Sami ducked under the helicopter's rotors in an effort to mitigate the violent surge of wind. The TH-50 Reynault transport chopper gradually came in contact with the hard earth, its suspension settling lightly, creaking metal conquered by the whipping blades overhead. It was certainly loud, Sami reflected, but not deafening. Something she was used to, as infantry.

She waited under the chopper's whizzing canopy as its door slid open. Jake jumped from the hold as gently as he could, cradling his cast-bound arm. He rounded in time to receive the first of a pair of crutches.

Rachel's here too? Sami was surprised, and couldn't imagine it was medically sound to travel by air with a broken leg. She approached, one hand shielding her eyes, and tapped Jake on the shoulder. His dirty blonde hair danced in the tussling wind, and he grinned mildly before accepting the second crutch.

Rachel was helped over the edge by Sami and two men in the chopper. The CG grimaced, but said nothing. Not that speech was easy, with the blades hissing in the air. As she landed on her good leg, Jake handed over her implements, and she dug them under her arms.

"Good to see you, Commander," Sami yelled, her voice caught up in the whirlwind. Her hair fluttered in her face, but pushed it away to throw Jake a glance. "And you, Captain. We've got a ride ready." She pointed to an open-topped truck a few meters away. Her fatigues' sleeve thrashed violently.

"Thank you, Sami," Rachel acknowledged, and Jake nodded in gratitude as well. It was no use conversing, not until they removed themselves from the Reynault's tempest. As the trio made for the truck, the helicopter engine whined and the deft aircraft took off as easily as it had landed. Sami watched over her shoulder as the Reynault pivoted in mid-air and scooted off to its next mission, eventually receding over a treeline.

The fading clamor of rotaries was replaced by buzzing vehicles. Sami outpaced her companions to procure a seat for the CG. With formalities out of the way, as well as the helicopter, she tried to act a little more carefree. "I'll be honest, Rachel, I wasn't expecting your arrival via chopper. Does the Fort Iams MD know about this little vacation?"

She shrugged casually. "Of course he does."

"And his advice…?"

"Was to either remain on the grounds or take a truck to the front. As you can see," she said, tendering a knowing smile, "I ignored his counsel."

Sami swung the passenger door open and helped the CG up, with Jake's aid. The process was awkward, but soon enough they had her in her seat. Sami and Jake took up residence in the back, and she issued an order to the driver. The truck lurched and rumbled down the shattered road.

Rachel attempted to rotate in her seat as their journey began. "We've been receiving a steady flow of reports from the front. You all did a great job here today, Sami. The first victory over Green Earth, and it's something we needed."

Well. Someone praised her, at least. Sami wasn't normally fond of commendation, but right now she pined for any positive words. The conflict had been taxing. Not just for her, but for everyone. Most men involved were veterans of one level or another, and they'd seen enough of war. Even the officers were already feeling the pressure.

Especially the officers. Pragmatically, she didn't blame Christoph for his harangue. Today was his first command as a CO, and to some degree he'd failed. The civilians' deaths were out of his control, of course, but his secondary objective had floundered. Those townsfolk still died. Whatever was going through his head must not have been reassuring.

Emotionally, though, she bridled at the memory of his words. Cringed away from them and retreated uselessly behind intangible barricades. But they burrowed into her bone and infected the marrow itself. They coated her skin like an oily, unwashable sheen. His words hurt, and they hurt because they were true.

"Thank you, Commander," she managed. It was all she said. All she could say.

Rachel smiled. "Nell agrees, too."

Sami raised an eyebrow. "You spoke with her?"

"Yes. I had a summary forwarded to Serlin HQ. She was delighted to hear about the victory. And she wants more of them." The CG drummed her fingers over the butt of one crutch. "But we'll discuss that later. Once we reach… wherever we're going."

Sami flicked her head, directing their attention to a far-off cluster of tents. "We've set up a temporary command post in the shadow of those buildings. Should give some protection from artillery, if Green Earth decides to shell us."

