"12 long, grueling months have culminated to this day," Vult's voice spoke as he paced up and down the center of the dropship in his usual manner, hands clasped behind his back beneath his PAK. "it has been a year since the formation of this unit, a year paid in blood, sweat, and tears, and a year that has brought all of us one step closer to our vengeance.
Beneath the tutelage of myself and your comrades, you have grown stronger as an individual, and invincible as a unit. Together, we can brave the fiercest storms, survive the harshest conditions, and defeat the strongest enemies. This is but the first step in our futures, and one of many from here on."
The 8 soldiers present, Rem piloting the drop ship, sat 4 to each side of the small, durable craft. At Vult's side stood a SIR unit, or standard-information retrieval unit. They were often given to commanding officers in the field and Spec Ops units, and more recently, an addition to the Invader equipment repertoire.
This SIR unit, however, was quite different from its mass-production counterparts. It was of the Ripper variant, focusing more on combat and defenses as opposed to actual information retrieval, but still adequate in that department. Vult needed both, and he received them. He only wished that Aero hadn't gave it a name, much like she names everything else, no matter what object it is. Thanks to that, the SIR unit also answers to "Mrs. Quackers" and variations of the name. For some odd reason, no matter how much Vard tried, he couldn't erase the directive from its programming to accept that recognition.
Opposed to the traditional shades of gray and silver, Vult's was coated with non-reflective midnight-black, but the eyes remained true with a vibrant crimson. The one, however, had special lenses to eliminate glare and severely repress the illumination the eyes gave off. Everywhere Vult went, the SIR unit followed, much like an obedient pet…but pets didn't pack arsenals of weaponry and were incredibly dangerous.
The dropship was very angular in construction, as opposed the Aramada's bulbous hull designs, primarily built with stealth and defense in mind. It was essentially a heavily armored box to infiltrate and extract, no matter how hot things got.
No longer did they bear their former assigned professions, but their new uniforms that was designed by not just Vult, but the unit acting as one. They were black in color with red edging, a matching helmet combined with a combat mask and visor, hiding their features. Their antenna protruded from their helmets, but were protected in a flexible series of small armor plates, as were the arms, legs, neck, and vital area of the torso. A high collar and trenchcoat-styled skirt added further flexible protection. It was much lighter than any Elite uniform, but just as protective, if not more. They retained the forearm guards and boots the Irken Elite wore, but the Shadow Strikers had a nasty little surprise mounted on both of their forearms…energy blades.
This was a project forged by Corr and Vard, based off of Corr's own passion for ancient warfare. It was based off of weaponry the Irken had used in territorial tribal warfare against one another millennia ago, and was going to be revived in the current day and age. No longer forged from metals, but a contained plasma field, it would render most armor useless.
Once activated, they would produce a blade about a foot and a half long, 4 inches in width, and would taper to a point. It would leave not a trace of what was used to kill other than the cauterized would. It was the perfect covert operations instrument of death.
"Your training was not from a simulator or something thrown together by a superior, but many actions that led to experiences, teachings that you learned on your own, I merely guided you down the path necessary. Prove to me on this assignment that it wasn't for nothing, prove to me that we are the greatest fighting force in the universe ever assembled. Prove to me that the Almighty Tallest' faith was not ill-placed…and prove to yourselves that you aren't just another member of the Irken race, not just another soldier in the Armada…you are perfection incarnate."
"30 seconds until surface drop," Rem's voice, all business and no play at this point filtered through their closed communications. It didn't matter at this point if it was to push the nervousness back in their minds or to further instill them with bravery. The dropship was screaming through the atmosphere, preparing to land planetside on Praxxus 7, without support, a mere 10 soldiers trained to operate alone and in secrecy, against Vortian strongholds with garrisons numbering in the hundreds of thousands. If secrecy was completely compromised…they would never leave this planet again and add to the Irken casualty collective that was already staggering on this filthy ball of rock that orbited Vort.
"Just as we discussed and planned," Vult continued, knowing that any sane Irken felt the fluttering of their spooches at moments like this, as did he, but tried to not show it, especially in command, "we go in quietly, split up into two fire teams, and advance simultaneously. Corr," The Irken Commander garnered the second-in-command's full attention.
"Sir!"
