Ripple
Gold 1 Book 2
By Forest Wells
Ripple:
Noun:
a small wave on the surface of water.
Verb:
to (cause to) move in small waves.
Military brevity code:
Two or more munitions released or
fired in close succession, usually from the same source.
Part 1: This Far, No Farther
Gold 1 Book 2
By Forest Wells
Ripple:
Noun:
a small wave on the surface of water.
Verb:
to (cause to) move in small waves.
Military brevity code:
Two or more munitions released or
fired in close succession, usually from the same source.
Part 1: This Far, No Farther
Chapter 2
Phoenix Burning
Major Yarain shook her head after a wide yawn. It was almost a comment in and of itself from the fox-like holdren; as if it might express everything running through her mind. I don’t understand. Sundale, her most recent litter and the only one she could reach, wasn’t acting like a holdren at all. His wounds had been terrible, but they were healing. A holdren in such a state usually sought out the pack for protection and support. Instead, he had shunned her. No, even less than that.
She’d been in that corridor outside his quarters every minute she could be while off duty. She’d tried to get his attention for the first two days, but it had gotten her nowhere. Since then, she’d just laid on the blue-colored metal floor, tucked tight next to one of the support beams along the similarly tinted walls of the carrier. She kept her ears up and all three tails laid loosely beside her, trying to create a sense of stability for him to find.
Yet every time Sundale came out, he utterly ignored her. Nothing Yarain did even got a turn of an ear. Not a single bark or whimper or word or glow of her rust-red tail tips drew any reaction. She’d tried showing up naked so he could see her full coat. She had taken great care to get it clean that day so the dull orange touching the back of her neck, shoulders, and back stood out against the sandy gold primary color. Her white underside almost reflected on the floor, and the small flecks of dark grey on her face and throat helped to highlight the dark grey that covered the entire tip of her muzzle. She was a beacon of natural holdren, a first mother—what humans would incorrectly call an “alpha female”—claiming that space for her pack to inhabit in safety, yet he walked by like she wasn’t there. Meanwhile, she had to face a reprimand for being out of uniform despite the I.C.V. Alamo being near the front lines.
I don’t understand.
Why would Sundale shun her when he needed her the most? What did Polaris do to him while he was their POW? Why did he want to be alone? What had happened to her cub? The questions came, never with any hope of an answer. Without any input from Sundale, the best she could do was be there if—no, when—he snapped out of it.
Yarain heard familiar footsteps behind her. She turned an ear to note his presence but otherwise held her vigil.
“I’m not leaving, Jason,” she said. Her voice was always soft and gentle, which apparently left humans expecting a British accent that wasn’t there.
A sigh suggested her comment had failed to stop the conversation. “Yarain, this has got to stop. You’re doing him no good by being here, and frankly, it’s starting to worry me.”
Yarain did not let her gaze waver from Sundale’s door. “My duties and performance have not suffered.”
“It’s you I’m worried about, Major. What good is this if he won’t respond?”
“Someone has to be here when he returns to us.”
Lieutenant Colonel Jason Harlem knelt beside her. He was a thin man, some would say too thin to serve, with a narrow face and dark brown hair and eyes that complemented his fair, smooth features. Like her, he wore a deep-blue uniform with a silver sash made of three beveled lines. The “shield” of Interstar, three shooting stars in front of a star-field background, lay on his chest. The emblem of the Gold Group, their fighter unit, sat proudly on their arms. It was a gold and black tricorn design with the longer lower tip outlined in black with seven stars. The group motto, name, and designation were emblazoned on tiny banners over this lower section.
But their uniforms had a number of differences, too. For one thing, he kept his combat knife on his back so he could reach it with either hand, and he was never, ever, without it or his sidearm if he had a choice, whereas she still had her sidearm only because of regulations. He also had a pin on his rank tabs of a falcon with spread wings, and she only had two wings with two mini suns between them. Their specialty tabs around their name and rank plates above the shield were also different, most notably the Passive Operation Systems Navigator or “POSN tab,” on hers. Both had socks tucked against their uniforms that could auto-deploy for decompression, except Yarain’s uniform stopped at the first joint on each limb and left her tails exposed. So long as her paws weren’t in danger, Command allowed her to leave them bare so she could remain comfortable and retain her full mobility. Jason, like all humans, wore full long sleeves and black boots.
After he failed to find the right words, Jason put his hand on her back in comfort. “You sure he will? I talked with Simon before Intelligence got a hold of him. The things Sundale endured . . . Let’s just say Simon’s father is going to be facing a few war crimes when this is all over. I get the feeling he didn’t tell me everything, and I’m not sure I want to hear it. We might have lost Sundale.”
Yarain glared at him, ears perking as her hackles fluffed a touch. She half barked a word as her throat couldn’t quite separate her native barks from spoken words. “He’s NOT dead.”
Jason huffed with a shake of his head. “In a way, he might be. That kind of torture can change a person—or a holdren. It can turn them into someone completely different. Yarain, I don’t want to give up either. I’m still asking God to bring him back to us every night. But I think we must face the chance that the Sundale we know died on that station. We may have to get to know each other all over again.”
“And where does that leave me?”
