Captain Saffti of the Calachoran Merchant ship Wayward watched the sensor readouts anxiously as his ship made its way from the world of Elysium to their home world of Terra.
They were passing the Knossos asteroid field, a vast collection of space rocks capable of hiding anything from a single-person maintenance pod to a the largest warship. But what he was most afraid might be lurking amidst that enormous collection of stellar rubble was pirates.
Wayward skirted the edge of the asteroid field, which would force the pirates to come a longer way to actually reach them. Not that they could do anything to them anyway, for Wayward carried no weapons of her own, but the amount of propellant the pirates would have to expend to catch them might discourage them from even trying.
Honestly, part of him wished he could avoid passing Knossos altogether, but without taking the aether current, the time to travel between the two planets would have taken months instead of weeks, too long to be practical or economical, especially during a time of war. And that made Saffti worried about what else might lay hidden in those asteroids.
"Sir, I'm having some trouble with the sensors."
Saffti jerked in his seat as if struck by lightning and then turned his head to his sensor officer. She sat with her head turned towards him, her face a portrait of professional calm.
"W-what kind of trouble?" Saffti's voice all but squeaked.
His sensor officer replied in that same matter-of-fact tone she'd used before. "Interference, Sir. I'm having a hard time figuring out if its because we're so close to the current or if it might be minovsky interference."
Saffti's hearts began to hammer more strongly. Minovsky interference likely meant Octarian commerce raiders. This far out? Surely they could have left it to the pirates. Still, if it were commerce raiders, then maybe they had a chance to surrender. They would be exchanged eventually, they were civilians, and the war couldn't go on forever."
"I see something," his sensor operator went on. She keyed a button and an image appeared on the primary view monitor. It was hazy at first but it was rapidly increasing in clarity as it drew closer, like a monster from the mists of some hideous, black swamp.
"What the heck is that?" His pilot asked.
What appeared on the screen resembled no ship Saffti had ever seen, nor was it one of the Octarian's unstoppable new mobile suits. What approached them was like a creature of nightmare, mouth agape, baring huge fangs, with claws on either side.
"H-hail them!" Staffti stammered. "Ask them to identify themselves and –."
He cut himself off as the display was overwhelmed in bright, red-orange light. Less than a second later, the bridge of the Wayward and everyone in it was gone.
Colonel Hass Argent handed his ID to the security guard and waited impatiently for him to run it through the scanner, thinking that the worst part of his job had to be dealing with so much security on a regular basis. It almost made him miss the harsh and humid jungle of East Orica where he'd mostly been free from such measures inconveniences.
Eagle's Tower airbase was one of the Federation's most important sites for research and development. Most new aircraft prototypes were tested there. But it was also the headquarters of the Combined Services Test and Research Division where, ideally, knowledge from all the services could be combined to create new innovations for the war effort, and Argent was directly involved with one of those new innovations, perhaps the most important one of the war, and it was being threatened.
Finally through the last checkpoint, he navigated the maze of passageways and guarded doors until he came to the one he was looking for.
After identifying himself to the door sentry, he was announcethrough the communicator and a voice replied bidding him entry. Immediately, Argent grasped the door handle and went inside.
Light-grey walls covered with cork boards greeted him. The boards themselves were covered in charts, graphs, and notices, looking somewhat archaic in an age of computerized management tools and inexpensive digital displays. Even the desk in the middle of the room looked old and cheap, rather than the sturdy antique desks made to last and used by generations of senior officers. All in, the room more resembled that of a tucked away corporate space than the office of the head of the CSTRD.
Navy Rear Admiral Christina Marker rose like a sunflower from her chair, deep bags under her eyes. Not quite pushing sixty, she was young for her rank and her sea-blue mantle still had a youthful lustre to it, despite her clear exhaustion. She returned his salute sharply then settled back down in her chair almost as slowly as she had risen and gestured to one of the chairs in front of her desk.
"Thank you for coming, Colonel. Glad we could finally meet in person."
"Thank you for inviting, Admiral. I know you're busy."
Marker smirked but her mantle turned a few shades darker, indicating there was no humour in it. "That's putting it mildly. While the Mobile Suit Program is taking up the majority of my time of late, it's hardly the only thing. Now that the Navy has a budget for the first time in almost a century, they want to make the most of it."
"I'm not surprised," Argent replied. "The Navy and the Air Force are the only ones who've been able to meet the Collective on even terms."