Jake examined the poled canvas sheets. "Or Yellow Comet."

Sami frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There's been an unfortunate turn of events," Rachel said, fingers still working. "Somehow, by some means, our satellite network is being picked apart. We've already lost two machines, and if the trend continues, we're expecting to find at least one more gone before O-dark."

The information registered in Sami's consciousness, but the disparity between the news and the events of the day was vast. She looked to her lap in thought, mouth moving silently. Satellites, gone? Just like that? "How?"

"Nell's staff is convinced killing satellites are responsible. Exactly what it says on the tin – satellites meant for destroying other bodies. SatTech's scrambling to find a solution, but progress is slow."

Her mind worked quickly, and not entirely with her consent. "What about the ASAT program?" Sami questioned. Her familiarity with air force projects was adequate enough, for a member of a different branch. The OSAF's R&D department tinkered with anti-satellite missiles in the past. The intent of the program was to develop an interceptor-launched weapon capable of reaching low orbit. As far as she knew, though, the project was keelhauled after the ISC agreement some years ago.

Rachel provided a partial explanation, at least. "The latest is that the air force is restarting development. Right now, though, they're worried about locating the prototypes. Apparently they were stashed away in some warehouse out in Teldoro. The estimate is two days before they can begin analysis, and at least a week before they can even consider live-launch tests."

"So that means ten days."

"Something like that." The military's agendas always slipped behind, no matter how many millions were poured into funds. Until Orange Star had an effective remedy for the problem, their space surveillance system was wholly at the mercy of the killsats' controllers. Whoever they were.

Sami, though, did not wish to squander any more time and worry over the issue than was necessary. That was a job for the engineers back in Cosmo. Her task focused on the here-and-now, and there were still unanswered questions hanging in the air. "You mentioned Yellow Comet. What's their status?"

Rachel took a deep breath, and the truck bumped over a rock. A bad omen, if Sami were to believe in them. "The dead satellites surveyed Omega Land. Specifically, the Trepidial Sea and Calciki. Everything north and south of those areas, more or less."

Not good. That was their combat zone. Without proper up-to-date intel, strategic decisions would become considerably riskier. And more costly. "Damn it." Sami scratched at her neck, more as something to do than because of any real itch. "What kind of coverage do we have? Dorton Air Force Base, I assume?"

"That's about the extent of it. I've already ordered recon sweeps of the coast. They'll be conducted every hour, barring this approaching storm." Rachel tilted her head down, blue eyes peering at Sami over a set of imaginary glasses. "It will cut into your air cover, though. I've committed sorties to the west, manpower permitting. There's an armored platoon staking out a forest, waiting for Green Earth to stumble over them. They need the help more than you do."

The news became worse and worse with each passing sentence. Sami sighed. "And Yellow Comet? What are they cooking up?"

"They've got a small fleet somewhere in the Trepidial Sea. I say somewhere because we don't know where, without cameras in the sky." She rubbed at her eyes wearily. "SatTech is trying to maneuver another to reinstate proper surveillance, but it will be some time before their replacement makes the appropriate pass."

Sami swallowed, and interpreted Rachel's impartation without her request. "So they could be anywhere? Right now? You're saying the Comets could land their force anywhere along the coast, and we wouldn't know unless one of our aircraft got lucky?" She wheezed a heavy breath out. "Dorton City's practically built on the sea."

Jake joined the discussion. "Yea, tell me about it. I talked with Dorton's police chief earlier. They seemed pretty set on defending the city if they had to, but I told 'em it was a no-go. If the Comets do take Dorton, they won't treat the civilians wrong. They're no Green Earth, but they've got a pretty good sense of honor."

Sami shook her head. "It's a wonder. You Omega Landers don't seem to consider giving up an option, do you? Citizens willing to defend their homes, after a brutal war. Definitely a wonder."

The talk stopped dead after that. The fate of the town hall and its occupants had undoubtedly reached Rachel, but by the look on her face, Sami guessed she didn't wish to bring up the topic. That was fine. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk about it either.

