《Valkyrie》 Chapter 1 20 October, 2582 ¡°I mean, ultimately I guess we all just have a job to do, you know? You do your best and hope--¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± I interrupted the young blonde woman sitting across from me as I stood. ¡°Commander Swann, do you have time for an interview?¡± I yelled out the briefing room door. ¡°Lieutenant Jameson and I are almost done.¡± The man had just walked by and I wasn¡¯t about to miss an opportunity to schedule him. Maybe with his co-pilot here he¡¯d me more amiable to it. I didn¡¯t hear his footsteps and wasn¡¯t sure how far he¡¯d made it down the hall, but he reappeared a few moments later and leaned on the edge of the doorframe. ¡°How many times did you have to ask her?¡± he asked with a nod towards Matrix. ¡°Just the once.¡± ¡°I¡¯m disappointed, Matrix,¡± he said with a grin. His co-pilot spun in the chair to face him. ¡°I saw how persistent she was with you and that you were being your usual grumpy self,¡± Lieutenant Junior Grade Jameson replied. ¡°Figured I¡¯d give her a win.¡± Commander Swann gave a single laugh and disappeared down the hall before I could ask again. ¡°Do you have to interview him?¡± Matrix asked, spinning back around. I plopped back down in my chair with a sigh. ¡°No, not technically. But it¡¯d be best if I could. From purely a public affairs perspective, his experience makes his input valuable. Plus my boss knows him, so I¡¯d feel bad if I went back empty-handed.¡± ¡°Well shit, try that then.¡± Matrix waved her hand dismissively. ¡°Try what?¡± ¡°Cara, in the flying community names and relationships are everything. Just drop your bosses name, say it¡¯s a favor or something.¡± I pursed my lips. ¡°That seems...cheap.¡± ¡°Maybe. Depends on how bad you want it I guess.¡± Matrix leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet up on another. I mulled the advice over in my mind. In my fleet course to be a Public Affairs Officer we were taught that name-dropping would get you filtered answers. The interviewee would inevitably want to maintain a certain perception to whoever the connection was with. I didn¡¯t really know the nature of Captain Meyer¡¯s relationship with Commander Swann though, so maybe it wouldn¡¯t alter Swann¡¯s answers. He certainly didn¡¯t seem the type to care about much and it was the best option I had short of hoping he slipped and ended up confined to a medical bed. ¡°What¡¯s the next question?¡± Matrix¡¯s voice pulled me from my dreams of the salty commander tripping down a flight of stairs. ¡°Oh, sorry.¡± I glanced back down at my tablet. ¡°What do you think of your role in this war?¡±
Traveling to the UNN Spitfire had been a two-week trip, but it had given me plenty of time for some spin-up reading on my assignment. I learned that the SRTS-5 ¡°Chimera¡± was a bit of a hot topic for more than just its role in the current state of affairs. While the modified transport shuttle was catching a lot of flak in the public purview for becoming a go-to close air support asset, old discussions were also resurfacing about when the UNN had actively sought to discontinue the program more than a decade ago. Experts argued that the new starfighters provided both terrestrial and orbital small-vessel superiority, removing the need for a small shuttle capable of defending itself. The Chimera managed to survive in administrative limbo, undergoing several modernization programs--if you could call them that. The result was a Frankenstein vessel of two old, overpowered engines controlled by mechanical inputs in the cockpit that starkly contrasted the state-of-the-art avionics program, digital readouts, and other holographic displays. The SRTS-5 had been dubbed the Chimera when the two door guns had been added a year later. They were, surprisingly, one of the most advanced parts of the craft; able to use a variety of ammunition, providing an overwhelming volume of fire, and supported by computer-aided targeting. They were a top-notch weapon system, though limited in their field of fire due to the small wings that jutted out from below the cargo bay doors. Any attempts to fully automate their targeting by Fleet Command had been shot down from all sides. The pilots were too busy with the other flight systems and weapons to control the massive guns and letting the computer auto-target was seen as inhumane by policymakers within the United Nations of Earth. The engineers had made the most of it, affixing a harness for a gunner position and altering the cargo doors to open by sliding backward. The doors were then reinforced with additional armor so they would help protect the reactor nestled behind the small cargo bay. It wasn¡¯t the most interesting assignment, but it was a way to get off-planet, something I desperately needed if I were to promote quickly. The Chimera crew aboard the Spitfire I decided to interview were as standard as they come: a senior lead pilot, a junior co-pilot, and mirrored experience for the two enlisted gunners. When I¡¯d first met the two gunners they were in their heavily armored flight suits, the faceplate of their helmets covered by some added tech that made them look like robots. Despite the intimidating look, they had been nothing but kind. Over the past few weeks I had even grown accustomed to Corporal Strong''s uncouth jokes. At first, I had wanted to reprimand him, specifically when he¡¯d wolf-whistled at me, but Chief Hardin had informed me that the standards were different when a ship was underway and that the jokes were in good spirits. Also, the young corporal apparently hadn¡¯t known I was an officer. I kindly reminded the Chief that rank didn¡¯t matter and, while I was still within earshot at least, he gave the corporal a verbal reaming. Corporal Strong was your typical meathead, covered in tattoos and muscle-bound from spending every free moment at the gym. He was young and enthusiastic about his job shooting a big gun and more than willing to tell anyone who would listen about it. I had spent most of my interview with him trying to get him to focus on answering my questions, preferably without cussing, and not just telling me cool stories. Chief Hardin, on the other hand, was a grizzled senior enlisted with five o¡¯clock shadow at all hours of the day and seemed to live on caffeine alone. He had a knack for always seeming busy and didn¡¯t speak unless he felt the need. Luckily for me, he considered answering my questions as part of his job and our interview had been one of the best I¡¯d had. Lieutenant Junior Grade Jameson was nice as well, splitting the difference between the two enlisted on the crew personality-wise. She was rather intimidating to look at; beautiful blonde hair, a strong jaw, toned muscles visibly filling out her flight suit, and a full head taller than me to boot. She reminded me of the pictures of the Viking women from history lessons I¡¯d had in college. Surprisingly, I learned that she spent more time studying than anything else. My curiosity piqued, I had skimmed her bio on the net. She received her callsign, Matrix, for being such a quick-study. It was a reference to some old movie I¡¯d never seen, but I assumed it made sense somehow. She had been top of her class in flight school, which earned her the freedom to choose her airframe and assignment. One article had quoted several of the instructor cadre who stated their surprise at her choice to fly one of the oldest vessels in the inventory rather than the starfighters. I felt the same, but I also never claimed to understand pilots. Lieutenant Commander Swann, though, was a problem. The first time we met I had mistaken his vessel for the shuttle that would take me to the surface of the planet the Spitfire was orbiting. He eyed my large duffel only briefly before stating it was too big to fly with. A joke, I¡¯d later been told. The weight of my gear