Battleship armada

I was given the latest battleship in our armada to fly into the void and protect the glory of Ildock. Aramon 5 was his name. I protested the command to sail into the endless vacuum, far away from the real battle. Some rumors said I was a loose cannon, a hothead that would turn every contact into a bloodbath, so they send me away not to cause trouble. My trusted friend I designated for the first mate told me of what some Lords wanted me to do. He said:

– They are not sending you away Admiral, they decided to save you for the last. If Ildock falls, you would be the one with the vengeance. I assume the Lords trust more in you to deliver the doom upon our enemy, rather than less experienced Lords that haven’t even grew grey beard. You have friend among those warmongers, and they don’t doubt that your actions will be bloody for the Zarian fleet. Why would they give you our pride Aramon 5 if they are not intended to see it rain death on those that celebrate early?

I listened to my second in command and found light on my chest knowing that is my true purpose. Week passed by with little to none action. Few shape-shifting drones were a child-play for our twelve neutron rail guns. Every battle was ended by Aramon 5 running through the remains of what was an enemy saucer. We went radio silent and shut down the main core to save the power for the real wave headed toward our planet. Main guns were also turned off, because they drew neutrons from the reactor that moved the hundreds of ship engines. We glided through the darkness like a rock sailing in a planetary ring of space dust. Year passed with no words from the main force that went to fight the Zarian space machines. Deep space was our new home we grew to love and respect, but absents of words and instructions made us crazy, so I turned the ship and forced it to the Zarian front. I thought flanking is always the best plan and that I just might arrive in time of  aid. Armada must be protected and glory of Ildock preserved.

Right upon entering the hostile territory, our screens showed no one in our radar vicinity. “Strange” – I thought and typed in the broad search for ships in the area. We even turned on radio and called for command outpost, a check-box we called it, but no answers there. Zarian colony was at our grasp, laying beneath our bowl like ripe peach ready to be picked. Reactors blew distorted steam from the flaps, flames burst gave us a tilt and rail guns extended through the force field.

– Fire! – I shouted when all twelve tentacles buzzed with energy and depleted their content at the orange surface.

Black spot spreed on the orange soil leaving nothing but rubble and magma veins. We rained fire for an hour and sailed onto the next target, just few horizons away. We continued sailing, destroying planets, avenging our fallen brothers with pride in our harts. A few days later, my friend came with some bad news. Traveling the void, we have spent a dozen generations running blind. Frequencies we used were outdated so nobody listened and the Zarian planets we blew up were conquered by Ildock, decades ago.

 Sail

Prigušeni krik

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