And she was damn sure Christoph didn't.

She had no idea where he was now. Relieving him had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she silently prayed he didn't have the misfortune to run across another Green Earth survivor. She didn't want to deal with an unauthorized execution. All the paperwork involved…

Why did I intervene? Because it was the right thing to do? Bullshit. She couldn't even lie to herself properly. She knew full well she didn't dread a bunch of documents; that sort of red tape wasn't unfamiliar. For Christoph's sake? No. Not for him.

Why, then?

Christoph's language cut deep. Hit all the wrong nerves, all at once. What if he was right? What if she couldn't fight this war? What if Eagle…

She had to stop herself from souring her face at the recollection. Too many ifs. Too many buts. Certainty is scant.

The truck came to a measured halt outside the crowd of tents, and Sami opened her door, glad to be released from confinement. She stepped out, intent on helping Rachel once more, but first she inspected the sky to the west. The bright cerulean rolled into a shady, ominous gray some miles off. No lightning, no rumble of thunder. Just a silent, creeping darkness that advanced slowly towards Loch Haven.

(())

A bell jingled overhead as Christoph pushed the door open. A long-forgotten tune of civilization, of honest living, of proper business. The café he entered seemed like the only untouched residence in town, at least from the outside. Curiously spared from the destruction that devastated homes and industry alike.

He did not watch the door glide shut behind him, only inferring its closure by the bell's silence. No lights within. A dark doorway led to the back. The large exhibition window was sufficient for the dining area, though. There wasn't much. A cashier's counter, an unstocked pastry display, a few tables and chairs. Coffee machines and ingredient tins still sat on a few shelves behind the register. The walls were decorated with patterned wallpaper and uncomplicated flower prints. Inviting, but short of fancy.

Christoph wasn't really sure why he'd entered the café. Maybe because of its uncanny survival. It was something like a buoy in the middle of the chaotic sea that was war, a scrap of peace and normality in the ravaged world.

Or maybe he just thirsted for coffee.

His head still pounded, that was for sure. It hadn't let up. The bitter hatred ebbed away, leaving his insides all hollow. His fortitude was drained. He really didn't recall his exact words in the confrontation with Sami, but he understood how harsh they'd been. Right now, though, he didn't want to think about it. He just craved caffeine. And isolation. Both desires led him here.

He shuffled to the counter, looking about wearily for a cup. Nothing. He rounded the register and tapped one of the tins. A dull sound indicated it was full. He checked the label. Wasn't a flavor he particularly cared for, but he didn't really give two shits. It was coffee.

"Can I help you?"

Christoph whirled, hand automatically going for his pistol. Then he remembered he didn't have it. He cursed Sami silently.

But the man standing in the shadowed doorway was not uniformed as a soldier. He was quite tall, though, at least a half foot taller than Christoph, and dressed simply in dark blue jeans and a plain gray shirt. Cropped, jet black hair. A large man, but not heavyset. Just the right genes.

"You're missing your firearm, Captain."

Christoph blinked. It took him a moment to remember the presence of his newly sewn shoulder patches. "I, er… yes. I am. Observant of you." He relaxed, going through his subtle routine and searching for weapons.

"I'm not armed," the man said.

If Christoph showed surprise, he didn't mean it. "Very observant of you." The man only lifted his shoulders a fraction of an inch. Christoph bit his lip awkwardly. Was he the shop's owner? A townsperson searching for goods? A looter?

Without Christoph's asking, though, he held out a hand to the tables. "This is my café. It isn't much, and I apologize. The war hasn't been kind to Loch Haven, as you can imagine." He gazed through the large front window. "Though I am fortunate to have my property in one piece." Then he fell mute. Despite his short speech, he showed little to no emotion.

Christoph suddenly felt like an intruder, a common thief. He realized he'd let himself into someone's – presumably closed – business, as indifferently as if he owned it. Idiot. Just because there's a war on doesn't mean the world stops turning. He worked his gums, "I, er… sorry for barging in. I didn't know anyone was still here."

