by D. E. Kinney
“Wasn’t me, sir!” was Decker’s excited reply.
“There’s something out there, Sloan,” Tommy said, taking advantage of the confusion to peer over the cover of his boulder.
A large black ship was just becoming visible, streaks of orange blaster bolts raining down on the now-panicked Vargus assault force.
“Everyone to the ship,” Sloan yelled, already charging out of the foothills. He had recognized the ship’s silhouette from countless covert exercises. It was a Darkstar!
Sloan caught sight of Tommy making his way down from the rocks, the attention of the Vargins for now focused on the Darkstar. “Keep moving, Tommy, I’ll cover you,” he spoke between breaths as both men labored to get down to the desert. Just one large boulder was between them and the sand, illuminated now by blaster fire and the burning hulk of the dead transport.
“Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Tommy shouted while firing a continuous stream of green blaster fire.
“Shut up and run.” Sloan knelt and took careful aim before squeezing off several bolts. “And for god’s sake—stop firing! Someone on the Star is going to think you’re an ugly!”
There was a flash of braking thrusters as the Darkstar settled into the soft sand just three hundred feet in front of the boulder Tommy had already considered to be his tombstone, loading ramp already opened.
“Pick up the pace, gentlemen,” a calm voice from the black ship broke in over Tommy’s headset.
“Move!” Sloan yelled at Tommy, who had tossed his weapon but was still lumbering to make way in the loose terrain.
The second transport was beginning to burn. The firepower of the Darkstar had overwhelmed its shields fairly quickly, but there was still plenty of well-aimed blaster fire coming from the now-dug-in Vargus troops.
“In ya go!” a Darkstar crewmember yelled, grabbing Sloan’s arm and throwing him against the already loaded surviving members of his team.
“Is that it?” the nervous crew chief asked, as a makeshift door gunner letting loose a stream of fire into a spot from which green bolts were materializing.
“One more,” Decker yelled, pointing toward the shadowy, crawling form of Lieutenant Thorn, still fifty feet from the ramp.
“He’s been hit!” the gunner yelled over the commotion.
At that, Sloan leaped up and started down the ramp just as the door gunner took a hit and slumped over the heated barrels of his weapon .
The crew chief lounged at Sloan. “Leave him!” he shouted, clutching Sloan’s arm. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
Sloan did not have time to argue, but he ripped free of the alien’s grip and, dodging blaster fire, dashed back to Tommy side.
“Pretty sure you’re on this flight, pal, or are you nervous about flying?” Sloan asked.
Tommy, holding his side, tried to smile. “Maybe I’ll just catch the next one.”
“Funny guy, Thorn,” Sloan said, reaching under Tommy’s arm and pulling him up and over his shoulder.
“You’ll never make it. Leave me, Sloan.” Tommy winced, his blaster wound now grinding into the shoulder of Sloan’s armor.
“Hurry it up, LT,” Decker yelled, moving the gunner and taking over his gun as he and the rest of the team laid down cover fire.
Suddenly, just a few feet from the ramp, Sloan fell to a knee as a pair of blaster bolts slammed into his lower back.
“We got to go!” the crew chief again shouted. “Commander, this is Zander. Liftoff! Liftoff!”
Decker gave Warrant Officer Zander a hateful look and shouted as he dove out to aid his lieutenant, “Open your mouth again and I’ll kill you myself!”
By the time Decker got to Sloan, he had managed to stagger to his feet, and with the Sergeant’s help, all three made it to the ship, collapsing onto the ramp.
“Let’s get out of here, Commander,” Decker said into his mic, holding onto Sloan and Tommy as the ship lifted off. “Everyone is accounted for.”
Once safely into orbit, no longer in range of the deadly Vargus guns, the Darkstar’s commander moved down from the flight deck and stopped to check on his wounded passengers. “How’s he doing, Sergeant?”
Doc looked up from a now-unconscious Lieutenant Sloan. “He’s going to make it, sir. Most of the blast was absorbed by his armor.”
“And him?” the commander asked, looking down at Tommy.