was irrelevant. The two engines on the Chimera had enough power to turn its occupants into pink jelly if the pilots ever felt like disabling the onboard computers that limited their output. Since that moment Commander Swann hadn¡¯t stopped treating me like an outsider. After dodging my first two requests for an interview I hadn¡¯t been able to pin him down to ask again. Ultimately I could do without his inputs, but I was supposed to gather information from every combat-related position of all ranks, and Swann was the highest-ranking combat pilot on the ship. The other Chimera crew was as green as they came and therefore not particularly helpful. Their vessel had some large mechanical failure before I arrived that left it unable to fly. That meant the crew spent most of their time in the mess hall or goofing off, making it hard to track them down. Besides, not one of them had seen real combat despite the few hundred flight hours between them. Swann, on the other hand, had cut his teeth as a junior pilot during the end of the Third Contact War and had now been part of the war against the rebellion for a little over three years. Captain Meyer had been very forthcoming with that information when giving me the assignment. He knew Swann personally, he¡¯d said, and was eager to hear how an old acquaintance was doing. Now, after resorting to name-dropping Captain Meyer, Commander Swann half sat, half leaned on a large, thigh-high crate in the middle of the hangar with his arms folded across his chest. I gritted my teeth. I had wanted this to be a bit more formal. But fine.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Searching for something to sit on, I found a small ammo can nearby and slid it over. I powered on my tablet and opened the recording program before maximizing the script with my questions. I knew he was watching me, but I couldn¡¯t let him intimidate me out of doing my job. I finally had him. I was going to make the most of it. ¡°Your name, for the record,¡± I asked. ¡°Michael Swann.¡± ¡°And your current rank and position within the Fleet?¡± ¡°Lieutenant Commander and SRTS-5 Pilot, 15th Fleet. Currently assigned to the UNN Spitfire.¡± He sounded bored. I didn¡¯t need his actual voice, the recording was just for my memory as I wrote, but I didn¡¯t want him to fall into a rhythm of cookie-cutter, uninterested answers. ¡°You go by the callsign Darth, correct?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Does that offend you?¡± It was an off-script question so I wouldn¡¯t be permitted to use his reply, but I needed to break the current trend. It worked, seemingly, as I noted his raised brow. ¡°Why would it?¡± ¡°Well,¡± I explained, ¡°I¡¯m told that in the old movies it was a title given to evil, magic-wielding lords who killed people.¡± That got me a slight chuckle. ¡°It¡¯s just a name, Ensign.¡± I nodded my head slightly, scanning through the list of questions on my tablet. Not of all them applied to every interviewee, but I didn¡¯t want to miss any. ¡°Alright, would you please state your experience in your current position?¡± ¡°I have just over seven hundred combat hours.¡± ¡°Over what timeframe?¡± I asked. ¡°Eight years and eleven deployments with various fleets. Listen, Ensign, if you want my background or bio they¡¯re listed on the net. Let¡¯s get to the real questions.¡± I curled my lips. He wasn¡¯t wrong, but this was part of the process. I certainly didn¡¯t want him to feel like he was in control of the interview. Even so, I didn¡¯t have much ground to stand on. I shifted to sit straighter on my makeshift stool. ¡°Fine. Commander Swann, in your opinion, is there justification for using weaponry that far outclasses that of the rebel faction, as they¡¯ve been named by the United Nations of Earth?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And what is that justification?¡± ¡°The people you¡¯ve,¡± he pointed at me sharply, ¡°been interviewing for the last month.¡± ¡°OK. Would you care to expand on that?¡± I could tell this interview was going to be tiring. Swann thought himself better than the whole thing and I didn¡¯t like having to dig to clarify answers, it made it easier for people to say they¡¯d been guided into giving a certain response. Unfortunately, it was part of my job. Surface level information was dull and therefore useless. ¡°Right now,¡± Swann began, ¡°you¡¯re interviewing me, but I¡¯ll bet the only reason you remember my name a month or two from now is because I¡¯ve aggravated you. Or because Captain Meyer will ask about me. How many others have you interviewed on this little assignment? Do you remember their names? Have any idea what their life is like outside of the Fleet? These rebels, revolutionaries, whatever they want to be called, want to kill your interviewees.¡± ¡°And that justifies using superior technology to kill them?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve got the tech, why wouldn¡¯t we use it?¡± he said with a shrug. ¡°You want us to forego our advantage? It doesn¡¯t matter what weapons we use, Ensign, they want to kill us simply because of what we represent.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you want to kill the rebels because of what they represent?¡± Definitely not an approved question, but I couldn¡¯t help myself from turning his words against him. Commander Swann licked his lips and pressed them together. I couldn¡¯t tell if he knew admitting to it would be a bad look or if he was just holding back anger. ¡°Do you know why our callsign is Valkyrie?¡± he asked. Don¡¯t dodge the question, I thought and fought to suppress my scowl. ¡°No, I thought it was Chimera.¡± ¡°That¡¯s just an administrative name for the ship because ¡®SRTS-5¡¯ doesn¡¯t roll off the tongue,¡± Swann said casually. ¡°Valkyrie is what the ship is called while on missions.¡± ¡°OK, so why Valkyrie?¡± I cursed myself the moment the words left my lips. I¡¯d indulged him when I was supposed to be the one asking my questions. Now he would get to ramble on about whatever he wanted. ¡°When this rebellion started more than a decade ago, Chimera¡¯s weren¡¯t launched at the start of skirmishes, largely due to the limitation on the use of force against our own kind--the policy that the public is so concerned about that the UNN has to send public affairs out here to interview us to make sure the Fleet doesn¡¯t feel bad about doing its job.¡± I flexed my eyebrows briefly, overlooking the off-handed insult as he continued, ¡°So our guys would be down there dying and, much like the old Norse legends, we would descend from the skies and collect the critically wounded. Do you know how many people survive a high-G burn back up into orbit with severe wounds?¡± He paused just long enough for me to consider offering an answer before starting again. ¡°Almost none. By the time we showed up, we were ferrying the dead. A Valkyrie.¡± Swann seemed to collect his thoughts as he ran his tongue across his teeth behind closed lips. I was about to re-ask my question, but he began again. ¡°In the last six years the Chimera program has been in over eight hundred engagements, almost all of them for close air support. Only three bases have been overrun in that time. You want to know what I think of these limited force policies? They¡¯re garbage. We¡¯re here to win. If I had it my way there wouldn¡¯t be a ban on finite orbital bombardment. Not to be used preemptively of course, but so that every time the rebels group to attack us the heavens welcome them and not another member of the Fleet.¡± Well, he answered your question, Cara, I thought, though his views were certainly a bit extreme. I could admit the rebels were better armed than they claimed, but they certainly had no defense against a warship turning them to ash from orbit. I also had no ability to fact check his statistics, though they seemed believable based on what I¡¯d been reading the past few years. ¡°What about the civilians around the rebel combatants?