The shop owner looked away from the outdoors and back to Christoph, subjecting him to his blank stare.

"I mean – I'm not trying to loot your store. I was…" he paused. What was he doing? "Honestly, I was just looking for coffee. And a quiet place, I guess."

For a while the man said nothing. Then he looked at his wristwatch, as though he was seriously contemplating closing up for the day. He coughed lightly. "I have no trouble with that, Captain. I believe I can honor your request." He turned round and retreated into the darkness, his midnight hair blending with the shadows in advance of his form.

Christoph was bemused. This wasn't quite the scene he'd expected. He shuffled his feet, awaiting the man's reemergence. He had half a mind to just leave, but his decency had returned since his paroxysm in the square. It would be insulting to step out the door without as much as a farewell. Especially to this man who'd accepted his arrival so nonchalantly.

A stuttering emerged from the darkness, the sound of a lawnmower engine failing to catch. It came again, another rough string of noise. Then a third which grew into a gentle roaring.

The ceiling bulbs flickered on. The new illumination literally cast a different sort of light in the shop. Christoph's spirits lifted, if only by the most infinitesimal of measurements. He wondered if the café drew many patrons in peacetime. He guessed it did.

The owner appeared again, rubbing his hands on an old rag. "I have a gasoline-powered generator. It suits my purposes well enough. It keeps the water running and, if necessary," he nodded to Christoph, "powers my business." The man moved to the coffee tins, setting the rag down and rummaging behind the counter. "Take a seat, if you wish."

Christoph was compelled to do as he said. He chose the smallest table available, a tiny stand only suitable for two occupants. It was wooden, fairly good quality, too. Carved intricately but not in an overblown way, both complementary to and outstanding in the café. The chair was similarly crafted, as far as he could tell. In all, comfortable. In fact, he decided, it'd been quite a while since he'd felt as comfortable as he did now.

Minutes passed and he played with a coaster until the owner approached the table with a steaming mug in each fist, setting one in front of Christoph and the other opposite. He took a seat. His shoulders hunched slightly, as though he was tired of holding them up. Like he'd carried the world's weight in the past and had long since handed off the task to someone else. Christoph knew that feeling. It wasn't the best sensation in the world, by far. All that stress did things to a man.

"There's no milk available. I apologize. But I do have sugar."

One for two wasn't bad. He'd take it. It was more than he'd dared hope for, in all honesty. This man had gone above and beyond his personal call of duty and actually served him a beverage. It was a lot more than he'd dared hope. And so Christoph picked out a couple sugar packets from the table's rack, tore them open, and sprinkled their contents into his mug.

"Thank you," he said. The words shouldn't have felt strange, but they did. He wasn't sure why.

"It's nothing, truly. The least I can do for an officer that defended this town from Orange Star's enemies."

A pang of guilt struck Christoph. He tried to hide his reaction behind his mug by taking a sip. He hardly felt deserving of such tribute, even if the tribute was nothing more than a warm cup of coffee. If karma were real, it owed him a lot less. If only this man knew…

"Christoph. Christoph Jorn," he said. Wasn't sure why he felt it necessary to introduce himself. Or why he hadn't bothered with his title.

The man looked up from his drink. "Tanner." That was all. Christoph had no clues to if it was a given name or a surname. Probably family, but who could say? It wasn't really his place to ask.

"Well, thanks again, Tanner." Christoph sloshed his mug in a circle and peered into the lazily swirling liquid, watching bubbles form and pop. Then he took another swig. Delicious.

He found his thoughts wandering to his initial entry into the café. The way the man commented on his lack of weaponry, and his subsequent visual sweep. As he pondered their first words, it suddenly became clear to him.

"You a veteran, Tanner?"

Again, no change in emotion. Tanner was looking over Christoph's shoulder. He sipped at his drink, eyes locked on an imaginary horizon. "Yes."

"Figured as much. Which unit?"