“Commander Vance?” Tommy said, surprised to see his former instructor.
“Mr. Thorn, it’s good to see you in more or less one piece,” Vance said, kneeling down and putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.
“He’ll be okay, sir. I got the bleeding stopped. Medtechs will get him back good as new,” Doc added.
“It’s great to see you, sir, but how did you talk the fleet into risking a Darkstar?” Tommy asked without lifting his head.
“You Humans always say it’s easier to apologize than ask permission,” Vance replied and flashed a broad grin.
Tommy smiled, starting to feel the effects of whatever the medic had given him to ease the pain.
“Besides, what are they going to do—make me fly Darkstars?” Vance added with a chuckled.
“Now I owe you two rounds of drinks, Commander,” Tommy softly said as he let himself drift into sleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Few Are Chosen
Bo and Gary dragged their weary bodies into the Lasercats’ ready room. Bo slumped into a chair near Tommy, while Gary moved straight to a roster readout and began making entries.
With Tommy and Bo silently looking on, the board changed the status of two flight crews from active to KIA, or killed in action.
“We can’t keep taking loses like this, Tommy,” Gary said before collapsing into the nearest padded briefing chair, exhausted.
They had been fighting the so-called undermanned Collation of Free Planets for twelve months, usually flying twice a day and almost always to cover Firestorms as they continued in an attempt to weaken planetary shields or defensive complexes. They had endured heavy casualties, including Wagner, their CO.
“What happened?” Tommy said, standing and taking note of the names displaying a new status.
“We got jumped by swarms of Venoms inbound to the target. The Firestorms salvoed their payload and made a run for it. We stayed and tried to hold them off.”
“We were outnumbered again—four or five to one!” Bo chimed in.
“This strategy is madness, Tommy. How many people do we have to lose?” Gary pleaded.
After months of flying blockades with no apparent success, the fleet under the command of Admiral Cobna had massed their remaining heavy warships for an all-out attack on just one Vargus region—the south. The thinking being that the combined weapons would overwhelm the protective shield before the ion cannons could inflict a disproportionate amount of damage.
They were wrong…
Tommy’s squadron, along with a dozen others, had flown cover for the gathered armada. His Rapiers were of course not needed, as the Vargus planetary defense brain trust had no intention whatsoever of attacking the fleet with ships. The vantage point did, however, afford Tommy an excellent view of the carnage.
The battle had two significant outcomes: it was made clear that the Vargus triple-redundant shield technology was not to be dealt with head on, and another admiral was called home to stand trial.
Since that debacle, the big ships had been pulled back in favor of a more tactical approach. Heavy bombers, escorted by fighters, continued to pound the shields in hope of reducing energy reserves. This plan did take the ion cannons out of play, but only time would tell if this new strategy would indeed pay dividends. In the meantime, Star Force continued to lose personnel, but by the tens rather than the hundreds. Those ten were almost always fighter crews.
“Jamey’s gone. He got here when we did, right out of nav school.” Tommy said and slumped back into his chair, disgusted.
They sat in silence for a long while before Tommy spoke. “I’ll talk to the admiral
again…”
“We need better equipment!” said Gary. “These Rapiers have had it. Every time my tacnav straps in he looks like he’s climbing into a body tube. We’re just no match for the numbers of fighters they’re throwing at us. And I’m sick and tired of taking on these—these machines!”
“It’s not the equipment, Cruiser. We need better tactics, and more squadrons,” Tommy said.
“What we need is some rest,” Bo finally added. She grabbed her gear and headed out into the hallway.
Gary laid his head back on the chair’s ample headrest, let out a deep sigh, and tried to doze off. Maybe he could get rid of the faces of his dead squadron mates, images still very fresh in his mind—when…
“Looking for Lieutenants Cruise and Thorn,” came a voice from the open hatch.
“You found them,” Tommy said without turning to acknowledge the human voice.
“I’ve got some information for you.”
Both Gary and Tommy twisted, still seated, to see a major dressed in the uniform and traditional sidearm of the Marked. Both jumped to their feet.
