Winterborn

First of all I would like to thank my editor Phoenixbreez here. You were a dear and a great help with your input.

Secondly I would like to thank our dear JazzCullen for her encouragement to a budding author like me.

Lastly I'd like to thank Woodmannone, whose story Winterborn inspired me to this piece, just like the same named song from 'The Cruxshadows' that I stumbled across due to Woodmannone.

This story contains no sex. Please also remember that this is a firstlings work, so be nice to the rookie. I know I cannot live up to the standard some of the great authors around here are setting.

Input is always welcome, and I'd be very happy if some of you comment and vote.

See you around.

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It's all coming apart. Going to pieces. After nearly one and a half millennia of hostilities, ranging from mere border skirmishes to all out war, there had been peace. One and a half millennia of warfare leave their marks, and even the battle crazy orcs had to admit the futility of continuing. There could be no victory.

The peace was tenuous at best; a peace of necessity, but everyone strove to keep it stable. The conclave was formed with representatives of the four major races, mediating and judging cross-species matters. It wasn't much, it was far from perfect, but it was a beginning. A spark of hope. Hope that the differences between the races were not insurmountable and for the first time in millennia, since the first contact between elves and orcs actually, there was peace on a galactic scale.

And then came the first raids. No one thought much of it when that first orcish colony in the outer reaches went off the grid. The grid was fickle out there. When they didn't come back online, some attention shifted there, but not enough to rate sending a ship to investigate. After all there was peace. Everything is all right, thought the few people who noticed.

But everything wasn't all right. It was off the grid three days, when the frantic distress signal from a travelling merchant brought the galactic spotlight on that little colony. It had been destroyed. No survivors and all readily available resources had been stripped bare. It was so horrific, at first no one noticed other colonies going of the grid, mainly orcish and elvish ones. When an investigation quickly concluded that the colony had been destroyed by energy weapons, everyone concluded it was the elves.

At that point reports of other destroyed colonies trickled in. Orcish colonies blasted by those same energy weapons, elvish worlds bombarded by rockets, and others it seemed just caught in the crossfire. Accusations were flung around in the conclave. Everyone denied responsibility, blaming someone else. The dwarves tried mediating, but it did not help.

The first ones to leave were the orcs, storming out of the conclave vowing vengeance towards the elves, ready to muster their fleet. The elves responded likewise, dragging us humans with them, as we were their allies. The dwarves just sat there groaning because the warmongers were at it again. Or so it seemed. Only hours later, but still almost too late, the dwarves sent out footage across the grid that shocked everyone.

By agreement with the government of the Sinkar system they had installed surveillance, as the system was near dwarvish space. Minutes after Sinkar went offline, the footage of what was happening was broadcast across the galaxy live. Everything stopped, as we watched these unknown ships descending upon the defenders with impunity, slaughtering them.

These were ships no one had ever seen before. We heard pleas of mercy, surrenders, and death cries, as the com traffic came across unfiltered. No one could believe what they saw. For me it was a surreal experience. I knew we were facing something we had never come across before. Finally the com chatter died and we watched as these ships bombarded the planet with ruthless efficiency.

Even before the transmission cut out because the surveillance station was discovered, the conclave met again, forming a joint command to combat what everyone saw as an openly hostile invader. What followed was a war beyond description. Communicating with these invaders failed. Fighting back failed. Resistance failed. Holding the line failed.

We learned how to combat them, but slowly. Too slowly. One year later the war effort had devolved into a desperate fight to cling on. Analysis of the enemy finally found a weakness we might be able to exploit. Ideas and tactics were developed, tested and discarded until we came up with one that might work. Then we waited.

We waited for an opportunity. When it came, it failed. The elves, arrogant as they were, did not follow the plan and it went to pieces. After that a joint effort was impossible. The elves were kicked out of joint command, which was quickly thereafter destroyed. Now it was just everyone for themselves.

Now I sit here in my quarters at the fleet base around Centauri Prime, a wing commander without a wing. Waiting. Waiting for the inevitable. Still, maybe all is not lost yet. We sit here on the largest fleet yard in known space. Yesterday Admiral Winslow gave out the order for everyone to pool their craziest ideas. Maybe, just maybe, someone will have the idea we need.