"You'll lead one team, consisting of Tuu, Aero, Vard, and Rha. Volx, Haxx, Sula, and Rem…all of you are with me. Corr's team will knock out the communications array so they can't send for help, and then proceed to the planetary defensive systems. Once there, take it out so the invading forces that are due for Operation Impending Doom II don't get slaughtered by artillery.
My team is going to hit the power generation facilities. We'll take away their eyes and ears, and put them in the dark. Blind, deaf, and confused, chaos will ensue, and victory will be at hand for the Irken Empire. Everyone understand your objectives?"
A series of salutes and nodding was all that responded, signaling they were ready for anything at this point.
"10 seconds to drop, deactivating cloaking, lowering rear ramp." Rem's voice filtered through their helmet commlinks once more as she began expertly keying in several commands and flips of switches in the complex craft. "Green light, clear for deployment."
The dropship still screamed mere feet above the terrain, luckily it was smooth though. With weapons in hand, a long-range target acquisition rifle was on Tuu's back in a harness, Aero seemingly overladen with anti-vehicle measures and tools to do so, Vard's height was increased dramatically with the aid of the communications antenna that jutted from the sides of his helmet and backpack, and Rha had the necessary explosive ordnance to bring the structures down for the objective, plasma rifle in hand.
"Don't forget to tuck and roll," Haxx commented over the radio with a smirk beneath his mask, unseen by his comrades. It showed in his voice though. "Could be a bumpy ride if you don't."
"Stow it, Sergeant," Volx snapped, the ire that she held for him knew no bounds. Even after 12 months of training and so-called "bonding" as a unit, there was no love lost between the two of them. "this is not a time for games."
"All of you, knock it off," Vult ordered, getting silence, turning to watch as one after another, the soldiers of Corr's fireteam jumped off the lowered ramp and rolled to a safe stop on the terrain, holding position to regroup. "Alright Rem, put us down near the generator facility."
"Yes, Sir," she obeyed, bringing the dropship in a gentle banking turn, placing it in an outcropping of rocks and boulders, nestling it within for concealment.
The remaining members of the unit were on their feet, gathering their equipment. Haxx lugged his Heavy Plasma Repeater onto the firing harness, making it somewhat more manageable, while the others prepared their plasma rifles. Sula's uniform contained many pockets bulging with medical supplies, hopefully enough to take care of any imaginable injury or wound in the field, or at least stabilize for that matter. Rem wore her flight harness over her uniform, enabling her to simply hop into whatever transportation they required and pilot it without hesitation. Volx merely clutched her plasma rifle in hand, assuring the power cell was locked in place and ready to fire.
Vult's fireteam exited the craft, sealing it up until they were to return. Spread out in a defensive manner, they assured that their position hadn't been compromised before the mission was even off the ground.
"Perimeter secure, Commander," Volx's icy voice whispered over the commlink, giving a thumbs up without making eye contact to assure it.
"Corr, what's your status?" Vult questioned, checking on the other fireteam.
"En route to communications array facilities, stand by," he calmly replied.
"Understood," Commander Vult acknowledged, signaling for his team to move out with a quick wave of his hand.
In silence, they pressed forward, following the objective waypoint marked on their HUD. Their visor did more than simply protect their eyes, but aided them in battle as well. A digital readout of their own vitals, as well as quick access to the units' for Vult, was a tool developed by Sula to further help her in delivering aid to her squadmates. Waypoint marking and other navigation features, including radar and motion tracking, were a culmination of Rem and Volx's ideas. Encrypted communications and readouts via scanning objects was the brainchild of Vard, whom had already impressed Vult greatly with his technical prowess.
More or less of his design, but a necessity, Haxx was the first to suggestion rangefinding and autotargeting with the visor. It was a necessary, multipurpose, all-in-one tool for survival for them. Combined with their specialty training that would put the most seasoned Spec Ops to shame…they were a force to be reckoned with.
After several clicks of covert operation, Vult's unit finally came up on the generator facility. With a raised fist, a hand signal for "stop", they ceased movement on a dime and awaited further instruction. Like a well-oiled machine, it all came as second-nature to them. Assured that they were safe for the moment, he prepared to contact Corr again.
"How's that Comm. array coming along, Captain?"
"In position, awaiting signal disruption and block," Corr's voice came though, Vult almost seeing his second-in-command turn to Vard, "how much longer, Sergeant?"
"Only…a matter of…moments, Sir," Vard spoke as he continued to type away furiously at his holographic projection that took the form of a computer terminal from his forearm. "This security is shoddy at best…might as well make things a little more…interesting while I'm at it."
