Prologue: Strike at the Heart
The colonel knew it was a suicide mission. He was to destroy the capital city on the home planet of the enemy. And the world was defended to the hilt; the chance that he would live to deliver the weapon was small. But if he succeeded, even at the cost of his own life, it would shorten the war, maybe even finish it.
His ship hummed about him. Apart from the weapon, it carried almost nothing but fuel. And the colonel, together with minimal food supplies. The ship was fast, but could it be fast enough? No amount of speed could outrun a laser beam.
His death was not a factor in his calculations. The enemy was deadly—that had been shown often enough. No other species in the known universe was more ferocious, more careless of life, of anything but winning. Anything that would shorten the war would be worth his very best attempt, and that he would give.
The planet was clear enough in his forward view now, not unlike his own homeworld to look at. More water, smaller than home and with lower gravity. A bit warmer, with smaller polar caps; the similarities outweighed the differences.
The pattern of the landmasses on the enemy planet was burnt into his brain, and the city he was going to destroy was turning even now into the sunlight.
His training agreed with his instinct, that his best bet was to head straight for it at the highest speed he could get, although his natural intelligence thought this was all too obvious and something more devious would stand a better chance. He sighed mentally. It wasn’t for him to question authority at this point. At this stage you followed doctrine and hoped for the best. He tapped on the power control and slid it to maximum.
The ship came screaming down. He had gotten close to the planet without being detected, and now it was time to go for the kill. He would come in slightly to the south-west of the target, in the early morning dark, and then level out at the last possible moment. He extended the blunt wings. They were small, retracted into the body, but you didn’t need much area at this speed, a speed that would heat the skin of his ship well past the melting point. There was enough material to ablate and keep the craft from disintegrating, at least for long enough. He was in atmosphere now, and the skin temperature climbed. He confirmed that he had some control via the stubby wings. That was when a laser beam hit. He felt the ship rock, then the beam hit again, and he felt the ship start to fall apart around him. The thing had practically been cut in half. He had zero control and was headed for a most impressive impact in about thirty seconds. There’d be some new craters on the soft green land ahead in less than half a minute.
He had failed. The knowledge burnt within him. The weapon had been vaporized, as had half his ship. He looked bleakly at approaching death. He had no particular need to live, he thought. Being taken by the enemy, tortured for information, and eventually killed and perhaps eaten was not something to fight for. Not that he had any useful information; his commanders had seen to that, but the enemy wouldn’t know.
Something at a very primitive level disagreed, and it had the backing of his forebrain. So he tapped the ejection button.
The sled ejected, taking him with it. The gravity force took blood from his brain and he blacked out.
* * *
When H’char’n-Colonel recovered, the sled was stationary on soft green turf. He scrambled out of the webbing as fast as he could. He had to get as far away from here as possible before the humans caught up with him. Washington would survive, this time at least, but he wouldn’t, not if the humans were fast. Aircraft would be heading this way, he thought, as he tore the last strap off and pushed open the hatch. He scrambled through and looked around. There were hills in the middle distance, the cool green hills of this alien planet, Earth. They would be his first destination.