We need someone with that balance of genius and lunacy that gives him the right ideas. We need a hero. Someone like Kutusov, when he burned Moscow, or Drake. Drake. Hmm, now that might be a worthy idea. Not ships, no, but fighters. Yes that might work. Have to tell someone. The Admiral said something about his office. Might try there. At the least they can tell me where to go.

With that thought in mind I set of. I wander the hallways, weaving my way through soldiers clustered everywhere, heatedly discussing their ideas. I am so wrapped up in my thoughts, I don't notice the deferential way everyone makes room for me. But then I notice few things these days. It just was not important anymore.

I don't know where I was heading, but somehow, I arrive at the Admirals office. As the station commander, he has a large office with an even bigger antechamber. There is a queue there. I stand at the end until someone senses me there, turns around to ask my opinion, recognizes me, and just steps aside, murmuring "Colonel." Others turn around seeing me and soon the queue became a guard of honour, ushering me into the office. Everyone murmurs something, but I hardly take notice. It's just too much, still to raw, the pain close to the surface to think about it. Or even to be reminded of it.

Walking into the antechamber uncertainly, I don't even really notice that everything had just stopped. An aide takes me straight to the Admirals office. He is in a conference call with his tactical staff and I do not want to disturb. I linger at the entrance, wishing I could blend with the shadows. I am not worthy to be in the presence of such a legend. The Admiral turns after his aide informs him I'm there. I see surprise on his face. He quickly turns around, ending his call for the moment.

The aide leaves and I am alone with the Admiral. He shows me to a chair off to the side of his office, and silently pours two whiskeys. After handing me mine, he sits opposite me in silence for a while. "I'll be honest Dec, you were the last one I expected to see here." He looks at me expectantly first, then sadly, as he comes to believe I have not shaken my catatonia.

In a way I think I have, and yet I have not. Maybe I never will. I sit there, wringing my hands, trying to find the words. "Drake," I finally whisper hoarsely. "Pardon?"

"Sir Francis Drake. He destroyed the Armada with his fire ships," I explain.

"Yes, I know history, and? What do you mean?", the Admiral inquires.

"That's what we need. Not ships but fighters. Loaded to the gunwales with explosives. We position them behind their most likely approach vector and once they drop in, we close the fist on them," I explain, my voice gaining slowly in strength.

He is stunned. More because the idea came from me, than from the idea itself, but still stunned. He walks over to his console, pushing a button and asks seemingly no one, "Have you heard this?"

The speaker answers, "Everything sir. I believe he is right, that might work. Only we'd have to use all of our capacity and then some to get enough fighters. Maybe Mars can help us."

I don't hear the rest. I'm already thinking about how to motivate the men. I'm back in my element. I look up as I notice the Admiral standing over me and realize the conversation had stopped.

"Dec, your idea has just decided our fate. It's crazy as hell, but we are going for it. Even the Prime Minister agrees," he informs me sadly. He knows as well as I do what this involves.

I don't care, he does. I guess I am winterborn. "Sir, might I inform the men? I'd like to ask for volunteers to fly alongside me."

He looks at me again, with sad acceptance. "Yes, go right ahead. It's set already, after all. Even production has been changed already."

Numbly I walk over to his desk. I look at the com panel dumbly before the Admiral pushes the correct buttons. I can now talk to everyone in the system. "Men at arms, fellow soldiers. I don't know how many of you know me, but I am Col. Declin Howard. We are facing insurmountable odds at this moment. Nothing less than the future of this galaxy is at stake here. Yet here we stand. Lesser men would despair. Others already have, but we still stand. We will not capitulate, we will not surrender and we will not withdraw. We cannot.

"But there is still hope. Hope dies last as they say, and we still stand, alive. I ask a few of you to sacrifice everything, so that the many may live. Like Michail Kutusov, when he burned Moscow, Sir Francis Drake, with his fire ships, and a long tradition of others who pulled their country from the brink of destruction with a desperate sacrifice of a few, we have an idea. Anyone with flight experience is needed, for you will be piloting our version of the fire ships into the enemy alongside me.

