CassaSeries

Chapter Fourteen-2

Dive!

Byron followed his instructions, and a Cosbolt shot over their nose, firing at the enemy. Pulling up, he took aim at the Vindicarn in pursuit of their comrades. Both enemy ships were destroyed, but no time existed to relay a word of thanks.

Another wave coming, Bassa thought.

Casting a glance skyward, Byron caught sight of another wing of fighters emerging from the enemy ship. He grimaced at the mass confusion residing over their heads.

When the Sorenthia and Lathella first appeared on either side of the massive ship, Vindicarn fighters poured from the vessel like an angry swarm, filling the sky. That the enemy continued to send out more ships was of great concern, as no squadrons remained on either Cassan vessel. They already fought at full capacity.

We’ve got to keep them distracted just little longer, Bassa thought.

A flash to their left caught Byron’s attention and he turned just in time to see a Cosbolt go up in flames. The sight refueled his energy and anger pounded in his ears. Adjusting their course, he flew at the Vindicarn craft as if intending to collide with the vessel. At the last moment, he fired and pulled up on the throttle. The flames from the enemy ship licked the edge of one wing in passing.

Two more! cautioned Bassa, guiding his pilot toward the approaching ships.

Byron dispatched one ship, but it forced him to make another jump to avoid the second fighter’s disrupter blast. Aware that he neared the limit of his abilities, Byron pulled energy from the teleporter as a safety measure. Bassa’s coordinates provided some security, though. They emerged below two Vindicarn ships, and he took a deep breath before rising to meet the enemy.

I’m running out of jumps, he thought, reluctant to admit his ability was just about taxed.

I know, thought Bassa. We’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way.

Byron fired at the two ships flying close in formation. He caught one vessel’s tail section, sending the ship spinning, but the other escaped damage and returned fire. The laser skimmed the nose of the ship but did not penetrate the hull. Byron executed a twisting maneuver and pulled the ship out of range. He gritted his teeth, frustrated by the situation.

Sorry! he told Bassa, annoyed he could not jump the ship to safety.

I’m the one who’s been telling you to jump…

And you’re never wrong! Byron thought.

Eliminating the Vindicarn ship, Byron spun the ship around to face the heart of the battle. Thousands of fighters dotted the sky. They spanned the length of the enemy craft and extended beyond the two Cassan ships parked on either side. Flashes of light marked the end of both friend and foe. Larger explosions dotted the sides of all three mother ships. The scene was total chaos. However, Byron didn’t require a status update to know the Cassans faced trouble. Most of the ships above them were Vindicarn.

The fifth team never made it, Bassa announced, cutting into his thoughts. And one team won’t be returning.

Feeling sweat run down the side of his face, Byron’s hand on the throttle tightened its grip. Would this mission fail completely?

He pushed forward, determined to continue fighting. Bassa alerted him to a Cassan ship in trouble. Byron spotted the fighter, three Vindicarn on its tail. No time existed to instruct the pilot to maintain his course. However, he could take out two ships by approaching from an angle.

He came up under the Cosbolt as it shot over the canopy. Byron fired multiple shots, catching the first two vessels by surprise. The third adjusted and Bassa ordered him to dive at once. Blasts sailed past their left wing, nicking their tail section.

Hang on! Byron thought as he fought to maintain control of their Cosbolt.

Incoming! Bassa exclaimed, flashing an image of two approaching Vindicarn.

Desperate to escape, Byron tried to jump the ship. To his chagrin, he lacked the mental strength to perform such a maneuver. Yanking hard to the left, he brought the ship under control.

A blinding flash of blue light streaked across the canopy. The stream trailed into the cockpit and a jolt of pain that traveled all the way down his spine. Fire erupted in his head, consuming all other thoughts. He cried out in pain and fell forward on the throttle, blinded by agony and unable to sense anything.

Byron!

The ship now spiraled toward the planet at a frightening rate. Bassa grasped his controls, fighting to pull the ship out of its tailspin. The whirling motion nauseated him and if Bassa didn’t regain control soon, he’d be unable to stop their rapid decent.

“Byron!” he called, aware his pilot could no longer hear his mental voice. “Byron, pull up!”

Keeping his head despite the urgency of the situation, Bassa brought the ship’s incessant spinning to a halt. No longer spiraling out of control, he attempted to edge the nose of the ship up and pull away from the planet’s surface. If he continued flying low, perhaps they could avoid detection and return to the Sorenthia. Lacking a pilot and unable to jump, they were in no position to continue fighting.

