Gurkar, like the two squadrons clinging to his sides, froze in a fighting stance. The gunner's breath, like hot steam, touched the back of his neck. His first combat as a fighter pilot lay ahead, a clash with other fighters and an entire Hattak.
"One minute! Everyone, get ready!" came a voice from the intercom. The Jaffa's grip on the control wheel tightened.
Years of glider training had led him to precisely this: to battle, to crush Apophis's vile ship, to glorify the names of Ra and Szarekh. To demonstrate that they were the galaxy's finest warriors. The master's magic illuminated the screen, marking the enemy ships' exit point from hyperspace. The squadrons began to converge.
Sixty long, grueling seconds of waiting—and the purple portal opened, disgorging two ships. Gurkar, without hesitation, threw his fighter forward, following the leader. The gunner was already aiming the guns. The first salvo of four cannons rained down on the central pyramid. Teltak and his troops flew ahead, enveloping the enemy. Resistance was too late. Teltak clung to the hull, turning it into a no-go zone.
A barely perceptible turn, and the ship's speed dropped to a crawl, barely allowing it to avoid shield activation. The cannons continued to pound the superstructure.
"Attention everyone! The enemy has launched gliders, be prepared to counterattack," their squadron commander's voice rang out.
Krel disdained the pitiful Jaffa he was attacking. As soon as his warriors disembarked from the teltak, he ordered it to retreat, leaving a gaping hole in the enemy's hull from which thin air immediately erupted. This was Krel's plan: exploit the weakness of the enemy, lacking such equipment, by pushing air out of each section. Simultaneously, he secured an advantageous position: the air leak automatically activated the separation barriers. Szarekh's warrior could advance unhindered, destroying blast doors with new explosives, fearless. He had adopted his master's method: victory above all else, no matter how it was achieved. His name would undoubtedly go down in Jaffa legend as the conqueror of an enemy ship. And he himself could tell stories of all kinds. Space protected them from any surprise attacks, putting Apophis's warriors at a distinct disadvantage.
There was no honor in this method of combat. But was there honor in Apophis's own methods of war? He sent two ships, believing Lord Szarekh had only one, poorly armed. And Apophis's Jaffa would show no mercy, so what difference did it make how he destroyed them?
Having attached explosives to the weakened points of another door, they retreated into the alcoves. The explosion shook the hull. A monstrous stream of shrapnel and air rushed out, rushing through the holes already made.
"The fighters damaged the reactor," the tactical officer reported. "Other ships with landing forces have been dispatched to assist."
Krel cursed. His master's reputation as a ship conqueror demanded greater speed. He redoubled his rage, planting explosives on the doors, ignoring the bodies of fallen warriors. Despite the vacuum in the chambers, the activated gravity continued to hold the bodies. Reaching the corridor leading to the bridge, he planted more explosives, retreated to a safe distance, and pressed the button. In an instant, the room was empty, deprived of air.
Krel crouched and entered the narrow passage, weapon at the ready. His squad followed, frozen in place. A man in rich robes lay beside the command throne. A god. They had killed a god. Could it really be possible?
"Report your status." "We've captured the peltak." "Use your knowledge to bleed the coolant from the reactor into the lower sections, return the teltak to its original position, and that will restore the hull's integrity. Bring the reactor to minimum power," came the voice of his master. "That way, they won't be able to blow themselves up." "Yes, master," Krel replied, breaking away from his heretical musings. He needed to write his name into history.
Argilac lay in ambush in front of the Chapa'ai. They had erected a full-scale defensive structure, ready to repel an attack, but it was merely a decoy. When the Hattaku entered the system, the Chapa'ai opened up, and a huge sphere rolled out. They knew it was scanning them, and that was part of the trap. The Jaffa under his command immediately targeted and fired upon the sphere.
Warriors poured out of the gate and immediately opened fire. The enemy responded in kind. The symbols of Apophis glowed on their heads—the enemy had been identified. At that moment, Argilac pressed the button. The gate on the pedestal rotated, now pointing down into the abyss. Seconds later, the screams of men falling into the abyss rang out. The attackers turned in surprise, stunned by what they saw. The pedestal, powered by Szarekh's magic, rotated, pointing the gate's exit toward the precipice. The gate literally stood on the edge of the abyss.
"Jaffa Kree!" Argilac proclaimed.
Szarekh's warriors, recent servants of Pelops, burst from the trenches, rushing toward the remnants of the enemy advance group, firing as they went. Within minutes, the remaining enemy was destroyed. The gates continued to function, and the desperate cries of the falling men distracted the officer from his work.
"Young ones," muttered one of the soldiers. "Apophis always sends the young forward, into the line of fire," Argilac replied, turning over the corpse of a young warrior of about fifteen. "Those who survive are worthy of serving him. They were all unlucky today."
The screams of the men, suddenly realizing they were plummeting off the cliff, began to irritate the officer. It had been his god's brilliant plan, but with such a dense concentration of troops, thousands of Jaffa could end up at the bottom of the abyss. They had been defeated by cunning, without honor. No one gained glory in this battle, except perhaps the merciless force of gravity.