The effectiveness and versatility of the Octarian Collective's mobile suits had been a total shock to the entire Federation. In space and on the ground, they were superior to anything the Federation had been able to put against them in either field until very recently.
"Let's start with your unit," Marker said, bringing them to one of the topics at hand. "I've reviewed the reports of the unit's performance. Needless to say, it exceeded our wildest expectations and it's been a load off our minds, as I'm sure you can imagine."
Argent nodded, feeling no small amount of pride. The 13th Autonomous Corps had been formed to test the use of mobile suits in sustained combat operation on a real battlefront. They had been an unproven unit using unproven technology, but they'd overcome many of obstacles and chronic issues to make the Collective feel fear for the first time since the war began.
"I'm particularly impressed with the performance of your rookie pilots," the Admiral went on. "I was a little apprehensive about the insistence that this highly experimental, highly valuable, and secret unit should have pilots with next to no experience, but it seems to have paid off."
"It's definitely changed how we look at mobile suit training," Argent agreed. "But we did pick from the cream of the crop as best we could."
"Of course. What is your unit doing now?"
"Training in and testing the new RX-77 Ground-Types that the Marines will be using. We found that once the initial shock was over, our performance against enemy mobile suits became somewhat lacking. We've had to refine and improve how we best use mobile suits, not to mention the engineers wanted to implement some of our feedback from the front."
A few blotches of burgundy bubbled up along Marker's tentacles and her eyes hardened. "Yes, the feedback. It's been invaluable to improving the mobile suits in general but, I won't lie to you, Colonel, it's also been a massive headache."
"Ma'am?"
Her mantle flashed purple, reassuring that she was not angry at him. "Oh, I know its important, especially given how important it is we get this right the first time, and the engineers up at Gibraltar have told me the modifications are absolutely vital, but its caused delays, delays we can ill afford, and I'm not just talking about the movements of the Collective."
Argent tensed and his fingers tightened. He had a feeling this was coming. The Mobile Suit program had largely been a secret, but to bring up morale, the accomplishments of their new mobile suits had been published publicly, though the actual unit and its members remained anonymous. Still, it wouldn't take a genius to imagine the Federation developing their own mobile suits and many had even cried out for exactly that, but there had also been plenty of resistance.
Before the war, the mobile suits of the Collective had largely been dismissed as nothing more than a stunt to boost Octarian Pride and morale in the face of the Calachoran Federation's overwhelming military might. They'd been seen as too big and too complicated to be viable war machines, but that was before the Minovsky Effect had been properly understood.
The Minovsky Effect, created by the minovsky particles generated by the mobile suit's onboard reactors, all but nullified the effect of the Federation's highly advanced weapon systems, making it all but impossible to fight back. In the first week of war, the Federation had been dealt the worst defeat in its history and their space fleet had lost a fifth of its strength. After a year of war, their two fleets were almost at parity and even their superior numbers on planet and their two moons had waned significantly in the face of the mobile suit's overwhelming power. It was only when CSTRD had deployed the 13th Autonomous Corps to help stabilize the East Orican front that they had been able to stand toe to toe with their enemies, but that had been on Terra, not in space.
Many in the Calachoran Space Force continued to insist that the mobile suit was merely a gimmick and a more conventional weapon system could be developed to easily counter it. After a year of defeats and crippling losses, they'd been forced to accept the idea of adding mobile suits to their forces, but they hadn't actually accepted mobile suits themselves and had yet to place any orders.
Admiral Marker folded her hands on her desk. "I don't know how familiar you are with the CSF's internal politics, but in this particular case, we have the "Battleship Committee", those who feel that the warship should continue to be the primary means of projecting power; and the Fighter faction, which is all about having the fleet rely more on fighters, bombers, and the like.
"These two factions are usually at odds but it seems, in the face of the Mobile Suit Development program nearing completion, they've become allies. And according to Captain Skelper, who's in charge of the space aspect of the program, the recent delays owing to some continuing development issues and adapting lessons learned by the 13th, they've started to throw their weight around, not necessarily to get the program cancelled but diminish its significance."
Argent's green mantle turned a dark orange. "Even after a year they're still thinking this way?"
Marker's mantle turned a miserable grey. "According to Skelper, they still have doubts about the long-term viability of mobile suits, at least as a significant force in space."