"Like the Spartans at the Thermopylae, we will stand, we will sacrifice everything so that earth may survive. We shall be winterborn. God be with us all. Col. Declin signing off."

The sombre mood struck a cord within me as I walk back to my quarters. People are even more deferential and I start to notice it. A few shushed whispers as I pass, reverent glances, but otherwise respectful silence. It seems I have become a beacon of hope. It almost overwhelms me. How could I give hope, when I had none for myself?

The following days blurred together. I slipped back into my catatonic state and barely function. I don't know how long we waited, but some time, thankfully after we thought we had reached the minimum of fighters needed, the alarm was raised. I was told the action plan, but as I didn't react, people had forgotten about me. My fighter was fuelled and ready to go, but no one expected me to be in the cockpit.

But I was. I had waited for this. I am not going to miss my chance at payback. Somehow I sense when it is going to happen and dress beforehand. When the alarm sounds, I am already prepared and walked to my designated catapult array. I walk slowly, an island of calm in a sea of madness. I enter the cockpit, oblivious to the stunned looks from everyone.

Methodically I do the pre-flight check. "Control for Hawk One, can I speak to Centauri Actual?" I query over the com.

"Certainly," comes the answer after a moment of stunned silence.

"What is it Dec?" The Admiral asks.

"Can you patch me through to everyone?" I want to know.

Without hesitation he says, "of course. I was going to ask you for some words since you joined us."

I hear the tell tale clicking and know that everyone in the system know can hear me breathe. "Brothers in arms, friends, this is it! Today we die or are live as a race. Either we will be reborn in flames like the phoenix, or we will go down guns blazing. Whatever happens, it will be glorious. Godspeed to all of us. May god have mercy on their souls, for we will not."

There was a resounding, "ahoo" from everywhere. Flying to my position, I listen to a song. Called 'Winterborn' it was from a 21st century band from ancient earth. How I long to be able to be winterborn. But I cannot be. No longer can I love. I had failed them and all that was left now was payback. Love has no place within me.

Now we are waiting. The early warning system we had developed is good, but does not give an accurate time estimate. But maybe they are getting into position. We hide in the mass shadow of a moon, waiting for them to appear. They do not disappoint. Sometime after we got into position they came. Slowly we accelerate, careful not to be to visible. Then I noticed a difference in their fleet composition. They were shielding support ships. We had not seen some of these ships before.

It didn't matter. It was them or us. I marked the flagship. I could still see scars from older battles on its hull. All around me the other fighters were picking their targets. We got close before they noticed us. Very close. We were only a dozen thousand clicks from their ships when the first flack exploded. Instantly I floored the throttle and started weaving my way through the fire. I zone in on the flagship through increasingly heavy flack. Less then a thousand meters away, a flack explodes near me, nearly ripping my fighter apart. The fighter keeps together though and hurtles on. My last moment is after the crash, when I realize, the flack had disabled the arming mechanism for the bombs. I have failed. Again.

Seconds later a second fighter crashes directly next to Col. Declins fighter. The explosion engulfs his fighter and both detonate. Hitting a structurally weakened point, the two fighters are enough to create a chain reaction that breaches the core, blowing up the ship. The tactic worked well. Extremely well.

The enemy, whoever they were, suffered 50% casualties before they pulled out. Later news of desperate acts from the other races came in. The dwarves had novaed the star reactor from the flagship of their first fleet, obliterating half of the first dwarven fleet and an unknown, but large, quantity of the enemies.

The orcs blew up a whole system by placing their re-supply pods too close all across the system and then igniting one. No survivors reported. Strangely, the elves were left untouched. The enemy was defeated, but the cost was high. The war left scars that would not heal for centuries.

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Before you vote, I'd like to ask you to consider a few things beforehand. This story is set in the context of a greater story arc that I am writing on. Parts of it I will hopefully publish here, others I probably won't. Have to see about that, as it will likely become several novellas in length. A lot of the things I alluded to here will be explained in depth later on.

And please remember to vote and comment. This is my first work here and it means a lot to me, so please hand me some feedback so I know I've whether been a bubble head or I've gone in the right direction.