Fictional Life

BORN OF HEROES

— by Jeff Karamales

PART 1: A GRAND ENTRANCE

Chapter 1

“Grandstorm control…This is SPF sloop Scimitar. Requesting permission for landing under emergency conditions,” Warrant Officer II Elias Tivnan said over the Dennier spaceport emergency frequency.

He spoke calmly as he fought the controls of the fast response craft, keeping a flat orientation in relation to the surface of the planet that his ship was rapidly falling towards. Despite trying to show a calm visage for the rest of his crew, his stomach was knotted and one thought kept running through his mind…’We’re going to die’…

“Understood Scimitar,” a female voice said over the comm channel, the visual communication screen showing a black furred vixen. “Traffic has been grounded and you are clear for any convenient approach vector. We have response crews standing by.”

Elias signaled his understanding and focused on the controlling ship’s descent into the increasingly thickening atmosphere. Unlike most other vessels throughout the Planetary Alignment, the SPF Sloop bridge stations could overlap each other as a form of redundant back-up. While sitting at the helm, Elias could call up navigation, communications and weapons. As drag on the small vessel increased, the fox was only interested in actual flight control and the coordinates for the spaceport. Communications were piped directly through his pressure suit’s helmet and he could cycle through what he needed by nudging the controls along the bottom ring that sat above the neck seal with his chin. Toggling the switch he changed from the air traffic frequency to the intercom system on board the sloop.

“We’re cleared for landing,” he grunted out, straining to keep the nose of the craft up and the flight level as the ship began to shake violently. “Make sure everyone is strapped in and small arms are secure.”

The Scimitar usually carried a compliment of eleven individuals, but their recent engagement with a Terran made Carrack class freighter they had been informed was a pirate vessel and known for smuggling illegal weapons and other unsavory cargoes had lowered that number to six. The sloop’s captain, weapons officer, chief medical officer and two recruits, on their apprentice voyage no less, had been killed when the freighter opened fire with non-standard weapons. It wasn’t uncommon for vessels that plied the space lanes to carry armaments, but the ship they had been tracking had severely outgunned the SPF ship by almost 4 to 1 in its pulse cannon array, and even carried a compliment of Talon missiles, weapons that were never permitted on civilian craft.

The Warrant Officer engaged the flaps to the control surfaces of the sloop, something that wasn’t standard on most ships, but as the Scimitar spent almost as much time in atmosphere as it did in the hard vacuum of space, it was sensible and made the overall design far more efficient than relying solely on thrusters. But it was also this design feature that suddenly turned the craft into a hurtling death trap.

With a teeth-grating screech and sudden lurch, the port wing pulled away from the ship, ripping a substantial tear in the hull and bounced into the engine pod directly behind its mounting. The impact sheered away armor plating, ripping the fuel lines and ignited the resulting spray. With a shuddering BOOM! the vessel’s aft erupted in flame and black smoke. The loss of power and control dropped the sloop nose first towards the ground and Elias fought hard against gravity and loss of aerodynamic stability as the Scimitar became something more akin to a hurtling meteor on a ballistic arc.

With a growl of frustration, fear and effort, Elias was able to bring the sloop up as he fed more power to the starboard engine. “Grandstorm control,” he grunted still fighting the dying sloop with every ounce of strength and will that he possessed. “Spaceport landing is a no-go. Changing heading to the Arvallian Sea. I’m going put us in the drink. Request a reroute of rescue elements.” To land at the spaceport was insanity. He could no longer control the craft and the danger to innocent lives was far too great. He hoped that the water might be a touch more forgiving than the reinforced concrete tarmac and landing pads. Not to mention buildings and other vessels.

There was a burst of static before the voice of the female Air Traffic Control technician came back, though her voice sounded far away and tinny. “Affirmative, Scimitar. Rerouting now.” There was another pause and moment of static before the voice spoke again, this time subdued and with a tremor. “And good luck…”

Elias Tivnan, Chief Warrant Officer II and seven year combat veteran and pilot didn’t have a chance to reply as they neared the freshwater sea that lay just past the spaceport and city of Grandstorm. “I would have liked to have met that vixen!” the fox thought to himself with an ironic smile just before the Scimitar hit the first wave of the green-blue water.

— NEXT CHAPTER —