¡± I asked. ¡°Marines risk their lives every day patrolling the colonies. There¡¯s a waiting hand to save those who want to escape from a rebel settlement. Some take it. The ones that don¡¯t are complicit.¡± I took a moment to collect myself, scrolling down my tablet. Swann certainly was...stalwart in his views, though I suppose I had expected that. He hadn¡¯t yelled, but his tone had changed from bored to fierce and I could tell I was getting to how he actually felt, however uncomfortable it made me feel. I found it hard to believe that Captain Meyer was friends with this guy. Swann was...ruthless. ¡°What do you think of your role in this war, Commander?¡± I asked, pressing on. ¡°Me personally or as a Chimera pilot?¡± I wanted to say personally, just to see what he thought of himself, but that wasn¡¯t the approved question. ¡°A Chimera pilot.¡± ¡°The UNN has a single job. Protect the UNE. Protect means fight those that would do us harm. Everyone in the Fleet has a job and each job contributes to our ability to win that fight. My job is a direct reflection of the Fleet¡¯s ability, but even the administrative jobs keep this whole war machine running. Shit, you look deep enough the janitor has an impact on how lethal we are.¡± ¡°So you see your role as protection. And by fighting I assume you mean killing the enemy?¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°Ensign, do you understand what combat is actually like? People die. Not just the helpless bad guys,¡± he said with air quotes. ¡°Two months ago a Chimera was shot down on Kepler-442b. All four crew members died on impact. If they had survived the wreck instead of becoming burnt corpses they probably would¡¯ve been captured and tortured like the crew on KOI 4427b two years ago. The UNN¡¯s hands certainly aren¡¯t clean from some of the things we¡¯ve done, but this war is not as one-sided as the holo¡¯s back on Earth make it seem. Yes, a large portion of my role is killing people as part of the larger UNN effort to win this war. Where do you see yourself in that picture, Ensign? Do your articles sway public opinion in our favor? Do they help bring an end to the war? Or save UNN lives?¡± ¡°You would prefer I write propaganda, Commander?¡± My snark reply earned me a slight chuckle. ¡°If it would help.¡± Commander Swann rose from the crate he¡¯d been leaning on and walked away without another word. I bit my lip. I had other questions, but none of them were from the script on my tablet. Had he known that was the end? He¡¯d certainly gotten the last word. I could almost respect how much pride he had, but his warped worldview was repulsive. How could he so blatantly not care about killing people? A growing thump of boots against the hangar floor pulled my attention. ¡°How¡¯d it go?¡± Matrix asked as she approached. ¡°Well,¡± I said, saving the recording and rising from my ammo box, ¡°he answered my questions so, good, I suppose.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t seem satisfied.¡± Matrix hoisted herself up to fully sit on the crate, legs dangling over the edge. I made my hand relax and felt the stiffness in my knuckles from clenching my fist. ¡°How do you put up with him?¡± I asked. ¡°He¡¯s all about the war. At least Corporal Strong¡¯s enthusiasm about it is comedic.¡± Matrix seemed to smile at the thought of Strong¡¯s cheesy, gung-ho attitude. ¡°He doesn¡¯t like the war more than anyone else, he¡¯s just damn determined to be good at what he does.¡± ¡°Killing people?¡± I asked, tapping through the menus on my tablet to create a folder with Commander Swann¡¯s name and archiving the audio files. ¡°Saving them,¡± she answered. ¡°Cara, it¡¯s not that he doesn¡¯t think the rebels are people, but, for now at least, they¡¯re the enemy. They want to kill us too. If a pilot hesitates we endanger the whole crew. We have a responsibility to the people on the ground that we¡¯re there to protect. All of this is far from ideal, but it¡¯s the hand we¡¯re dealt. We just have to have faith in the people with the power to make the decisions that send us to war or bring us to peace.¡± ¡°Why can¡¯t he explain things nicely like that?¡± I asked, locking my tablet and rising from the small ammo crate. Matrix let out a hearty laugh. ¡°He is salty, that¡¯s for sure.¡± Chapter 2 22 October, 2582 The operations room was chaos incarnate. I would¡¯ve preferred to leave my helmet on and filter out the overwhelming amount of radio chatter, conversations, and orders being given from halfway across the room, but no one else was wearing theirs. I certainly didn¡¯t want to be the odd one out. The room was dark, but alert lights spun constantly and threw sweeping shadows around the walls while dousing everything in a red hue. Most of the ambient light came from the far wall where a floor-to-ceiling holo screen with dozens of displays that showed various comm links, maps, sensor grids, and video feeds. I wasn¡¯t sure how anyone could anyone make sense of it all. ¡°Then tell me why the fuck there are thousands of them mobilizing and how over a dozen made it past the perimeter! They''re on our fucking compound!¡± The sudden shouting got my attention, and many others apparently, as most conversations died or reduced to a whisper. I hadn¡¯t seen him when I first walked in, but Colonel Noris stood on a short platform in the center of the room, the added height plus his already daunting size letting him tower over the analysts and other personnel sitting in half-circle rows of desks around the room. ¡°I-I can¡¯t, sir,¡± came the reply. It wasn¡¯t confident, but at least it had volume. From my interview with him the previous day I had quickly learned that Colonel Noris did not tolerate weakness. ¡°Of course you can¡¯t,¡± Colonel Noris said before muttering what I thought was, ¡°fucking intel.¡± He turned away from the answer, searching for some other poor soul. I stayed along the wall, afraid to be in anyone¡¯s way and unsure if I was supposed to make my presence known. I¡¯d been summoned, but the computer had failed to mention who had ordered it. ¡°What the fuck is the Spitfire doing?¡± Noris yelled to the room. ¡°Sir, the Spitfire is scrambling Valkyrie. ETA two mikes til launch and a ten mike transit.¡± I couldn¡¯t pin who had given the reply, just a louder voice amidst the rising chorus. ¡°Fine. Computer! Give me Major McNamara.¡± A display winked into existence on the large screen. A helmet with a dark tinted visor filled much of the window, but in the background marines ran back and forth amid flashing lights. ¡°Sir!¡± the dark helmet¡¯s voice filled the room and the marine snapped a crisp salute. ¡°Major, I want you returning artillery fire within the next sixty seconds! We will not be outgunned!¡± ¡°Yes, Sir!¡± The window closed immediately. ¡°Where the fuck is Lieutenant Prafur?¡± Colonel Noris once again asked the masses. ¡°I¡¯ve got him, Sir! Putting him up!¡± Another window appeared on the holo-wall and was accompanied by a disembodied voice. ¡°Colonel, we¡¯re on the walls but taking casualties. I need more personnel. Request the base go to FPCON-Black.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± Noris looked down off to his side. ¡°Sergeant, sound it. Bring everyone out of shelter. We all fight tonight.¡± ¡°Yes, Sir!¡± The dim lights flickered, the red and blue ambiance deepening in the darkness for a brief moment. ¡°What do we do?¡± Chang asked quietly. I jumped slightly, having forgotten that my assigned assistant had followed me here. Chang, too, had his shoulder pinned to the wall in an attempt to stay out of the way. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I answered. ¡°Wait, I guess.