A laser blast skimmed their canopy. Pushing forward, he sent the ship into another nosedive in an attempt to shake their attacker. Glancing at his screen, Bassa realized two Vindicarn ships pursued them. At the same moment, a blast struck the side of their Cosbolt, jolting its occupants. Before he could take evasive action, as second bolt struck the ship.

The blow tore through more than the metal. His side burned and he caught his breath as the searing pain shot through his body. He fought the urge to look down for fear it would send his mind into shock. Even now, he could feel himself slipping…

“Byron!’ he screamed, channeling his last remaining traces of energy into his pilot’s name.

The sound of his name jolted Byron’s senses and he recognized his friend’s voice. He gasped, his eyes closed tight against the flames licking his mind. He couldn’t ignore Bassa’s commanding tone, though. He had to respond.

Lifting his head, Byron forced his eyes to open. They no longer plummeted straight toward the ground, but the angle was too steep for anything but a crash landing. Uttering a sound that bordered on a growl, he grasped the throttle. Forcing his body to obey, he pulled back in an attempt to level the ship before impact.

As if moving in slow motion, Byron watched the ground pass in a surreal blur. He detected the horizon as it dropped into view and fought to slow the craft. The ground now raced past the nose of the plane. The boulders leapt at him as if alive, threatening to tear apart the small fighter. Selecting the path of least resistance, Byron pushed the throttle in that direction. Blinking against the searing pain in his head, he braced for a rough landing among the rocks.

The impact bounced the ship in the air. Byron struggled to maintain balance as the vessel struck the ground again. Throwing the thrusters into full reverse, he attempted to dodge the larger boulders as they rose in his path. Forced to squint even harder as sparks flew from the underbelly of the ship, the rocks scraped against the metal. Byron lost sight of the scene ahead and a sharp jolt shook the craft as the nose deflected off a rock. His muscles ached from the effort required to maintain a grip on the throttle. About to collapse, another jolt shook Byron as the ship came to an abrupt halt.

Letting his head fall back against the seat, Byron closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. In the ensuing silence, he drifted and fought to remain awake. The searing heat in his head made it difficult to think. His name echoed in his head and Byron realized he needed to check on Bassa.

Fumbling with his helmet, he managed to pry it free. Leaning forward, he dropped it in his lap. Forcing his eyes open, he stared at the instrument panel. Everything appeared dark, but he noticed a red blinking light and frowned. The ship had sustained a hull breach.

“Bassa?” he said, his voice cracking as the sound echoed painfully in his head. “Bassa?”

A soft moan reached his ears and Byron realized his navigator was injured as well. He flicked the distress signal and fumbled for the com.

“Two officers down,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “In need of immediate medical assistance.”

Byron unfastened his restraints and attempted to raise his body. The sensation sent a shockwave of pain through his head and he winced. Craning his neck, he tried to peer over his seat, but he couldn’t get a clear view. Recalling the planet boasted a breathable atmosphere, Byron reached for the canopy’s lever. He had to pry hard, but the mechanism engaged and the canopy slid out of the way. Byron struggled to his feet.

“Bassa?” he said, grasping the back of the seat and hoisting his body upright.

The movement caused a wave of nausea and he paused with eyes closed. Regaining his senses, Byron opened his eyes and leaned over the back of his seat.

Bassa sat slumped in his seat, his body motionless. His eyes closed, his breathing appeared labored. Byron’s gaze traveled down his friend’s body, checking for injury. It was then that he noticed the blood. A large, red stain circled a tear in Bassa’s flight suit, its expanse widening before his eyes. Fear gripped his chest, threatening to squeeze the air out of his lungs.

He lunged forward and clasped his hand over Bassa’s side. His navigator flinched from the pain this caused, uttering a short cry as his head rolled forward. Byron steadied his friend before fumbling with the instrument cluster below him. His finger came in contact with the communication panel.

“Sorenthia, I need medical assistance now!” he said, as if by sheer volume he could entice an immediate response. “Senior officer down. I repeat, senior officer Bassa is down!”

His head pulsated from the effort, but Byron ignored the pain. Reaching under his left arm, he tore at the first aid pack near Bassa’s knee. Byron’s gaze flicked to the gaping hole in the side of the ship and noted the twisted and burnt metal. His hand came in contact with a large gauze pad and he extracted it from the kit. Tearing the wrapping with his teeth, he grasped the gauze and lifted his left hand. Blood soaked his glove, and he covered the wound with the gauze before the sight of charred flesh and protruding innards caused his nausea to return.

Pulling the glove from his free hand, Byron grasped his friend’s shoulder. “Bassa, can you hear me?” he entreated, desperate for a reply.