"What do you plan on doing?" Corr questioned cautiously, not sure of his motives.
"All communications, outgoing or incoming, are…blocked," he announced, his spy drone equally as pleased with his work, "now re-writing commands for automated defensive measures….done."
Just as soon as he finished keying in the line of code, turrets seemed to come to life all around the complexes, but not aimed at the Shadow Strikers. In the distance, the plasma turrets came to life, as well as the horrifying screams as Vortians were being cut down.
"Should make things a little easier for us," Vard continued, "I reprogrammed them to fire on anything organic of Vortian DNA…a little bit of chaos never hurt anyone, well…except them, that is."
Aero simply shook her head at the much shorter Vard. He was an odd one, very shy and tended to be off to the side as much as possible. Sure, he was incredibly talented at his profession, frightening at that, but when training was over with for the day or even during mess, he'd always keep to himself. It was amazing that an Irken of his stature was able to accomplish such daunting tasks without a second thought. She had tried to converse with him on many occasions out of curiosity, just to get to know her fellow teammates better, but he always found some way of running off, more scared than anything. The fact that she dwarfed him was a valid reason, but Aero had always considered herself to be quite friendly and outgoing towards her squadmates…except for Volx, of course.
It didn't matter though, there would be time for bonding and questions later, her full focus was required, and a moment's hesitation would cost her life if she wasn't careful.
"Understood," Vult stated, seeing things were moving smoothly and on schedule thus far, "knock that array out of commission for good and proceed on mission. Maintain radio silence from this point on, call for extract once the planetary defensive emplacements are taken care of."
"Roger that, Commander," The Irken Captain answered to his superior, motioning for his team to press forth once more. "You heard him, time to put our gear to the test, move out."
Corr's hand allowed his rifle to stay within grasp on its webbing on his person, and keyed in a command on his other forearm, the piece of equipment beginning to hum lowly as it seemed to begin generating the necessary power. Slowly, but surely, his physical appearance began to dissipate into a transparent manner before completely vanishing from sight, no outline or manipulation of light. The others in his fireteam followed suit, vanishing from view.
"Visual check," Corr requested, deactivating his visor, allowing it to split down the middle and slide to either side, an unobstructed and natural view with his eyes.
As intended, there wasn't a soul in sight around him. The "thumbs up" gesture seemed to be the default for a range of things, and in this case, "good to go".
He reactivated the visor, allowing it to slide into place and lock once more, powering up. As if they were simply standing there before him in plain sight, his team appeared once more. "So far, so good on the cloaking technology…" He said to himself, beginning a steady trot of a run to the communications array, a massive satellite dish with a series of antenna that jutted from the center of it. As intended, it was Praxxus 7's communication relay to Vort, the only lifeline that the mining/military colony held, and if severed, could prove disastrous…for the Vortians. Transmissions were already being blocked, and the soldiers stationed at the facility were already distracted by the "malfunctioning" turret system, all that remained was to secure they wouldn't call for help once the Shadow Striker Unit was compromised…if that were to happen.
"Rha, you're on," Corr beckoned over their commlink.
"With pleasure, Sir," he deviously commented, producing a series of devices from his belt. They were small and circular in design, but the size would fool anyone at exactly how devastatingly powerful they were. While the rest of the fireteam watched and provided cover for Rha, he went about his methodical work of planting them on critical supporting points around the dish, giving a simple turn of the dial to arm them for remote detonation.
Within a matter of minutes, he had placed a few dozen about the dish and its supports, assuring its total destruction when the time came.
"Charges placed, Captain," Rha coolly informed as he planted the last one, "primed and ready to be fired, just give the order."
"Understood, Corporal," Corr answered, turning to Aero, Vard, and Volx. "We'll rendezvous with you at the next objective, Corr out."
A prompt signal to move out spurred them to action, quickly traversing the terrain of Praxxus 7. Even a year after the bloodbath of an invasion that took place on this moon's rocky soil, the reminders remained. Seeming to care for only their own casualties, Irken corpses by the hundreds, even thousands at times, littered the expanses, ranging in stages of decomposition. Those farthest along were nothing more than tattered remains of a uniform, a skeleton, and rusted, charred metal debris from the PAK after it self-destructed in order to prevent its technology from being used by others.