¡± ¡°Sir, I¡¯ve got Lieutenant Cristescu for you,¡± the nearby sergeant said. ¡°Put him up,¡± Noris ordered. A man wearing a white helmet and a visible mustache behind the face shield appeared on the wall display. Sweat was pouring down his face and I could see his eyes twitch ever so slightly. ¡°Colonel, they¡¯ve got the reactor sighted in. We¡¯ve taken a dozen direct hits and half my engineers are bleeding from the ears!¡± As if to emphasize his point, the video shook and the Lieutenant winced, ducking partially off screen before reappearing again. ¡°We need some cover if you want the power to stay on!¡± ¡°Keep that shit running, Lieutenant.¡± Colonel Noris¡¯s voice was surprisingly calm for this interaction. I wondered if he was trying to counter the engineer¡¯s panicked look. ¡°We¡¯ll put the blanket over you.¡± Noris raised his arm and flicked his wrist and the window flew off the screen at the motion. ¡°Sergeant?¡± he looked to the slender man sitting off the platform to his right. ¡°Sir, the Aegis is already over capacity. We can¡¯t cover the whole base against this volume of fire,¡± the slender sergeant answered. ¡°Prioritize this building and the reactor. Everything else is expendable.¡± There was a brief moment of hesitation, but the answer came. ¡°Yes, Sir.¡± Amidst the various radio chatter, I recognized a familiar name and voice. ¡°Valkyrie is skids up.¡± ¡°Copy, Valkyrie,¡± another voice answered. ¡°Firefly will be your terrestrial control. Safe flight.¡± A window in the top left of the massive screen appeared and I saw a small dot appear off the edge of the inset digital map. A dashed line plotted a path that ended over the square I assumed was the base. Numbers too small to read continually updated in the corner of the new graphic as the dot blinked its way down the path. ¡°Computer, give me Firefly,¡± Noris said. There was a brief, pleasant chime before a feminine robotic voice replied, ¡°Colonel Noris, Firefly is currently in closed communications with Valkyrie.¡± ¡°Patch us in, my voice only.¡± ¡°Yes, Colonel Noris.¡± I recognized Commander Swann¡¯s voice, but couldn¡¯t make sense of the conversation he was having. He and another were talking quickly and were using foreign terms and numbers that represented unknown entities. I looked to Colonel Noris, but he was fixated on the holo-wall. On the large map in the center of the screen various icons were appearing, shifting location, and locking into place while lines of red, orange, and yellow were drawn parallel to the base at sequential distances. ¡°Computer, close comms with Firefly.¡± ¡°Yes, Colonel Noris.¡± Noris hadn¡¯t said a word, but whatever he heard must¡¯ve been satisfactory. At least something is going well, I thought. For a moment, the volume of the operations room rose back to its original state. Colonel Noris stood, a statue in the middle of the room, arms clasped behind his back and the blue light of the holo-wall painting his face. I was sure I hadn¡¯t moved, but he snapped his head towards me and motioned me closer. I complied, taking quick steps to arrive at the edge of the platform. ¡°Ensign, you¡¯re the first thing out of here on Valkyrie. Take your assistant with you. No place for non-combatants in this fight. There are two civilians as well, inspectors of some sort, they¡¯ll be joining you. Chief Murray and his team will escort you all.¡± Colonel Noris turned away just as quickly as he had looked at me. ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± The pat on my shoulder startled me. A tall man in full combat gear, visor opaque, and carrying an assault rifle stood just behind me. ¡°Follow me, Ma¡¯am.¡± Without waiting for a response, he began walking towards a door at the back of the room. I almost had to jog to keep up with his long strides as I motioned for Chang to follow. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Chang asked when he caught up. ¡°Back to the Spitfire,"I answered. The moment we stepped out the second set of airlock doors my helmet adjusted its volume with a series of clicks to dull the ambient noise. The cracks of gunfire and thunder of artillery were initially deafening, but softened with each faint pop. We followed Chief Murray around the corner of the building and into a throughway where dozens of personnel had gathered. Nearby a marine was clinging to the shoulders of another, his head thrown back as a can of flesh foam was applied to his stump of a leg. I stared as the marine thrashed, the other motioning for more to come help hold his comrade down. ¡°Alright, listen up!¡± The voice in my helmet shook me from my daze. I broke my eyes from the man flailing his severed limb and saw a group had joined us. Two were hunched over, their hands on their knees and shoulders heaving. The civilians, I reasoned, as if their white helmets didn¡¯t stand out against the rest of us wearing dark gray. I checked my HUD and saw I¡¯d been placed in a comm room with almost a dozen others. Four of us were flagged, probably to mark us as non-combatants. That left the other six to be our escorts. notfall behind. When we reach the landing pad we''ll hunker down there until Valkyrie picks you up. Everyone ready?" ¡°How much farther do you think?¡± Chang asked as we prepared to cross a large open stretch between buildings. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I briefly considered pulling a map up across my helmets HUD, but didn¡¯t want to be distracted and temporarily blind. Chang didn¡¯t either, I guessed. I waited until the civilian was about halfway across before I came out of my low crouch and began to run across. Just as the civilian was about to reach the corner of the wall he disappeared behind a flash of light. I blinked rapidly, pleading for my vision to return. Everything seemed...slow? I saw my feet materialize in front of me and I felt my heart rate spike against my ribs. Where were my legs? Did I lose my legs?! No. No, my feet were still attached to my legs, I saw, as my gaze followed my own body upward to my stomach and chest. I was just sitting. I looked forward and realized I was back behind the wall where I had been seconds ago. Two marines were shooting from the corner of the building where I¡¯d wanted to be, muzzles flashing repeatedly against the darkness. ¡°Ensign!¡± A voice yelled. ¡°Ensign, you good?¡± A helmet appeared at the periphery of my vision. I turned to look and found a male face stared at me, fierce eyes barely visible behind the darkened faceplate. ¡°I-I think so,¡± I answered. I put my arms behind me, trying to push myself upward to stand, but my hand found something that wasn¡¯t the ground. A thigh, I realized, as I turned to see what felt so firm and dense. Completing my quick survey I learned that I was basically sitting in the marine''s lap. Had he dragged me back? ¡°Christ, you¡¯d be in bits if you¡¯d been a few steps further,¡± the marine said as I was hoisted to my feet by a hand under each of my armpits. ¡°Thanks,¡± I muttered. My tone did little to hide my embarrassment. ¡°We¡¯ve still got to get across. Can you move?¡± I lifted my legs slightly in turn. My left hip and side were stiff and my knee sent a stab of pain up my leg when I tried to use it to hold my weight. ¡°I-I¡¯m not sure,¡± I managed. Shit. Now what? Come on Cara, I thought, you can''t look like a wuss. You''re an officer!Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°I¡¯ll carry you,¡± the marine offered. ¡°No!¡± I snapped. ¡°Sorry. No, I can do it.¡± I took a deep breath, steadying myself. I was not about to be carried out of here like some child. I bounced on my toes slightly, trying to shake off the dull ache spreading across my left leg. I braced slightly and then began my run once more. The first few strides felt like a hammer against my knee, but by the time I was halfway across it became a dull throb that caused what I hoped was a hardly noticeable limp. Safely behind the wall on the far side, I realized the civilian had not been so lucky. He was face down on the ground with Chief Murray and another marine kneeling over him. They wiped away blood and pressed patches of cloth over what looked to be dozens of stab wounds across the man''s lower back, butt, and thighs. Each bandage was sealed with a dose of flesh foam and I looked away, unable to watch the man writhe each time the foam was applied. Instead, I watched Chang sprint across, the last two marines following in suit. ¡°We¡¯re all here?¡± Chief Murray asked. I turned back to find he had stood and the other marine had hoisted the civilian over his shoulders, his rifle slung tightly across his chest. ¡°Good to go, Chief!¡± one of the others answered. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡±