“I’m Lieutenant Thorn.”
“As you were, gentleman.” The major raised a hand. “I know what you’ve been going through out here.”
“You’ve come to help Major—uh, Major…” Tommy hesitated.
“Major Eldger—Chad Eldger, and in a way.” The Major paused. “I’ve come here with an invitation to become part of a very special organization—the Marked.”
“The Marked? Are you sure you’ve got the right guys?” Tommy asked.
“You’re kidding, right, Mr. Thorn.” Chad looked down at his wristcomm and punched up an entry. “You have seventeen confirmed kills—in Rapiers! Add to that three Bronze Daggers, a silver star cluster, an Imperial Cross for bravery, and—” the major paused for effect, “—you’re the youngest acting squadron commander in the history of the Force. All in twelve months of combat flying.”
“You have been lighting ’em up, Tommy, “Gary said.
“And you, Mr. Cruise. Nine kills, and a fistful of commendations in your own right. You two make quite a team.”
Tommy paused, struggling to find the right response. “Sir, thank you for the opportunity. It’s a great honor, but I don’t see how I can leave the squadron just now. We’re in kind of a tough spot.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to, Lieutenant. The Renegade is pulling out of combat operations for refit and a badly needed rest—seems the brass wants to rethink their—strategy in this sector,” Eldger replied.
Tommy and Gary looked as if they were about to ask another question when the major stopped them.
“The next indoc class starts in two weeks. I’ve forwarded all of the information to both of you and sent a formal request through the chain. My shuttle leaves next week, oh seven thirty.” The major paused. “If you want a chance to be part of something very special…” Eldger took another moment to size up each man. “Be on that shuttle.”
With that, the Marked major turned and headed for the hatch. “We don’t ask twice, gentlemen,” he said without looking back, and left Tommy and Gary to stare at each other in disbelief.
Two days later, Tommy had gathered with Bo, Gary, and a few other members of the squadron for late chow. He wasn’t really hungry, but these get-togethers had become the only real break from the relentless pressures of the scheduled combat sorties—a schedule that Tommy was solely responsible for generating.
“What’s up, flying-type people?” Sloan asked, sitting in a chair across from Tommy.
Sloan’s Q had been assigned to the Renegade following his full recovery from the Vargus mission, although they hadn’t deployed again to the surface—and Sloan was growing bored!
“How ya doing, hero?” Tommy joked.
Sloan had been awarded the Golden Dagger medallion with rubies for saving Tommy, the highest award for bravery given by the Empire, although Tommy took credit for Steel receiving the medal. “If I hadn’t gotten shot, you never could have save me,” Tommy had joked.
“I’m doing good. Why? You thinking of getting blasted again?” Sloan retorted, smiling.
“Did you hear about Tommy and Gary getting asked to join the Marked?” Bo interjected.
“Yeah, Major Eldger told me about it,” Sloan replied.
Major Eldger,” Tommy and Gary both spoke, almost in unison.
Sloan leaned back in his chair and flashed a wide grin. “You didn’t think they would ask you two prima donnas and not try and get a real fightin’ guy, did ya?”
Gary actually jumped from his seat and grabbed Sloan. “That’s great. You’ll be with Tommy and me!”
Tommy raised a hand. “Hold on, Cruiser—I haven’t decided for sure.”
“What do ya mean, you haven’t decided? This is the Marked we’re talking about. A Humans-only club!” Gary then paused and looked over at Bo. “No offense.”
Bo smiled between bites of food. “None taken.”
“It’s a big decision,” Tommy said.
Sloan nodded in understanding. “He’s right, Cruise—it’s a tough call. And you do know people die trying to earn their Mark.”
Gary just waved him off. They all knew what was really eating Tommy. There had been a lot of talk about Tommy maybe being the first non-Tarchein to command a battle group, and becoming a member of the Marked would eliminate him from any future consideration.
“Have you talked to Chairman Remus?” Gary asked.