It was disgusting, as well as infuriating to see soldiers of the Empire left to rot in the suns of the Vort system, another grim reminder of the toils of war. What separated the Shadow Strikers from them was that they returned for revenge on those who wrought this, and refused to join their comrades that lay before them in morbid fashion.
Husks of vehicles and crumbled remains of battlemechs, were scattered about as well, a literal graveyard for Irken and machine alike, and a reminder for the Vortians of the day they sent the most powerful army of the universe in full retreat.
Never again…
Corr attempted to swallow his anger as he gripped his rifle even tighter, rage pulsing through every inch of his body. The mission came first above all, but he wished for nothing more than to put a plasma bolt through every single, last Vortian to make even the smallest impact in what they took from them tenfold.
"Corr?" Aero's voice finally came through, her figure waving her hand in front his face. "you alright? You spaced out there for a second."
"Yeah…I'm fine," he lied, quickly taking into account their surroundings, as well as that Rha was present with them once more. They all quickly became rigid as they pressed against the wall of the Planetary Defenses Control facility, a duo of guards on patrol coming their direction. Out of reaction, Corr still gave the signal for "hold", but it was from memory the thing to do in this situation. Outnumbered or not, they could still raise the alarm and blow their cover.
"Something's not right." One of them spoke, a little taller than his cohort whom was walking beside him.
"What do you mean?" The shorter responded.
"Think about it…first the communications array is malfunctioning and, conveniently, the turrets go haywire and start shooting our own soldiers. Before they cut the power to them, they already killed like 10 of us. If you ask me, something is about to go down…something bad."
"You're overreacting," the shorter continued in ignorance, "who would possibly come and pick a fight? We already sent the Irken Empire running, tail between their legs, who in their right mind would mess with us after that?"
"…I guess you're right, still hard to believe that we killed so many of them…most powerful race of the universe, my foot."
"Do it, Rha," Corr finally said, unaware of the growl in his voice as the two Vortian sentries only mere feet from him essentially taunted him.
With a simple pull of the remote trigger, the communications array a few hundred meters away ignited in a brilliant blue-white explosion, vaporizing most of the structure instantly. As the two of them were distracted and awestruck with disbelief, Corr signaled with a quick jerk across the throat, promptly lunging forward thereafter. Aero joined him in the sneak attack.
The first victim to fall was on Corr's blade, the glowing, magenta plasma ran the Vortian through the chest out of nowhere, lifting him free of the ground as he did so. The other turned in horror to watch his comrade be silenced by an unforeseen force, attempting to take aim at whatever was attacking…until his throat was slit in quick fashion. As opposed to standard-issue vibroblades, there was no mess, only neatly, cauterized wounds, and very little sound. The two guards feel simultaneously. Their attention quickly turned from the motionless sentries to the now roiling flames the remnants of the dish, klaxon alarms sounding all around the facility.
"Objective confirmed destroyed," Corr made note on his mission recorder for debriefing, "Rha, set the charges on this place and we're ready for extraction."
Rha simply went about his business once more, methodically planting the charges at key points around the building to guarantee its destruction.
"Sir, multiple contacts incoming on our position," Vard motioned to a series of running Vortian figures, over a dozen at the very least. "They're going to run right into us."
Corr's leadership instincts naturally took over as opposed to simply completing the mission. He survived this wretched planet once already, he wasn't going to allow it to take his life this time either.
"Tuu, slot them and keep them at bay," he ordered, turning his attention back to Rha, "Corporal, hurry up with those charges, we don't have all day!"
"Yes, Sir," was said in unison by both Tuu and Rha. Tuu rarely spoke, and it was usually just to reply to his superiors.
Taking aim, Tuu fired a single plasma bolt with a distinct crack as the powerful round pierced the air at incredible speed. The first Vortian victim took the full force between the eyes and was dropped immediately, causing the others to scatter for cover. While Tuu kept them pinned, Aero and Vard aiding as well, Rha finished up placing the charges on the structure, arming the last one.
"That's it, Sir, they're placed and ready to blow," he informed, running over, preparing to take cover and aid his squadmates with lethal accuracy. It seemed as if no matter what the Vortians did, whatever was exposed was shot off or in. If they were lucky, it was from the standard plasma rifles that Rha, Vard, and Aero possessed, and not Tuu's rifle. With a nod from behind cover of a boulder the trio was using for cover, Corr pressed his commlink button.