His navigator’s head rolled back against the seat and Bassa opened his eyes. The man appeared tired beyond his years, his breathing shallow. Bassa’s lips moved, but behind the helmet, the sounds remained muffled.

“Let me get that off you,” Byron said.

His fingers found the correct latches, but Byron was afraid to yank the helmet from his friend’s head. Bassa managed to raise his left hand and Byron positioned it before grasping the helmet from the other side. Together, they pulled it off his head, and Byron tossed it out of the cockpit.

“Bassa!” he said, taking a deep breath to clear the agony in his head. Byron grasped his friend’s head and forced the man to look him in the eye.

“Stay with me now!” he ordered, fighting to maintain his composure. “Stay with me until the medical ship arrives.”

Bassa’s chest rose and fell as he fought for every breath. Byron trembled, afraid his friend would succumb to his injuries without a fight. Furious he couldn’t connect mentally, Byron gave Bassa’s head a light shake.

“Don’t you dare give up on me! You hear me, Bassa? I’m not letting you give up.”

His friend’s eyes lay closed while he spoke, but Bassa’s lids opened. Tinged with sorrow, they revealed none of the spirited fire that Bassa possessed.

“Byron,” he said in a calm voice, raising a hand to grasp his pilot’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

Those words cascaded down Byron’s spine like a river of ice. The excruciating pain in his own mind was forgotten as he stared at his friend in disbelief.

“No!” he gasped. “Don’t you dare give up now.”

Closing his eyes, Bassa shook his head. Byron swallowed hard, unwilling to believe his friend might die. Bassa had survived too many battles to allow death a victory now. Blood continued to soak his glove through the gauze, its warmth seeping out of Bassa’s body. The sensation sent Byron into a panic.

“Damn it, you can’t die on me! You’re the only friend I’ve got!”

Bassa’s fingers tightened around his arm even as the rest of his body began to sag. His eyes opened and he met his pilot’s gaze. Uttering a short, desperate cry, Byron leaned closer.

“Please,” he begged, his eyes filling with tears.

Bassa’s lips parted. “You’ll be all right, little brother,” he whispered.

Byron stared at his friend, his mouth ajar. Unable to connect or stop the lifeblood as it poured from Bassa’s body, he watched as the light faded from the man’s eyes. Bassa’s fingers lost their grip and his hand dropped into his lap. His neck went limp in Byron’s grasp and Bassa’s head dropped against the seat. His navigator was gone.

Byron leaned away, his eyes wide. The pounding in his head shifted to his chest, making it difficult to breathe. No one in Byron’s life had ever believed in him until he met Bassa. The senior officer chose to stand by a young man no one else wanted, gaining his trust and encouraging Byron. The man had become the one constant in his world of turmoil and uncertainty. Now his only friend was gone. Byron was alone again.

“No!” he screamed, agony bursting from his chest. “No!”

Closing his eyes and dropping his head, Byron shook as he sobbed, unable to contain his grief. The writhing, burning knots in his stomach overshadowed the scalding fire in his head, and Byron’s body twisted to the point of breaking. Convulsing with each racking sob, his lungs ached for air, and the mounting pain threatened to render him unconscious.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Byron pulled Bassa’s limp body closer. He pressed the side of his head against his friend’s cheek, hoping for a measure of comfort as the tears continued to flow. Bassa’s parting words still rang in his ears, and only the sound of his own ragged breath penetrated the throbbing in his head. His senses numb, Byron wanted nothing more than for his body to cease feeling as well. Surrendering to his pain, he slipped down that dark hole and into oblivion.

Voices reached his ears and hands grasped his shoulders. Byron protested the intrusion as his hold on Bassa slipped. He thought he heard his name spoken, but his focus remained on his friend as his fingers were pried free and physical contact broken. Forcing his eyes to open, Byron watched Bassa’s face vanish from sight as he was pulled over his seat. No longer able to see his navigator, he closed his eyes and allowed strong arms to lift his body from the cockpit.

The sudden movement and jolt as his feet touched the planet’s rocky surface caused his nausea to return. Fighting the restraining hands, Byron broke free. Dropping to his knees, he relieved his stomach of its contents. It eased his queasiness, but his head now pounded twice as hard, and he covered his eyes with his hand. Spent to the very core, he offered no further resistance as several men lifted his body and deposited him on the floating gurney.

Once inside the medical transport, someone wiped his face before placing a mask over his mouth. He opened his eyes and attempted to focus on the figure hovering over his body. Feeling his senses slip, Byron allowed the dark depths to overtake him again.