Argent's own mantle turned a derisive purple, angry red wisps travelling across the surface. He had to resist the urge to verbally call them out as idiots in front of the Admiral. "If they remain unconvinced after a year of getting their beaks kicked down their throats maybe we should go up there and show them a thing or two."
"I would like nothing more," Marker admitted. "In fact, Skelper has actually asked for it. He needs more people, so I'd like to send him some of the techs that went with you to East Orica, but with how long its going to take to get a full unit of our own mobile suits ready for the kind of combat testing we need, it might be too late to convince everyone how important the mobile suit is. We don't have the military or political influence of the other programs in the CSF, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you how dismissive they are of anything that happens on Terra, regardless of how well it performs."
Ever since the CSF had replaced the Navy as the "senior service" they'd become the spoiled brat of the Federation Military, taking the majority of its budget and looking down on many of the other services, feeling entitled to everything. Not that such entitlements had saved many of the war's starting admirals from getting sacked for gross incompetence.
His anxiety rose as he asked the next question. "May I ask how you've replied to Captain Skelper's request." He hoped he was hiding his nervousness well enough.
Marker tapped the desk top twice with her index finger, looking him in the eyes. "I have not been able to give him an answer, because is largely depends on what happens to your unit."
Argent felt a tiny spark of hope. "So you haven't decided yet to disband the 13th?"
Marker gave him a tiny smile. "Well, it's been obvious you don't want it disbanded."
Argent suppressed a flush of embarrassment. He'd been all but begging anyone who would listen to let him keep the unit going. "They're good people, Admiral. They work well together and they're the first ones to make the Collective ink in their own boots since this war started. That's not something we want to get rid of."
"A fair point," Marker admitted. "But we did promise to send the Marines and the Army their pilots back so that they could start training their own dedicated mobile suit units, and that's not something we want to delay any more than we have to."
Argent folded his hands together in his lap, doing his best to keep them from shaking or rubbing each other. "I know, but we can't have a unit with just three people. That's all we'd have left."
Marker's mantle pulsed blue. "If you have a proposal, Colonel, share it."
Argent braced himself and straightened. "I won't deny sending the Marines and Army pilots. You're right, they need them, but I would like to keep some, enough for at least a squadron. We've shown what even a handful of mobile suits can do for our side and we've seen how effective they can be when conducting commando-style raids and missions. If we disband the unit, we lose that capability completely."
Marker leaned her head on her left hand, staring at him thoughtfully. "But we don't have any mobile suits for them to use. Yours were mostly wrecked, the ones in space will be needed for testing and training. You'd be looking at a few months at the very least, months in which those same good people could be more productive elsewhere."
"I know, so I wanted to supplement our own mobile suits with salvaged enemy machines. One team can assist and participate in testing while the others train on the Collective mobile suits."
"Which can also be used for active comparative testing," Marker murmured thoughtfully. "And it would mean you would require only half of the mobile suits you normally would for a squadron for combat testing."
She tapped the desk again as she thought. "Alright, Colonel, send me a formal proposal, along with your desired roster, and I'll work it out with the Army and Marines. Hopefully they'll also see the value. The future of the Federation may depend on it."
Sahna ducked as a fist came right for her. Titanium fingers slid past her on the right view screen as she brought her own right first in to strike at her opponent's midsection. Her strike was only halfway before her opponent intercepted and redirected her punch, twisting her sideways before knocking her down.
"Closer that time," a frustratingly cheerful voice said through her helmet. "You're getting better."
Sahna was annoyed. Callie didn't sound the least bit breathless.
Manipulating the levers in her hands and at her feet, she stood her mobile suit back up. "What am I doing wrong?"
"You're not thinking ahead," Callie told her. Her tone was more serious. Whenever she spoke like that, Sahna had learned she was expected to listen carefully. "I knew you'd dodge that punch and counter the way you did. You never think about setup, you always go for the hit. That's not good enough. Remember, the only reason you're still alive is because you set up, Scar."
Sahna winced, remembering the close brush with death, the scream of rending metal. The wound on her machine from that fight that had earned her her moniker and her callsign.
"Yes, Ma'am."
Sahna tried not to let any of the frustration she felt at her ineptitude show.
When all the scores of the unit's remaining active pilots had been tallied up, Sahna had found herself at the bottom when it came to mobile suit kill scores. That hadn't sat right with her; she was used to being among the best. Of course she was in a unit consisting of ace pilots so that was partly to be expected, but being behind her fellow rookies, she felt like she was under performing, and in a unit like theirs, she couldn't afford that. She could not allow herself to be the weak link.