"Commander, Sir, objectives complete, requesting extraction, over," he calmly uttered, wary of his surroundings so they wouldn't be surrounded. "Our stealth has been compromised, under fire, requesting immediate extraction, over."
"Understood, Captain," Vult's voice responded, about that time, a series of explosions rocked the other side of the complex, watching as the generator facility collapsed in on itself, power fluctuating, and then promptly shrouding everything in darkness. "generators are offline and defenses are down, proceed to extraction point, over."
"Affirmative, Commander, Corr out," the Irken Captain responded, tapping each of them on the shoulder since they didn't seem to hear the order. "Time to move."
While returning fire, the fireteam, one by one, moved from their position and proceeded to the predetermined extraction point, sprinting as plasma bolts dotted the landscape around them, a grenade going off far too close every now and again. It didn't matter if their cloaking was active or not at this point, the Vortians surely understood what was going on and have the proper equipment to see them anyway…they were the ones that created the technology to begin with anyway, and learned it was a mistake the hard way to share such marvels with the Irken during their former alliance.
"Hit it, Corporal," Corr ordered as calm as ever, despite the situation, promptly hearing and feeling a series of thumps as the facility went up, leaving the sprawling base blind, deaf, and defenseless…just as planned. They would indeed be slaughter in the coming madness of the Armada, a righteous and most-deserving fate for what took place a year ago on this very planet.
The dropship quickly came into view, hovering mere inches off the ground as the rear door opened, Vult and Sula quickly offering hands to boost Corr and his team into the ship.
One by one, they were literally pulled into the ship, quickly taking their seats and strapping in. Rha was the last through the door, falling down on the deck of the ship as the door slammed shut.
"We're in, Rem, get us out of here!" Vult commanded towards the cockpit.
"Hold on, we're in for a bumpy ride," she responded as she began running through the various switches and pre-flight necessities, then promptly pulling the nose skyward, blasting the ship out of the atmosphere and back into space at blinding speed.
A moment silence overtook them all, not out of reverence, but sheer disbelief of what they accomplished. In traditional combat, it would have taken thousands of soldiers with formidable casualties to assault such a complex and successfully destroyed and crippled it with a mere 10 soldiers, and not a single casualty at that.
"On approach to dock with the ship," Rem informed, the joy clearly expressed in her voice as she spoke.
"Everyone good, no wounds?" Vult questioned of them, looking around at all their faces as they removed helmets, wiping perspiration from their brows as he helped Rha to his feet. A minute smile crept across his face at his soldiers. He may not have said it, but he was very proud of them and their accomplishment this evening. "You did it, boys and girls, you really did it…mission accomplished. Just as you trained meticulously for this day, it all paid off, and done something that no Irken has ever done before. You returned to what many sane soldiers would have run from, and took a nightmare head-on without fear or remorse…I can't argue with the results."
"Yeah…we did do it, didn't we?" Aero finally spoke up, grinning from ear-to-ear, "this calls for a celebration…with your permission, of course, Commander."
"…I have been putting back some of the finest, vintage spirits for such an occasion, Aero," he continued to smirk, "what better way to rejoice than to relax with a drink?"
"Now you're speaking my language, Sir," Haxx chuckled, everyone but Volx finding it amusing.
"What about the debriefing, Commander?" Corr spoke up, hating to be a buzzkill, but business was business.
"What about it, Corr?" The Irken Commander smiled, something he rarely done, "the Tallest can wait for their after-action report, it's not like they're worrying themselves about us or waiting on it."
Sadly…he had a point. The Almighty Tallest may have been the supreme beings of their race or revered to be, but they cared very little for their loyal subjects, yet, there was a hint of venom in Vult's voice, barely detectable, but Corr could tell it from his usual tone. He would make a note of it for future reference to ask him why he felt so about them. For now though…it was time to celebrate.
The Shadow Strikers returned to their mobile base of operations, the super-sized and streamlined Spittle Runner that serviced them for every possible need for their assignments. Quick travel around the universe, personal quarters, training grounds, spacious hangar, defensive turrets for protection, comm. arrays to pick up and spy on signals…everything necessary to the mission or training. Rem may have piloted the vessel, expertly at that, but she and Aero fought over what it was to be named since the tallest Irken of the unit had a fetish with naming things, so it seemed. Ultimately, the pilot won out in the end and chose a more…suiting name, "The Ghost of Irk" to allude to the nature of their assignments. You don't even want to know what Aero wanted to call the ship they call home.
