile housing, but not before the Stroggs managed to launch one futile last rocket. It skimmed by aimlessly and shot up into the orange abyss.

The general grunted with pleasure.

“Nearing target area, keep those rockets away, almost there.”

More missiles flared up from the ground, coming from platforms built upon storage facilities built upon underground chambers. In Karoggon everything was hastily structured, built over old buildings and materials. Metal doorframes and machinery blended into rock and such. And yet it was a dynamically evil city, black with its antennas and towers reaching into the skies like daggers.

The pilot swung the craft abruptly to the right and two missiles flew by. They came so close that the smoke they trailed entered out compartment.

The general busied himself at firing at the launch platforms.

I turned around. The colonel did the same.

More missiles rose from the ground, coming in swarms like insects. The pilot dodged left and right, the black expanse of the Strogg city below danced in the doorframe, tilting forward, backward, and occasionally disappearing from view, replaced by orange clouds, only to fall back sharply and reveal the onslaught of more missiles. The two gunners continued firing incessantly.

I was impressed when a missile fell upon the general’s firing path and exploded in mid-air, another danger avoided.

One of the troop carriers flying in our formation was not as fortunate. I watched as a rocket flew from underneath. The pilot had no time to react. It hit, sending fire from the craft’s bottom, which increased as it reached the bomb bay in a brilliant explosion. Only the front nose of the craft was not engulfed in flame. In the distant cockpit, I saw the two pilot’s hands flailing in the air helplessly. The craft began to gradually fall forward and down until it impacted the city below. I hoped that it killed a lot of the damned Stroggs when it did.

“Commencing bombing run,” announced our pilot.

Ahead loomed a series of low, carefully arranged buildings, small and square like sheds, and ending in a tower at one end. I looked out, gazing at one particular bomber that was flying ahead of us, the alpha leader. The bottom slowly opened and a series of gigantic missiles flew out. The bombers flying in formation to our sides did the same, and I saw rockets fly out from underneath us, too. They fell, sending a line of progressive fire that ate away at Strogg metal and stone. The explosion proliferated and turned a bright white as it ate away at the warehouses. The bottom of the tower was engulfed in flame and smoke and slowly tilted over before falling in a shower of dust and smoke.

The second wave of bombers, or what remained of them, followed, unleashing their fire. Any structure: metal beam, tubing, or panels left standing were soon devoured by the secondary fire. Fire ate away at fire, smoke at smoke. A triumphant yell rang across the intercom.

Meanwhile, a careless bomber from the secondary wave fell to another missile.

We weren’t out of danger yet.

The gunners continued flinging energised lead.

“Woooo! Alright guys, that was a very successful run. We are now climbing to a higher altitude where we won’t be in danger from the Strogg missiles. From there, we will fly east, away from the city, and land at our refuelling base. Shutting doors now.”

The gunners backed away and pulled the cannons in and the doors slid shut.

All of the separate details, the intricate work of the city below fell away as we climbed higher. It all became an endless black plain below us. It was so gigantic it struck me. It was black, the city of death. After what seemed to be an hour’s worth of flying, patches of brown Stroggos rock began to appear until they dominated and the few dots and strips of black machinery and buildings fell behind us. The engines decreased in their whining and the troop carriers began to descend.

My eyes fell to the distant, rocky horizon that had masked the Strogg city. Soon, I would be heading in that direction and circle around the gigantic city. From there it would be a straight cut through the barren land, towards Kurt. Straight into the heart of darkness.

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