Jason’s hand fell off her while the other floated across his face, looking for a spot to induce thought or relieve stress. It soon settled in his lap as he looked away in search of an answer.
After another sigh, he rose while pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Yarain held her gaze on Jason, though her hackles and ears softened. “I won’t abandon him.”
“Even if it means wasting away in this corridor?”
“YES,” she ruffed.
Jason almost growled, cursed under his breath, and then faced her with a hand on his hip. “Yarain, I know he’s your cub, but somehow, someway, you have got to find a way to—”
Alarms and the lighting shifting to blue cut Jason off. The Personal Artificial Intelligence Combat Computer Assistant, or PAICCA, barked details in his usual, steady tone.
“General quarters! General quarters! All hands to battle stations. Set condition one! Enterprise carrier group engaged with Polaris forces at Phoenix Perch—prepare to assist.”
Jason blew out his frustration, but when he looked at Yarain, he was calm and collected. A look she knew all too well. His “internal switch” that kept his emotions in check during combat had fully flipped. “Come on, Major. We’ve got work . . .”
He trailed off as Yarain had already begun to shift into her finesse form at the first alarm. By the time PAICCA finished his announcement, she had changed from standing three feet tall at her shoulder to about seven feet tall not counting her ears. Her hind legs grew larger while her front paws had become hands that still remained largely paw-like, including pads and claws. While it wasn’t quite Jason’s switch, the effect was the same. She had a job to do. It was time to do it. Anything else would have to wait until later.
“In Sundale’s stead,” she said with a growl.
Jason nodded approval before squeezing into the nearest lift with half a dozen other members of the Gold Group.
“Why Phoenix Perch?” one soldier asked. “There’s nothing there of value, no strategic importance. Why attack it?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Jason said. “It’s the Enterprise carrier group. That ship carries not just her own legacy but that of every ship of her name throughout history. Taking her out would be a big blow to morale. I doubt the colony had anything to do with the attack.”
“Then the colony itself should be safe,” another soldier said. “Everything military is in orbit, starports included. The surface is all civilian.”
“Small favors, assuming you’re right. If not, they’ll wish they’d never heard of me.”
“You don’t really think—”
“Think about what they did to Sundale, then ask that question again.”
An uncomfortable silence that spoke volumes fell on the lift.
When the doors opened, the riders moved in one group toward the shaft-shaped hangar at a steady, if hurried, pace. Once inside, they split off for their G-21 Scorn heavy fighters. Each one was a brick-red ship with a rounded nose and bevel down the middle, with the main weapons and systems occupying the sides of the central fuselage. This “central block” sat between matching engine nacelles that had a sensor cone in the front and a twin-Gatling plasmoid-cannon turret on top. The wings added only a small amount to its profile, though they held the primary heat sinks. The group and Interstar insignias were painted proudly on the hull. An X1 beside it marked Yarain and Jason’s ship.
Yarain and Jason headed for Gold 1 hip-to-hip amid a flurry of other crews doing the same. The only thing that slowed them down was the last-minute movements of ships and munitions as the carrier prepared to unleash her fighters on the enemy. Most were G-21 Scorns, but there were a few Phantom squads scattered among the hangar. These were really little more than a large cockpit pod in the middle of two smaller pods attached by thick struts. Though fragile by comparison, even Scorns couldn’t match their agility, and their upgraded Gatling cannons made up for a lot.
They found that Captain Hars Gilnt had once again beaten them to their fighter. Does she sleep in the hangar? She was a young, tall, stiff-standing woman of Asian heritage with silk-smooth black hair. With Sundale still recovering, she had continued to serve as Gold 1’s Active Engagement Systems Officer—AESO for short, or sometimes, “second seat.”
Gilnt waited until they were in easy earshot to give her report. Only imminent combat prevented another picture-perfect salute. “The ship’s prepped and ready, sir. Magazine is fully loaded; standard weapon configuration is in use.”
For the first time since she’d taken over for Sundale as AESO, Gilnt spoke more like a dog barking. She also had a stark, acrid scent about her that spoke of a tension Yarain had never found on her before. Stranger still, it had a weight to it that, for a second, had Yarain’s tails on the verge of waving in uneasiness. If it weren’t for Jason’s calm aura, she might have lost herself in trying to understand why. As it was, she waited for Jason to take the lead as she knew he would, though one ear stayed trained on Captain Gilnt.
“Very good, Captain,” Jason said. “Take your station. Yarain, if you’ll take yours, please.”
“Yes, sir,” both said.
Yarain filed through the rear hatch of the fighter behind Gilnt and took her station behind Jason on the right. While the cockpit of a Scorn was small, it still had enough room for a person to stand between the second and third seat stations. Tiny cabinets on the walls held personal gear, and the smallest toilet possible, known as the bucket, sat to Yarain’s right. Jason, of course, slipped into the pilot seat as smooth as putting on a slipper.
As her displays hummed to life, Yarain buckled in, and then proceeded down the pre-flight checklist. Here, she could let herself be lost in the hunt. Her instincts wound through her training and experience, forcing her to focus harder than most on getting things right. Energy coursed through her, but she never felt her heart. It was smooth motion after smooth motion as she collected mission and navigation details, processed data from the group, and prepared for combat like she had a thousand times before.