A pause. "You probably would not have heard of it."

Christoph might've smirked, if his mood had been better. "Try me."

Another stretch of wordless nothing. The generator hummed its coarse hum in the back. Tanner was biding his time, Christoph could tell. Working his response. But he didn't seem like a liar.

Finally, he said, "Black Ops."

Tanner's vacant reactions to his questions were justified, it seemed. If he really was a retired covert operations soldier, Christoph could believe it. He had the age. The wrinkles on his pale face and his somewhat built frame only added to his claims.

It also meant he probably had more experience than Christoph did.

"Can I ask you something, then?"

Tanner's eyes flickered away from his far-off landscape. "I suppose. Within limits, of course."

He nodded. "Of course." Inhale. Exhale. "How do you deal with it? The losses? Not just soldiers, but the collateral? How do you deal with…" he choked on his own words, fighting to continue. "With a man's death? Townsfolk? Civilians? People?"

Those blank eyes communicated naught. Didn't even flutter. If he was giving serious thought to Christoph's question, he did not express it.

"I assume you refer to those killed in the town hall's destruction?"

Christoph's gut turned. "Yes." He almost whispered his response. Almost fearful to say it.

Tanner set his mug on the table and spread his fingers around its rim, absorbing the rising heat. He watched the steam curl around his hand and disappear into nothingness. "I worried once, as you do now, about the deaths of my men, and about the damages my command could inflict upon society. I was an officer. I feared the future, the what-ifs, the possibilities. And when those possibilities arrived, I had no guide to demonstrate how they were to be handled. My superiors gave me no instruction on the matter. I assume they gave you none either.

"The best advice I can offer you, Captain Jorn, is to accept the deaths. You gain nothing by contemplating how things could have been different. You cannot change the past. It is useless and irrational to dwell upon it. But to accept the past does not mean to reject the future. One is quite different from the other. What's done is done. The future, however, is unwritten. Strive to write it yourself, for yourself."

And with that, the shopkeeper sipped his drink again. The relative silence crept back, perturbed solely by the generator's clanking. Christoph watched Tanner, his dark eyes, and his slack, pale face. He looked like a man who'd seen a lot. The man looked old enough to be his father.

Christoph almost wanted to ask if he had children, but checked his tongue. That sort of question was too personal. He had no wish to delve into the life of a war-weary hand.

But it behooved him to listen to Tanner. To at least consider his words. Christoph didn't think he had it in him to ask Sami the same question. Not after what he'd said to her. Rachel he didn't know all that well. And Jake... the Captain probably didn't even idle over the topic.

So there was no one else. No one but this lonely veteran, the owner of a small café in the destroyed outskirts of Loch Haven, to turn to. Life was funny. Christoph chalked that much up. But maybe he could work with it.

And so, he picked up his mug, tilted his head back, and drained the whole thing in a series of gulps. Coffee wasn't something to be chugged, and it burned his gullet on the way down. But he persevered. Something to give him a kick, an edge, as a poor substitute for alcohol.

He set the empty mug down. "Sir," he addressed Tanner, speculating that he'd probably held a superior rank in his time, "thank you, again."

Tanner dipped his head. "Do not worry over it. Remember, the past is not something to become anxious about. Even if that past includes coffee. On the house, as they say."

"Are you sure-?"

"I am certain. My business can survive the expenditure of a single cup, even in times such as these." He rotated in his seat, looking outside. "In fact, I should thank you. I haven't had a decent conversation in quite some time."

If their few words counted as a 'decent conversation', then Christoph supposed Tanner didn't get many social visits. That alone propped his soul up a bit more. He almost felt like he was giving back to the community he'd failed-

No. That's the past. Don't dwell on it. Seemed like a good suggestion already. Maybe he'd see it through.

"You may want to go. Rain comes." Sure enough, the first few drops pattered onto the pane glass, tickling the window and the sidewalk outside. The sky had lost a good portion of its bright hue. The rain would fall hard, soon. Very soon.