Callie's cheerful tone returned. "Don't worry. Like I said, you're getting better. You just have a few hurdles you need to get over. Want to go another round?"
As if on cue, the radio crackled. "Control to all mobile suit units, return to base immediately and assemble in the hangar. I say again, all mobile suit units, return to base immediately and assemble in the hangar. Control out."
Already? Sahna checked the chronometer, which indicated they still had nearly half an hour of training time scheduled. It sounded urgent though, and that gave Sahna a bad feeling.
Ever since their role in East Orica had ended, there had been a lot of doubt about the future of the 13th Autonomous Corps. Despite Colonel Argent's assurances that they still had plenty of use, Sahna always thought the majority of them would be split up to form the core of new Army and Marine units. After all, they'd lost the majority of their mobile suits in East Orica and the ones they were using now they were only testing for the Marines before they formed their own mobile suit units out of them.
"Well, better not hang around," Callie said, still maintaining that cheerful tone. She started walking and Sahna followed. Along the way others from their unit joined them, some of the machines carried new dents that betrayed the intensity of their training, which meant the techs would be doing a lot of grumbling as usual when they got back, but at least these new mobile suits didn't break every time they went out like their last ones. Even so, Sahna missed her old Gundam.
The techs couldn't complain too much though because they knew how important this training was, not just for the pilots, but for all future mobile suit pilots in the Federation. East Orica had shown just how much their piloting was behind those of the Collective and proving that you couldn't operate a mobile suit like a vehicle, you had to operate it like a suit of armour. Sahna and all the new members of Team 05 had been trained that way from the start, but the other, more experienced officers had to relearn almost everything over the past month of training. Meanwhile, Sahna and the other two rookies had to work to improve their own deficiencies.
Black Butte was one of the Federation's most secure facilities, home to many top secret projects, and units involved in similar top secret activities. With mobile suit development and manufacture being so important, only a facility like it could be trusted with keeping them safe from the Collective. It had been their unit's home since their inception.
Half the unit was already in the hangar by the time they got there. Sahna slotted her machine into its alcove with with practised ease and then began the shutdown process. They had to wait until everyone was inside before they could leave their machines anyway. The hangar hadn't originally been built to accommodate mobile suits and the whole structure shook when they walked.
After everyone was back, the pilots assembled in the middle of the hangar in a single line, an arm's length apart with their team leader standing in front of the rest. Colonel Argent stood before them all, facing them. His face and mantle betrayed no emotion so Sahna couldn't guess if they were about to hear good or bad news.
He looked them over once from one end to the other, and then spoke. "This is a little unusual but given what you've all been through together and how hard you've worked, I feel this is something that must be done openly, especially since there isn't a lot of time." He paused, as if giving them a chance to brace themselves, then continued.
"Some of you are being transferred out today, from the 13th Autonomous Corps to form the new units in the Army and Marines that our unit was originally made to emulate. We've learned some of the hard operational lessons that they will need to know in order to be used effectively and so they can avoid a lot of the same issues we had. Those of you leaving will be dearly missed but these new units need you more."
He took out a clipboard while everyone waited with baited breath. The last time the atmosphere was this tense in the hangar was when they learned they were being transferred to the front.
"Army Major Crusher," Colonel Argent announced.
"Sir!"
Colonel Argent actually smiled, finally betraying some emotion. "Major, you have been assigned as commander of the Army's new mobile suit company. Congratulations."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Step out of rank and form up next to me, please." Colonel Argent indicated a spot just to the left of him. Major Crusher marched out of formation and stood at attention, facing not the colonel but the rest of the unit. Even from a distance, Sahna could see the tension in his mantle that indicated he was exercising rigid self-control.
Colonel Argent called out a few more names, each one of the unit's Terran Army members. That left only Second-Lieutenant Kelper and her own teammate, Dirk Hillrunner, who were members of the Lunar Army Corps.
Colonel Argent then called out Marine Captain Duskwalker and had him stand on his right side. He would be commanding the new corps of mobile suits for the marines, using the very same mobile suits they had been training with today.
Sahna tensed, wondering if she would be called. She wasn't as close to the other marines in their unit as she was her own teammates. Even if none of them were Marines, she had learned to depend on them and trusted them with her life and didn't want to be separated from them.
Tensely, she waited as the Colonel next called Marine 2Lt. Player, hoping, praying, her name would not be called next. To her surprise, no further names were called, even though half the remaining members were Marines.