We arrived at the landing pad what was probably only a few minutes later, but it felt like an hour. I sat, leaned against the side of a barricade at the pad¡¯s edge and thankful for the rest. Chief Murray crouched down as though he were looking at his own feet. If I had to guess, he was probably flipping through various comm channels and focusing on their contents. ¡°OK, Valkyrie is two minutes out,¡± the Chief said into our channel, confirming my assumption. ¡°Bad news, though--Firefly needs them for a bit. We¡¯re going to stay here and stay low until they come get you.¡± I saw all six icons representing the marines fade slightly in my HUD indicating they¡¯d been pulled into another comm channel. After a moment the icons returned to their original color and four of them moved away in two groups of two, disappearing into the shadows. ¡°Where are they going?¡± I asked. ¡°To set up a perimeter,¡± Chief Murray replied. That didn¡¯t make sense. There was already a base perimeter. ¡°But we¡¯re inside the compound,¡± I informed him. ¡°So are the rebels.¡± That wasn¡¯t reassuring. Swann¡¯s voice played in my head, reminding me of bases lost. I didn¡¯t want to know the answer, but couldn¡¯t stop myself from asking. ¡°Are we being overrun?¡± ¡°No, not yet,¡± Chief Murray replied, ¡°but the compound perimeter is weakening and there are reports of a small group within the walls.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I didn¡¯t know what else to say. I cursed myself for sounding so pathetic and for panicking at the thought of the base being overrun with us still in it. Movement to my left caught my attention. The remaining marine had gone back to working on the civilian, applying more bandages overtop the ones with blood soaking through. Explosions shook the ground more often now, it felt like. The buzz of the Aegis spewing rounds into the air to intercept the incoming projectiles was constant, but apparently it wasn¡¯t enough. It took a concentrated effort not to bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them each time the ground trembled. The groans of the civilian in the comm channel began to wear on me and keeping out thoughts of the worst became harder by the minute. What if the next explosion was on top of us? What if we were overrun? I glanced at the pistol strapped to my right thigh. It had been a while since I¡¯d qualified on it. I was pretty accurate on the range, but I wracked my brain trying to recall how to properly deal with certain malfunctions that might occur. Why couldn¡¯t I remember that basic training? They said it was idiot proof! ¡°Valkyrie is here. Look.¡± I anxiously followed where Chief Hardin was pointing, but saw little more than wispy clouds underlit by explosions and the faint glow of the outpost. Then, a blue dot appeared, turning to orange as it grew closer. I tracked it for a few moments until it disappeared behind a thicker group of clouds. Somewhere overhead a rumbling growl grew into a deafening roar that forced my helmet to adjust its volume again. In a dazzling display of firepower, Valkyrie burst through the clouds, twin door guns ablaze like two heads of a beast. Corporal Strong had gleefully told me that there was a tracer every tenth round, but as I watched two constant streams of light spew downward I found it hard to believe every round didn¡¯t glow. Valkyrie launched a slew of rockets and a moment later the nose cannon began strafing the ground from the lower altitude. A hail of bullets flew upward from multiple locations, strings of dotted lights swinging through the air like ribbons in the wind as guns chased the aircraft through the sky. I tried to follow Valkyrie by sound each time it slipped back above the clouds only to have it reappear elsewhere moments later to ¡®rain hate¡¯, as Corporal Strong had so enthusiastically described it. After half a dozen iterations of this, however, several bright flashes erupted from the mountainside and lines of smoke shot upward. Valkyrie reacted immediately, taking a hard sweeping turn while red flares with delayed bangs and glittering clouds of smoke spewed from its underside. The flames from its engines tripled in length as it sped away, carrying the craft back above the clouds. Valkyrie¡¯s roar faded back to a faint growl and all but disappeared behind the buzz of the Aegis and the thumping from the artillery. Had they fled? I was about to ask Chief Murray where Valkyrie had gone when it tore through the clouds, diving at its last aggressor. It spiraled downward, a trail of horrid smoke from its engines the only sign of where it had been as it dodged the rising gunfire and returned the gesture. The aircraft lingered over the mountainside in a mixture of a hover and tight circle, all of its guns firing relentlessly. The assault drug on long enough that I started to believe they intended to flatten the entire mountain. Apparently satisfied, Valkyrie¡¯s nose turned upwards and it left the mountainside to smolder as it slipped back out of sight. This dance continued for what seemed another hour, Valkyrie darting through the sky and peppering the ground with bullets and rockets as its engines screamed into the night. It never lingered in sight for very long, each time speeding away just as the dotted lines of light seemed to intersect the rugged vessel. ¡°Chief, we¡¯ve got movement.¡± The icons in my HUD went faint again and the marine that had been working on the civilian snapped his rifle up to his shoulder to look outward over our barricade. Chief Murray had done the same to my other side, I noted. I peered over the concrete barrier, but saw nothing save for the empty landing pad and several large containers on the other side. My eyes darted to flashes on my left, little winks of light fighting against shadows behind a large building. One of the icons in my HUD began to flash, then two more. The marine to my right rose and sprinted towards the corner of the nearest building before quickly fading into the shadow. I pulled my feet closer under me in a low crouch, ready to follow, but Chief Murray gave an upright palm. Stay. The flashes continued, fading as though heading away, then disappeared entirely. There was a click as a single marine reentered our comm channel. ¡°We¡¯re clear, Chief. Ten EKIA.¡± The rest of the marines joined seconds later. Two of them came jogging back toward us, one with his arm over the other. They reached the barricade and the wounded of the two sat and leaned his back against the short concrete wall to rest. I could see that blood had spilled out over his armor from just beneath his ribs, but a small dot of yellow foam, no bigger than my thumb nail, was highlighted against the gray. ¡°Was that the rebels?¡± I asked. ¡°Yes,¡± Chief Murray answered, still surveying the area. ¡°All of the--¡± I was cut off by ten more people joining our comm channel. ¡°Chief.¡± ¡°Sir. Didn¡¯t expect you,¡± Chief Murray said crisply. ¡°Seems like we just missed the fun.