"I may." Christoph stood, leaving his cup behind, and offered a hand. "With luck, I won't die in this war. And with luck, your business will pick up."

Tanner gripped his hand briefly, yet warmly. "Never count on luck, Captain. But accept it when it shows."

He'd heard those words before, somewhere. Couldn't place them, though. With little more than a nod, Christoph pushed his chair in and made for the exit. The door swung, and he stepped into the quickly dampening world.

(())

By the time Christoph reached the suburbs nearly an hour later, the storm had unleashed its full fury upon the earth. Rain drummed against the ground in a clamorous display of natural power. Visibility was poor. Very poor. Christoph couldn't see more than a hundred feet into the gloom. He wasn't dressed for the weather, either, and he was soaked. But it really didn't bother him. He had other concerns, other things on his mind.

Like what in God's name he would say to Sami, if he ran into her.

He tramped wet grass underfoot, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets. He probably could've found a truck or APC to transport him back, but he still wasn't keen on company. Needed space to think.

The west was gradually brightening. A good thing, he supposed. The storm was passing. The front end was probably over Dorton City and the coast right now. Eventually it would glide up the eastern seaboard and dissipate somewhere short of Yellow Comet territory.

As he trudged onward, sloped outlines appeared from the rain. Tents. Set up some time since the battle's end. He hadn't returned to the suburbs after the town hall's destruction. He'd remained, watching and waiting for the troops to inspect the ruins. And when they'd found no one alive, he still hadn't budged. That was when the Green Earth pilot came around…

It is useless and irrational to dwell upon the past.

Every time he mulled over Tanner's advice, it seemed more trustworthy, and Christoph told himself he'd follow it. But it didn't abate the irritation he felt towards the Green Earth prisoner. As far as he was concerned, that man was still responsible, as responsible as he.

Though his actions towards the pilot shamed even himself.

"Wrinkle!"

Christoph jerked at the voice. A soldier on the camp's outskirts, a sentry, stood ready under a tree, carbine angled worryingly in Christoph's direction. The glowing butt of a cigarette marked his position better than his silhouette, and Christoph had even missed that signal in the gloom. Regardless, he punctually met the challenge without batting an eyelid. "Bait."

The rifle lowered and the sentry took a few steps his way from his tree's poor cover. He squinted to identify Christoph. "Captain? That you?"

"Yea, it's me. I'm just getting back now."

The soldier, however, fingered his weapon's secondary handle. Like he was tempted to fire it. Chrsitoph's eyes grew a little wider. This wasn't quite the greeting he'd expected. He found the man's eyes, and recognized them. The soldier had a foreign look, maybe grandparents from Yellow Comet or some minor nation. The same soldier that'd accompanied Sami. When he'd found the pilot.

"Ah, sir-" the man stuttered the words. Like he feared something. "Are you… feeling ok?"

"Yes. Yes, I am, private," Christoph said in his most reassuring tone. Half to comfort the sentry, half to comfort himself. "Thanks for asking. I guess."

The gun relaxed. So did Christoph. "Yessir." The cigarette glowed brighter for a moment. "If I may speak frankly, sir, I believe the phrase is, 'shit happens'."

At this Christoph cracked the hint of a smile. "Indeed, private. Shit does happen."

They stood together for a moment, not saying a word. Christoph listened to the rain bounce off of the soldier's helmet. It created an interesting chaotic melody. Rather appropriate, really. It certainly matched the conditions.

"You hear about the Comets, sir?"

Christoph employed his memory. Unless the private was referring to yesterday's declaration of war, then he hadn't. "Last news I heard was the charade they pulled on the television."

The soldier didn't immediately respond. He took a drag on his cigarette, pulled it from his lips, and shot dual plumes of gray through his nose. The odor was lost in the damp air. He flicked the used butt away and stamped it out with his boot, though the action was entirely unnecessary. There was no way it could've set a bonfire.

"The bastards landed nearly a battalion under the storm's cover," he declared bitterly. "They're in Dorton."