The Colonel addressed the rest of them. "For the moment, the 13th Autonomous Corps pilots are those of you remaining, but I want everyone here to remember that regardless of where you go in the future, remember that you were a part of this unit, that you were among the first to take the fight to the enemy in a way that made them feel real fear for the first time in this war, to show the enemy we could beat them at their own game. Remember that with pride, and send each other off proudly. Salute!"
Sahna and everyone else snapped a crisp salute, the three groups bidding each other good-bye.
"Major Crusher, your flight leaves in less than three hours. Have everyone packed up then see me in my office in one hour to receive your official orders."
"Yes, Sir."
"Captain Duskwalker, your orders are likewise. Captain Rancher, take everyone else to Classroom 5. I'll speak to you all there in a moment."
"Yes, Sir."
Feeling slightly numb and bewildered at the suddeness of everything and the rush of emotions, Sahna made a right turn at Captain Rancher's command and the remains of the 13th Autonomous Corps marched out of the hangar.
"You were scared, weren't you." Her room mate, Hypori Swiftcurrent teased her as they found their seats in the classroom. Her mantle was practically glowing, her yellow eyes glimmering with mirth.
"What are you talking about?" Sahna demanded, trying not to sound indignant.
"You were worried you were getting transferred. See? I knew you loved us." Hypori prodded her cheek lightly before Sahna smacked it away.
"Only two Marines away," Dirk noted from Sahna's other side. "Most Army officers gone. Unbalanced."
"I noticed that," Sahna agreed. "What do you think it means?"
"Both Army members left are from the Lunar Army," Hypori pointed out. "That's gotta mean something."
Before they had a chance to speculate further, Colonel Argent entered the room and they all rose to attention.
"At ease," the Colonel called. "Alright, I know you've barely had a chance to process our unit effectively being split in half but there isn't a lot of time.
"All of you will be forming Beta Squadron of the 13th Autonomous Corps. You are being transferred to Fortress Gibraltar to assist with the development of the upcoming mass production mobile suit and train on mobile suits in space. CSTRD has apparently been having some trouble getting it into the heads of the CSF brass that mobile suits are a viable weapon so we're sending you up there to help them hammer it in a little harder."
Sahna was appalled. She knew there had been resistance to mobile suit development in the CSF but she didn't think it would still be such a contentious issue after a year of getting their funnels handed to them by those same weapons.
"In addition, once your training is complete, we plan on conducting some limited operations in space just to keep the enemy on their toes, but there are not enough mobile suits for the time being. We're doing what we can to change that. First thing's first, I know that at least a couple of you don't have your SNC yet."
Sahna winced. Normally, Marine pilots were required to have their Space Navigation Certification, but with the Collective restricting their access to space, most Terran trained Marine pilots during the war hadn't gotten it. She and Dirk had been working on the theory portions of the certification but without the practical aspects of it, they would be stuck and wouldn't be able to participate in any of the space training their team would be doing. Sahna's experience was limited to simulators.
Without looking at them in particular, Argent continued. "That has to be addressed as soon as possible. I expect the rest of you to help get them up to speed. Your official orders are being drafted and you'll be leaving within the next few days."
Sahna felt a renewed sense of anxiety. She had never been to space and had limited knowledge of even how to live in space. Her mother had told her things and she'd seen documentaries but virtually no training or first-hand knowledge.
"Sir," Callie raised her hand. "We'll all need to go shopping to make sure we have proper supplies."
The Colonel nodded. "Right, your travel orders should give you sufficient time but I'll be sure to mention that. In the meantime, I suggest you all prepare yourselves as best you can."
Sahna's anxiety swelled. Supplies? Which supplies? What would she need to be able to live in space?
Out the corner of her eye, she saw Hypori leaning on her hand, grinning at her.
"What?" Sahna demanded, suppressing her anxiety.
Hypori's grin broadened slightly. "Don't worry, Scar, we'll get you sorted out. Compared to living on Terra, living in space is easy. No bugs."
Sahna's green mantle reddened. "Why don't I believe you?"
With a coy smile, Hypori said, "Aww come on, would your roomie lie to you?"
Yes, Sahna thought. If you could get a laugh out of it, you definitely would. She hoped she could rely more on her superiors or else her first experience in space might end up with her as Hypori's personal bag of giggles.