The stowing and squaring away of gear went on methodically as they had drilled, knowing it was a safety hazard and disaster waiting to happen carrying around loaded weapons. As instructed, still in uniform though, minus their helmets, all 10 soldiers were present in the mess hall.
Much like the rest of the ship, it was tailored to custom specifications, and the mess hall was more homely than the average Armada mess onboard its vessels. Considering what they were to be put through and forced to live aboard a vessel instead of traditional barracks, it was compromise made well by those that constructed the ship. More or less standing about, they watched as Vult produced 10 glasses, pouring a dark, viscous liquid into each.
"Alright, all of you take one," he gestured, picking up one himself, swirling it around. "I propose a toast…to you…all of you."
Their minute chattered died down to silence.
"This success is meaningful, for it is our first, and the first of many to come. Our enemies, the Empire's enemies, will quake with fear as the fable of the Shadow Strikers spreads far and wide. An enemy they cannot possibly fathom, a force that cannot be stopped, and a death they will not see coming. Even in plain sight…"
They all raised their glasses above their heads, proud was an understatement.
"-we are in the shadows!" They all exclaimed, a battle mantra that they all had come to know and boost morale and confidence in one another, as well as themselves. In unison, Vult and his secret unit of Spec Ops soldiers tipped their glasses skyward, downing the drink. When he said it was potent, he wasn't kidding. When he celebrated, he made sure it was fitting.
"Sir, if I say so myself," Rem commented, planting the glass down once more, "that is damn good stuff."
"There's plenty to go around," he chuckled, producing a few more bottles of it, "I figured since the ship's on autopilot, you all can have a couple days of relaxation on the way to Irk. I think we may make it before the Great Assigning for Impending Doom II."
"Y'fevd Mirdu," Haxx swore as he coughed, patting his chest as he choked it down, "that stuff's strong, what is it? Ship fuel?"
"What's the matter, Haxx, you a little smeet or something?" Rem taunted, everyone except Volx, as usual, finding it amusing. "Maybe you should go to sleep early too and let the grown-ups have fun."
"I can handle my booze, Rem," he challenged, thrusting a thumb into his chest defiantly.
"Oh really?" She stepped up playfully, gently pushing him in good spirits, "I've never met an Irken that can outdrink me yet…you think you're up to snuff?"
Without a word, Haxx spun one of the seats around, sitting in it backwards at the table.
"Bring it on," the Irken male continued confidently, the room seeming to divide by gender as Vult and Corr simply watched on neutrally in amusement.
"Commander, Sir," Corr beckoned, garnering his superior's attention.
"Hmm? Yes, Corr, what is it?"
"I'd like to…thank you, Sir," He began, trying to find the words, "you presented me…everyone with an opportunity to get revenge for what happened on Praxxus 7, but during training…I found something more than that. Now that we settled the score and prepared it for invasion in a matter of hours, the anger, the rage, it isn't there anymore, but replaced by the honorable duty of serving the Irken Empire, of serving the Almighty Tallest, and most important to me…to serve under you."
Vult was taken aback by that for a moment. He truly didn't know what to say. Up until this point, he thought of them as his unit, each of them important and equal to the last, but only on that scale and nothing more.
"I know it's difficult for you, well, for any of us to truly grasp, Commander," Corr continued, "but the concept of parents and family has escaped our people for quite some time with how things are now. I truly think that this is the closest thing to a family that any of us are ever going to have, my brothers and sisters of battle, and you, Sir…are like a father."
"Well…I do teach all of you things you need to know, you teach one another, and learn from your mistakes, very few, I might add. Well, from what I remember in training of our history…I do suppose we are a family, Corr, and from what I understand, families have to stick together, right?"
Vult offered his glass, Corr clinking his own against it gently in a toast between them.
"Yes, Sir, Commander," He smirked, "through it all, through thick and thin…we must remain and act as one."
These 10 soldiers of varying backgrounds that came throughout the Irken Armada's ranks, united in secrecy and dedication to their leaders, and protect their values until their dying breaths. They were something more than a unit, as Corr put it, a family, a living, breathing entity that flowed from one Irken to the other, that relied on one another for survival, and protected themselves from threats, both foreign and domestic.
Tonight, however, was a joyous occasion, and to be enjoyed as such.
Unknown to them, however, it would be one of the last they would experience with the oncoming of Operation Impending Doom II. The true test of training and wills about to begin.