Tommy nodded. “He said he would support my decision—whatever I decide. But I got’a say, he sounded a little concerned about the Marked qualification training.”
Gary turned back to Sloan. “What about you?”
“Are you kidding?” Sloan said. “I’m there. I can’t wait to get off this tub. Can you imagine what it will be like to command a Q made up entirely of the Marked?”
Gary looked from Tommy to Bo and then back to Sloan. “No, I can’t, and I’m not sure why anybody would want to!”
They all laughed.
Tommy flinched a bit as his wristcomm sent a tingle up his forearm. “I’ve got to get this, guys,” he said, looking down at the message before grabbing his tray and hurriedly leaving the officers’ mess.
Moments later Tommy was in his quarters, looking at the face of Remus on a secure beam.
“Sir, it’s nice to hear from you, but why all the secrecy?”
Remus smiled. “You look well, son, and I would enjoy a chance to catch up on events, but I have urgent news—news of a delicate nature.”
Tommy watched his foster father slip into his diplomatic persona. “All right, sir.”
“You must get Bo off the Renegade,” Remus said.
“Off the—but why? Where?” Tommy stammered.
“I’ve taken the liberty of getting a leave set up for Bo through some very discreet channels. She needs to be off the ship and on her home world within the next twenty-four standard hours!”
Tommy sat back in his chair, terribly confused, staring at Remus.
“I know this comes as a shock, Tommy, but you must act now if you are to save your friend,” Remus continued.
“Save Bo! From what, sir?”
Remus paused, clearly concerned over the amount and the content of information he could divulge over this secure beam. “The success of the CFP has bolstered a number of other systems.”
The statesman again paused as Tommy leaned into the projection. “Drake will issue a decree of independence within forty-eight hours, Tommy. You know what that means to Bo if she’s still onboard when they officially make the announcement.”
“All Drakes will be considered enemies of the Empire. But how can Drake leave so many of their people—“
Remus did not let Tommy finish. “Remember what I told you long ago—chaos and death, Tommy, chaos and death.”
“I understand, sir,” Tommy replied.
“There is a shuttle leaving in twenty minutes, Tommy. Tell Bo as little as possible, but get her on
that shuttle,” Remus insisted.
“Twenty minutes…” Tommy protested.
“I fear the worst if you don’t make it. In a very short time, the fleet will stop all movements by any Drake. You must hurry.”
“All right, sir, we’ll get her on that shuttle,” Tommy said.
“I know how difficult this is for you, Tommy, but we have no choice. These are dangerous times,” Remus added.
“Indeed.” Tommy paused, already thinking of what he would tell Bo.
“Good luck, son,” Remus said, and the projection winked out.
Tommy stared at the void where only moments ago Remus’s concerned face had been displayed. He could only imagine the extent of the risk Remus had taken to get this information to him, but the thought of Bo leaving… And what if they were ordered, at some point, to attack Drake? Would I ever be able to fight Bo.
Putting these thoughts aside for the moment, and with a very heavy heart, Tommy slid his finger across the wristcomm to selected his friend and squadron mate. “Yeah, Bo, it’s Tommy. We need to talk.”
Only a few days after Bo’s hasty departure, Sloan found himself strapping into a small, very fast transport shuttle bearing the large red symbol of the Marked.
“Heard from Tommy?” Sloan asked Gary, who had secured himself in a seat facing his.
The cabin area was small but beautifully decorated in the colors of the elite fighting force. There were no signs or symbols of the Tarchein, save a small firebird symbol on the galley door just aft of the flight deck. Even their flight crew was Human.
Gary shook his head while glancing over at Major Eldger, who had stretched out, apparently sleeping.
Seeing Gary, Sloan twisted around to get a look at the Marked major. “Do those guys always carry that cannon?”
Sloan was referring to the traditional Marked sidearm only partially visible sticking out of the long holster, which was attached low on Chad’s right hip.
Gary smiled. “Supposed to be the largest and most powerful handblaster in the Empire,” he said.
“In the galaxy,” Eldger interjected, opening one eye.
“Good morning, sir,” Gary said.