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A.R.Yngve

DARC AGES Book Three
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Chapter 34


Bor Damon's private radio receiver remained activated, 24 hours a day -- he dared not risk missing any vital information. At dawn, Lachtfot approached him in a corridor.

"Why have you left your post?" Bor snapped as he saw the robot coming toward him.

The machine stopped the clicking movement of its legs, and replied: "Urgent news, my lord. I registered a voice from the radio receiver, my lord."

Bor hurried into the radio room, and put on his earphones. He heard Darc's distress call -- and Bor was still waiting for the report from his missing scout ships.

"I order full alert from now," Bor told Lachtfot. "Tell Librian to meet me. All officers to the hangar bay, ready for flight according to the plan. All hangar personnel to their posts. And -- put yourself and the other robots to guard my family."

"Yes, my lord."

The city lord proceeded to transmit by radio the attack order to his allies.



Darc finished his radio speech without any musical number, and switched to the homing beacon. He hurried over to the central switchboard and found the correct lever -- as he pressed it, the elevated cable-line began to sink down into the island's thick undergrowth. He grabbed his rifle and ran off to the exit. On the way he called out for Shara and Eye-Leg, but heard no response. Were they already at the Sunray, as he was hoping?



No radio communication took place between the ships of Tharlos's armada, or with their home bases. At close range, a primitive system of multicolored searchlight-signals was used to convey urgent orders between ships.

The signalman in Tharlos's personal ship, watching the other ships from an observation window, called out in the cockpit: "My lord, the troops are afraid!" Then, after he had signaled with his own searchlight: "The weather is unchanging, but the winds are unpredictable.

"Fuel levels are critical. The troop carriers must land soon!

"Engine failure on three, no, five ships! The Golden Wing has lost both engines! She's going to crash!"

Tharlos turned in his seat from the cockpit of his flagship. He gazed down at the main island below, with its harbor ruins -- no sign of artillery or people, and only some small, deserted terraced fields visible on the hillsides. But he could not understand what was disturbing the aircraft engines. He searched the dark, gray skies for attacking aircraft -- but there was nothing there, except a haze of volcanic ashes spreading from the burning mountain up north. Tharlos barely heard the explosion of The Golden Wing plummeting into the ocean a thousand meters below.

"Sir Devis!" he barked at the senior nobleman next to him. "Read engine status."

A graying nobleman, wearing pilot's goggles and lightweight armor, surveyed the dials and gauges of the panel above his head.

"Fuel pressure stable, engine temp high, burn cycle eleven points below normal... My lord, it's the volcanic ashes and sulphur in the air. Our jet tubes are not built to take in all that pollution."

"Prepare for immediate landing at the southernmost island!" Tharlos shouted at the signalman and the officers. "The foremost flank follows me down to strafe the island -- the carriers start descending now! Mark the ruined harbor for landing."

The flagship screeched down from the sky, flanked by other diving fighters. Mechao's island had no means of shooting down aircraft.



Dohan and his small army lay down flat in trenches, behind rocks and palm-trees, covering their shields so that no reflexes might reveal their positions. Their line was not very wide, but they stood between the invaders and the trail leading up to the nearest village and the hidden cable-line. Tharlos's ships roared past the southern harbor, firing a barrage of pulses at the site and the surrounding vegetation. The bushes and palm-trees instantly burst into flames, and some of the armed islanders were forced to move closer to the beach. The enemy jetfighters followed up with a fast scout sweep across the hills -- and spotted Mechao's rock mansion in the mountainside. One ship made a second turn, and its rear gunners pounded on the mansion as it whizzed by.

The mansion's front wall disappeared in a series of explosions and sparks -- but when the smoke lifted, it still stood almost untouched. The volcanic rock was far too hard to be penetrated from the air. Darc was just crouching down behind a front window, when the laser pulses hit. The air cracked like a thousand whips -- he lost his hearing for a few moments, and stone fragments flew like bullets through the room. He opened his eyes as the ships roared away outside -- and he realized that he had been hit.

A splinter of volcanic or coral rock had ripped up his left shirt arm and opened a long red wound. The pain in his arm rose rapidly, with each frantic heartbeat. Darc tore off his shirt-arm and wrapped it around the bleeding injury, wincing as he did so. Crouching down, he advanced below the windows and headed for the front entrance. He had to reach their only ship, and see that it was safe. Outside, the island was ablaze with fire and smoke -- and the distant volcano was still erupting.