¡± I watched as a group of marines fanned out from the shadows of a nearby building and took up positions behind barricades all around the landing pad. In the middle of them a large man strode casually over to where we huddled behind our own piece of concrete protection. The eagle next to the icon that had spoken informed me it was Colonel Noris. The commander of the base stood fully upright, unconcerned about the explosions and snaps of gunfire all around us. Chief Murray stood next to him, a full head shorter despite his sizeable height over me. The two must have joined a private channel as they seemed to gesture oddly, pointing at nothing in particular on several occasions. When they were finished, Colonel Noris stepped away, but stopped to kneel next to the wounded marine. ¡°Alright, you all are on deck,¡± Chief Murray said. ¡°Don¡¯t move to the aircraft until I tell you.¡± I turned to look at the sky in time to see Valkyrie swoop in over the compound, the roar of its engines chasing the vessel as it came to a halt fifty feet over the landing pad. The door guns fired tirelessly, only stopping when they could no longer hit the ground over the compound walls. The barrels went still, but glowed white as the vessel made the final, agonizingly slow descent to the ground. The moment the metal skids touched the pad I could see hands darting across hologram screens within the cockpit. I could also see that our ride to safety was riddled with pockmarks and coated in black soot. The left cockpit door swung upward and two small cans were kicked out, rolling past Colonel Noris¡¯s feet as the large man jogged towards the aircraft. Noris was animated, violently pointing towards the mountainside and giving other sweeping gestures. There was a brief pause in his movement as he looked at the occupants, listening to some response. Eventually he gave a thumbs up and slapped the flooring twice before walking back in our direction, the cockpit door closing at his departure. There was a shove on my back that forced my sore legs to catch me and continue moving. Chief Murray pressed us forward while Chief Hardin waved our haggard group on from inside Valkyrie. I stepped up onto the small wing and into the vessel before my legs refused to move any further, not out of fatigue, but the sight within. A pool of crimson suctioned my boot to the floor. Lines of brighter red meandered along the jagged paths of corrugated metal and disappeared into the edges of the floor panels. My helmet gave a click as it synced to Valkyrie¡¯s internal channel and I was overwhelmed by a multitude of simultaneous conversations. Chief Hardin grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me into a seat along the back wall of the small cabin while the myriad of voices filled my ears. ¡°Denmother, Valkyrie one-one requests immediate re-kit, bay two. Black on AGM¡¯s, red on fuel. Two-by crew wounded. Request one-by fresh gunner.¡± ¡°Copy Valkyrie, re-kit prepping.¡± ¡°Thirty-percent left on guns.¡± ¡°Copy thirty, we¡¯re dry on rockets.¡± I watched as Chang and the first civilian stepped on board and took seats next to mine. ¡°Outboard starboard stabilizer took a good hit, we¡¯re losing pressure.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll press though it.¡± ¡°Valkyrie, you¡¯re approved re-kit, bay two.¡± Chief Hardin helped a marine lift the wounded civilian into the cargo bay. The man resisted feebly as he was pressed back into the seat and fastened down. Chief Hardin stayed kneeled in front of him for a moment, probably having some private conversation about the man¡¯s current state. ¡°Pelican, you¡¯re approved engine start, bay one.¡± ¡°Roger, Denmother. Skids up in one mike.¡± ¡°One-one, need you outbound, sector four.¡± ¡°Firefly, Valkyrie copies. Exiting via sector four.¡± ¡°Ricky, you holdin¡¯ up?¡± ¡°All good, Chief,¡± a tense voice replied. ¡°Didn¡¯t need that one anyway. Tattoos on it sucked.¡± I understood the last bit against the flurry of ops-talk. I hazarded a look in the direction of the young corporal and the edges of my vision went gray and fuzzy. His dark blue and black armor was highlighted with a smattering of yellow at the shoulder. I looked to the floor, but the blood and empty canisters stuck in the crevices near the walls offered me no solace. I had already seen a few wounded, why did I suddenly feel so faint? The voices were cut and a faint static played in my helmet. A glance at the top of my HUD let me know I¡¯d been pulled into a private channel with only those inside Valkyrie. ¡°Max your suit¡¯s dampeners, we¡¯re going up quick,¡± Commander Swann said before the channel clicked out and I was subjected to more chatter. I pushed the voices from my mind and complied with the instruction. The seat pulled against my suit, drawing me deeper and simultaneously inflating the interior material gradually. It compressed against my entire body until I thought I might not be able to breathe. A series of pinpricks down my back followed and the sharp pain turned to a spreading heat as the chemical cocktail found its way into my bloodstream. I struggled to turn my head towards Chang and saw his eyes squeezed shut and his lips reciting some unheard prayer. ¡°Darth, we¡¯re going hot the whole way out.¡± ¡°Copy, Chief.¡± My helmet performed a series of rapid clicks as it compensated for the noise of the engines throttling. I stared through the cockpit and preparing to attempt to make sense of which way we were flying to stave off any air sickness. The vessel shuddered, seemingly with the desire to stay on the ground. I could sympathize. I wanted to be up on the Spitfire, away from all the chaos on the ground, but I suddenly wasn¡¯t so sure this was the best way out. ¡°Valkyrie is skids up.¡± My stomach dropped as we broke away from the planet. Through the gap between the pilot¡¯s seats I saw clouds fly across the glass as we spun to a new heading. I was unpleasantly reminded that my helmet was still allowing ambient noise when the door guns opened fire. The sound was ear-splitting inside the cabin and I screamed in pain while desperately opening the HUD menu to kill the noise. I succeeded and in my new found silence I closed my eyes, hearing only a muffled rumble and my own breathing through the ringing in my ears. A bump against my foot brought me back to reality and I pulled my heels against the base of the seat to stay out of the way. Chief Hardin and Corporal Strong had swung themselves and their guns inside and the doors were closing. ¡°We¡¯re sealed up, Darth.¡± For a moment I didn¡¯t think Commander Swann had heard the Chief, but his voice came across, dead calm. ¡°Copy, good seal.¡± Even with ambient noise disallowed there were several more clicks in my helmet as the engines were unleashed and the vibrations accelerated into a constant hum. I tried not to clench my jaw, fearful that my teeth might be worn flat. I didn¡¯t need to worry for long. We pointed what felt like directly upward and Commander Swann pressed Valkyrie for what I prayed was its maximum power. I was thrust against my seat, my helmet snapping back against the padding and becoming glued there. I groaned and strained to look down my nose at the cockpit. Somehow the two pilots were still moving their arms, albeit slowly, flipping several switches and manipulating the controls. The smooth vibrations turned to violent jolts as we tore through the atmosphere, breaking through an upper layer of clouds to be greeted by a sea of deep black. The unrelenting pressure threatened to pull me to sleep and I gave up trying to look forward, or downward, and resigned myself to staring at the metal ceiling. A few minutes more and I was freed from the acceleration. I slammed against the harness and back into the seat as we slipped into the vacuum of space and Commander Swann eased off the throttle. I coughed, my lungs unsure what to do with their first full filling of stale, suit-fed air in almost ten minutes. ¡°One-one is inbound, request Sarajevo.¡± ¡°Copy one-one. You¡¯re approved assault landing.