Captain Sargo Varmos was always of two minds whenever he saw classified cargo on his manifest. Either it really was something classified and he had been burdened with something potentially critical to the war effort; or some admiral had labelled the cargo as such so that nobody tried to steal from their private collections of finely aged spirits, which always seemed to take precedence, in their minds, over vital war material.
"What do you think, Tren? Fine brandy or something actually worth our lives to haul?"
His executive officer floated next to him, staring out the main view port of the Farwalker's bridge at the huge sealed cargo containers slowly being transferred from one of Guardian Station's orbital warehouses into their starboard cargo hold.
Lieutenant-Commander Tren Stoker, despite his terrestrial origins, was tall and slim. His short cut tentacles were a medium-blue, his hard eyes a few shades darker.
After a moment's contemplation he said, "I doubt they would ship brandy in such larger containers, Sir and there are enough of them to build a small ship. Perhaps it's parts for the shipyards."
"Prefabricated components?" Varmos supposed out loud. "I guess that's one strategy, in case the enemy gets around to hitting our shipyards, I just don't understand why they'd be coming from Guardian Station."
"I'm sure whatever it is is important, Sir," he said a little stiffly. His gaze shifted towards the cluster of ships gathering less than 100km from the station. Once their cargo was loaded, they would be joining them as part of the convoy making the run to Fort Gibraltar.
Varmos suppressed a smile, knowing that Stoker was probably looking at the escorting warships and wishing he had been assigned to one of them instead of a mere cargo ship like the Farwalker. Varmos couldn't have felt more the opposite.
Varmos had served on warships before, back when he'd been a young inkyar, when he'd had drive and ambition, only to see the folly in that mentality, and that had been during peacetime. Now, in the middle of a war in which they were losing badly, Farwalker was a relatively safe assignment, burdened primarily with the safety of the material it carried rather than the protection or destruction of others. Unfortunately, he doubted it would last much longer.
The high casualties over the past year had left the Calachoran Space Force short of experienced captains, forcing desk jockeys, like he'd been for the past ten years, into the captain's chair. At least they'd let him warm back up running a cargo ship instead of sending him into the deep end right away, but he doubted it would last much longer, and looking at the survival rates against the Collective's deadly mobile suits, he didn't fancy his chances of making it through the war alive.
He thought back to his family: to his wife, his son, but mostly his daughter, Veela, who had always wanted to follow in his footsteps and join the CSF. She was very nearly old enough to enlist. There was no doubt in his mind that she would do it too.
He didn't want her to join this stupid war, he wanted his little girl to remain safe and enjoy a rich, fulfilling life. With him in space, it was up to his wife to try and talk her out of it, but he knew it was hopeless, she was too much like him when he'd been that age. His parents hadn't wanted him to join the military either.
"Captain." The voice of Lieutenant Songwren pulled him from his thoughts.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Message from Guardian Station, Sir. They want to know if we can squeeze any more cargo in. They have some scheduled supplies they'd like to have us haul."
"Of course they do," Varmos sighed. "Commander, do you recall anything in our mission orders regarding the classified cargo that forbids us from carrying anything else?"
Stoker thought for a moment. "I don't believe so, Sir. I imagine if we keep all the classified cargo in the starboard hold and load the new cargo in the port hold it should be fine, as long as we offload the classified cargo first when we get to Gibraltar."
"Right then. I'll have a word with Loadplan and see how long this extra cargo will take to load. I don't want to delay the convoy if I can avoid it. Two days can go by quickly when you're loading a ship."
Stoker's mantle turned a dark green with blotches of light red, indicating his agreement and that it better not delay them. "I think we will be required to wait until the classified cargo is loaded before we can begin loading the other hold as well, Sir. That will cause further delay."
"I know, but if we can manage it, we'll do it," Varmos said firmly. "Even the rear echelon has to do its part in this war."
Stoker tensed ever so slightly, as if admonished, but Varmos smiled and patted his shoulder. "You have the bridge, Exec."
"Aye, Sir, I have the bridge."
Varmos drifted aft to the bridge exit. Briefly, he wondered if he made himself indispensable enough running cargo, he could avoid a combat assignment. He chuckled darkly to himself.
Not a chance.
Author's Notes:
Here it is! The long-awaited sequel to Blood & Scars. This story was tough as it was my first time juggling so many main characters and planning so many arcs. Also, having things take place in space was a little tough too since I had to do some research about living in space and such.
I hope you enjoy the story.