¡± Able to see through the cockpit again I noticed a closer grouping of stars blinking steadily amidst the darkness. The sight of it was oddly serene; a warship bristling with firepower, gently floating in the boundless night and unphased by the battle below. I looked over at Chang to see if he saw the same, but my assistant was still deep in his prayer. Our approach to the Spitfire was rapid and I began to worry we were going to smash into the side of the frigate as it filled my view through the cockpit. Our pilots, of course, intended otherwise. A bright light whitewashed the glass until the material adjusted for the added intensity. The engines, I surmised, had angled forward to counter-thrust. I was displeased to learn I was right. The opposite of our ascent occurred and I prayed the harness was strong enough to hold me back as it dug into my suit. If I hadn''t wobbled my way off of Valkyrie several minutes later I never would¡¯ve believed we would stop in time. I puked, as did Chang, only a few steps away from the vessel. I didn¡¯t even care who saw the officer spilling her guts like a sick child, I was just happy to be back on the Spitfire. Chapter 3 23 October, 2582 I woke, lazily slapping at the incessant beeping of my tablet on the pillow next to me. Rolling myself to the edge of the bed took a weak groan and it was a struggle to sit upright with the dull ache that spread through my body. I flipped on the light and was greeted by the bottle of horse pills staring at me from the bedside table. I hated taking pills, but choked one down per the medic¡¯s instructions. He¡¯d been kind despite how quickly he¡¯d been working, reiterating the need to take the pill no less than three times during my examination. I freed my hair from its loose ponytail, running my hand through the tangles when the thought hit me. Holy shit. I almost died. I sat on the edge of my bed, fingers frozen in the locks of my hair as the images replayed in my mind. The stump of a leg, yellow and red. The hum of the air circulator like a faint Aegis, the only thing that had kept the base from being turned to rubble. Each time I blinked the light flashed into my eyes like a muzzle. I relived the explosion that had almost killed me and the roar of Valkyrie¡¯s engines that filled my ears for so long. Valkyrie. Were they back? I recounted the end of my night. I¡¯d left the hangar and reported to the med bay once my stomach had stopped heaving. The medics said the civilian would be fine when I asked during my exam. I had been done quickly enough, diagnosed with deep tissue bruises and small stress fractures. Nothing that the miracle of military medicine and a few days of rest wouldn¡¯t fix. Afterward, I¡¯d returned to the hangar bay, wanting to help in whatever way I could. The main shuttle, Pelican, returned with a full complement of wounded marines, but a swarm of medical staff were already there to greet them before I could be of any assistance. Valkyrie, too, had reappeared briefly to be re-armed, but a ding from my tablet had alerted me I was to return to medical and I didn¡¯t get to see them leave. Apparently the computer had updated my status to include a combat flight, so another screening had been needed. I blinked, taking in my room. I forced my hands to move and began to pull the final knots from my hair. Steadying my breathing took a conscious effort and I fought to ignore the sour taste in my cheeks. You¡¯re fine. You made it back to the Spitfire. With my hair taken care of, I remembered that Captain Meyer had pinged me in a message late last night. I grabbed my tablet from the bedside table and scrolled through my inbox only to discover that I had already replied saying I was safe. Checking my new alerts, there was another message from him, this time with a link. I tapped on the highlighted text and was greeted by multiple headlines reporting death and destruction on Gliese-667 Cc. I sent a reply thanking him for the updates before flagging the email as a reminder to read the articles later. I rose from the bed and began to take ginger steps towards the latrine. My leg ached something horrible and my stomach still felt like it might start its own rebellion. Brushing my teeth didn¡¯t seem like a bad idea either. At least I could try and get whatever this taste was out of my mouth. ¡°Computer, state the locations of Valkyrie one-one crew members,¡± I said as I crossed my quarters. It was an idle thought, but post-combat interviews would be very compelling for my story. A soft chime rang through the room before the female voice responded. ¡°One member is in the medical bay. One member is in their room. One member is in the mess hall.¡± Where was the fourth? I lifted my shirt and took a look in the mirror at the purple and green splotches across my torso. Pulling down on the waist of my pants I realized they continued down my leg. I pressed against one of the darker spots on my abdomen and winced. Hopefully military medicine was as good as advertised. The pills were supposed to have them gone by the end of the day, though I somehow doubted they were that effective. ¡°Computer, list the crew of Valkyrie one-one.¡± A simple question that would give a simple answer, but perhaps one of them had marked themselves as off-duty and I didn¡¯t have the appropriate access for the computer to give me their location. I continued to count my bruises. Would I get paid extra for these? The soft chime played again. ¡°Valkyrie one-one is comprised of Lieutenant Junior Grade Jameson, Senior Chief Petty Officer Hardin, and Petty Officer Second Class Strong.¡± No, that was wrong. I stared at myself in the mirror. Frizzy brown hair stuck out from my scalp and bags pulled at the undersides of my eyes. I looked like shit. ¡°Computer, what is the status of Lieutenant Commander Michael Swann?¡± Another soft chime. ¡°Lieutenant Commander Swann was killed in action on the twenty-second of October, solar year 2582.¡± I fought off the first wretch, but my stomach won on the second. The pill clattered against the metal sink, bouncing around amidst a small amount of bile.
The blonde viking stood in front of her vessel, arms folded across her chest, her combat flight suit nearly as dirty as the metal plating. ¡°Hey,¡± I said as I approached. ¡°Hey.¡± She didn¡¯t turn to look at me and I wasn¡¯t sure why I had expected her to. Of course she wouldn¡¯t want to talk. I¡¯d tracked Matrix down and hadn¡¯t even thought of what to say to her. Sorry? It felt weak. The computer said she¡¯d been in the hangar for a few hours and by the looks of things I doubted that she¡¯d moved an inch in that time. She certainly hadn¡¯t showered. Probably hadn¡¯t eaten either. I cursed myself for not bringing a pastry or something from the mess hall. I took a deep breath to compose myself, then approached her.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°Thank you,¡± I said lightly, ¡°for coming for us.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t thank me,¡± Matrix said, motionless. ¡°I never would¡¯ve gotten us on the ground.¡± I furrowed my brow. It wasn¡¯t sorrow in her voice. Anger? Frustration? Matrix sniffed sharply and let out a long breath. ¡°You know, I thought I was better prepared. All yesterday showed me was how big the gap between the two of us was.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked. ¡°Pilots are trained to visualize. To see the flight before you ever take it. I¡¯ve mentally walked through every scenario I¡¯ll probably ever fly, but Christ, it barely made a difference. I froze the moment they started shooting back. If I had been in the left seat, we¡¯d all be dead.¡± ¡°You seemed fine when I got on,¡± I offered. She scoffed, walking up to the front of the vessel and running her hand along the bottom of the nose, searching for something. ¡°We were hit...here.¡± Her finger found a hole it could fit through. ¡°He took it straight to the gut, just above the hip. Filled himself full of foam and kept flying.¡± She postured herself, both hands against the metal airframe while looking through the glass. ¡°We hadn¡¯t been briefed on surface-to-air missiles in weeks and he still pulled away from them as fast as the computer could activate the defenses. The G¡¯s compressed the foam and he started bleeding all over the place again. Hit himself with more foam and went back to smoke every one of those bastards for trying to turn us into wreckage.¡± Tears dripped from her eyes and she hung her head. When she continued, her voice wavered. ¡°All that and I could barely report status off the indicators! He had to walk me through plotting the route back to the Spitfire when we picked you up. We went back and he kept fighting while I could barely work the comms. Another full re-arm, a couple shots of adrenaline for him, and I¡¯m still dead weight.¡± She began to pick up speed, spitting out the words as though she were racing against her own emotions. ¡°And then, finally, he gave me no choice but to break out of it. There¡¯s this blinding flash in front of the cockpit and I can¡¯t see anything and the computer is screaming a vitals warning and--¡± she stopped, unable to finish the thought. She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn¡¯t come. With a deep breath, she tried again. ¡°Sticks yours L-T. Fly or die.¡± She didn¡¯t sob, but I saw the hard swallow in her throat as she finished and let her head bump against the side of the cockpit. I had felt helpless on the ground last night, but everyone around me had, to my knowledge, survived. All I wanted to do was give her a comforting word, a hug, something to dull her pain, but I couldn¡¯t make myself move. After a few moments she straightened, giving the metal a light thump with her fist. ¡°At the end of it all, a few dozen on the ground and four in the sky held out against over one thousand,¡± she said softly, before turning to look at me over her shoulder. ¡°You know if he was here he¡¯d have some snide comment about your interview questions, right?¡± The faint outline of a grin appeared around her lips, but she didn¡¯t seem to have the energy to let it fully show. I couldn¡¯t find anything to say, but I nodded. I just stood there, silent, as Matrix stepped back and eyed the cockpit. I did notice that there were several other holes through the front of the glass that hadn¡¯t been there the last time I¡¯d seen Valkyrie depart the hangar. ¡°How¡¯s Corporal Strong?¡± I asked, trying to change the subject. ¡°Oh, Ricky¡¯ll get a fancy prosthetic paid for by the Fleet and probably cover it with permanent marker,¡± Matrix answered. I chuckled. That sounded about right. I was fairly certain the gung-ho gunner would also have a whole new repertoire of jokes regarding the precision with which he could now ¡®handle¡¯ himself. ¡°What happens to you now?¡± Matrix asked. She turned away from the vessel and fully focused on me. Her eyes looked sunken, dark bags apparent against the puffy edges. ¡°My boss is having me rotate back next week when the Spitfire is replaced,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m to stay on the ship until then. No trips to the surface.¡± I felt pathetic saying it. I had been at the least risk out of anyone. ¡°Probably for the best. Everyone will be busy with repairs and such.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I said, looking at my boots. They stuck to the floor of the hangar slightly as I shifted my weight. ¡°Listen, I can only write so much in a day before I need a break. Is there anything I can do to help? Carry supplies or something?¡± ¡°Nah, the mechanics will handle everything,¡± Matrix said. Then, with a sigh, ¡°I¡¯ll probably be doing just as much writing as you--after-action reports and whatnot.¡± ¡°OK. Well, let me know if you need an editor then, I guess.¡± I started to leave, clenching my fists and mentally berating myself for not being more supportive. ¡°Cara,¡± I turned, hopeful. Matrix bit her lip and seemed to struggle for the words. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t care what anyone thought of him, but I do. Do you think you could, well, maybe don¡¯t focus on him being so grumpy? Or an asshole?¡± I smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±
Writing the story, as it turned out, was far harder than I imagined. I ran my hand through my hair while the other held down the backspace key of the holo-display connected to my tablet. It wasn¡¯t that Matrix¡¯s request was difficult. Commander Swann had died a hero, after all. Even if I¡¯d written about him in a scathing way the world would¡¯ve appreciated his sacrifice. He stood to earn some of the highest medals the Fleet could award, not that he would care were he alive to receive them. No, it was the fact that I could no longer bring myself to disagree with what he¡¯d said that blocked my mind from putting words on paper¡ªor screen, as it were. I¡¯d witnessed the horrible reality of war and been hopelessly caught up in its tide. Yet now, when I sat safe and able to test if the pen could truly be mightier than the sword, the only story I wanted to tell wasn¡¯t one of logical policies or doctrines of restraint. I wanted to tell a story of heroes. Of those who had been willing to look past all the red tape and rules bureaucrats put on the unpredictable nature of conflict. Of those who had fought to save their comrades. Matrix had been right. Sometimes you did have to trust that someone, somewhere, had made the right decision to go to war. And as I sat, painstakingly choosing my words, I realized that my story would not be what brought us to peace. And then I realized I wanted something more. Epilogue 08 July, 2586 The computer read off a list of systems into my helmet. ¡°Reactor, online. Controls, online. Sensors, online. Communications, online. Weapons, online. All systems nominal.¡± Another faint voice continually stated atmospheric conditions and a surface-level weather report while I completed my checklist. ¡°You know, most people are going to think ¡®Rook¡¯ is short for ¡®Rookie¡¯, not the chess piece. You good with that?¡± I looked at the pilot to my left. It had been several years, but she still filled out her flight armor just the way she had when we first met. ¡°It¡¯s just a name,¡± I replied, punching in a set of grids into the navigation computer. Matrix chuckled and flipped several switches before testing the flight controls. ¡°Fair enough. Go ahead then, Rook. Make the call.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I couldn¡¯t fight the grin. Months of fighting Captain Meyer before finally being permitted to re-class. A battery of physical and medical screenings. Three years of studying, tests, and training. All for this. My first combat sortie--a show of force around Camp Rotterdam, the UNN base on the sole planet of the Kepler-61 system. ¡°Denmother, Valkyrie two-four requesting engine start, bay one,¡± I said, smooth as silk. My helmet filled with a burst of static as flight control on the UNN Mustang squashed the other non-mission comms in the channel. ¡°Valkyrie, you are cleared engine start. No one in front of you. Need you outbound using vector one-three. Safe flight.¡± ¡°Copy, vector one-three,¡± I confirmed. Another burst of static followed as flight control released the channel back to its previous state of chatter. ¡°Sticks yours, Rook,¡± Matrix said. ¡°I¡¯ll take over once we enter atmosphere.¡± My hands moved instinctively, flipping switches and setting displays, the procedures drilled into my DNA. The magnetic clamps that held us down released and I pressed up on the throttle. The vessel shuddered at the power, eager to leave the safety of the hangar. I was happy to oblige. ¡°Valkyrie is skids up.¡±