Yarain had just finished pre-flight when the carrier group’s commanding officer, Rear Admiral Mason Redding, came over her com-link with specific orders. His tone remained even, but Yarain heard a weight to it few humans would catch.
“We’ve lost contact with the Enterprise and the colony. We have no further information on enemy numbers or location. All fighters are to prepare for a Charlie-two launch. Green and Blue Groups will engage enemy fighters along with Squash and Tagger squads. All other strike craft will cover the carrier group. Be ready for additional orders upon our arrival. Admiral Redding out.”
Yarain relayed those orders, to which Jason sighed. “Sounds like we may be too late,” he said. “There may be little or nothing left of our base by the time we get there.”
“Which means,” Captain Gilnt said, “the enemy may get away, too. If their target’s destroyed, they’ll have no reason to stay.”
“Let’s hope we’re wrong, on both counts. I don’t intend to let anyone slip through the cracks today.”
Nor do I, Yarain added silently.
With all systems checked and ready to go, the three of them went back and forth for a few minutes, fine-tuning the group’s deployment while they waited to arrive. They’d just begun discussions about how far they should let themselves be drawn from the fleet when a repeating alarm sounded in the hangar. Red lights in the ceiling began flashing as well, announcing to all that launch was imminent. The flight staff cleared the area around the landing pads as fighters began to hover over them.
Yarain double-checked the available intel as an almost invisible shield layer rippled over Gold 1’s hull. Getting nothing more than best guesses on enemy numbers, she put her focus on her target screen, her hands statue still on her controls. The only thing moving was her waving tails as she sat in preparation for the hunt.
That and her voice to start a common ritual before combat. “First Called.”
Gilnt continued the group motto: “Final Star.”
Jason finished it, “We hold the line.”
After an eternity passed by, the hangar doors opened. The second the doors were fully open, running lights turned green and ushered the fighters out. Every ship moved at once, blasting into the stars at full combat speed seconds after the Alamo had dropped out of hyper-light.
Streams of fighters melded into clouds and formations as the groups and squads formed up. They were joined by clusters of point defense drones, which were little more than two Gatling cannons stuffed between tiny engine nacelles under a thin veil of armor. Yarain’s sensor screen tracked every friendly with ease while exact enemy locations proved less certain. Gilnt tried to get a better reading, but the enemy E.C.M. was too strong at this range.
Through her targeting screen, Yarain could see a planet very much like Earth to starboard despite the many ships, drones, and fighters in the area. As the Green and Blue Groups moved to join the battleships and cruisers at the lead of the carrier group, the Gold Group was splitting into a wide-range formation to cover the space between the front line and the carrier. Drones from the Alamo merged with them in preparation to defend the carrier group.
Yarain was checking her message screen for any updates when a frantic cry came over the comms that drew all life out of her.
“They’re attacking the colony!”
Captain Gilnt soon announced the same and more. All that remained of Interstar’s forces were burning hulks and clouds of debris. Yet the enemy fleet, instead of leaving in victory, was in low orbit firing on the colony below. Yarain turned her turret to look at the planet and found a surface pocketed with the orange glow of fire where the central city should be. There was a solid block of flame on the outskirts of the city glowing like a fresh scar on the surface.
Jason turned to Yarain, but she held up a finger as Admiral Redding was on the line with new orders.
This time, his voice was hard with controlled anger. “All forces disregard original orders and attack! Stop them by any means necessary! Keep your heads, but take. Them. Down!”
“Orders rescinded,” she said. “All units, defend the colony at all costs.”
Jason turned forward halfway through her report. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Gold Group, form up and follow me!”
The fleet, fighters and all, pushed their engines to full acceleration toward the enemy ships. Orders came to keep the fleet together, but otherwise, the mass of ships had one thing on their minds:
Terminate!
The enemy fleet, now caught between a planet and Interstar, turned at an angle in retreat. Clearly, they hoped to avoid combat long enough to warp away. Interstar would have none of it. Yarain received an engagement angle to intercept them long before they got the chance. With one button, she sent the course to Jason’s screen and kept the feed active so any updates to it would automatically be sent to him.
“Not sure it’ll be enough,” Jason said. “We’ll get some of them, but some will get their hyper-light cores to full spin before we can stop them.”
“I’m not seeing a better course, Jason,” Yarain said. “Any other angle would mean a longer intercept time.”
“I wonder if it would be worth it to try some long-range—”
“NEW contact! Bearing 350 by 2. It’s . . . Jason, it’s the Enterprise.”
Yarain could see her decloaking in the distance almost directly in the path of the Polaris forces. She was the same class of carrier as the Alamo, a long-boxed hull that came to a point at the bow, though the Enterprise had been updated with very tiny wings to hold heat sinks away from the main hull while the Alamo had not. However, the Enterprise’s long tube-like hangars lining the sides on the back quarter of the ship were either missing or heavily damaged. Some hull breaches along the main hull were still burning, which spoke volumes about her damage. How she’d managed to cloak in the middle of the battle was likely a story for the ages, assuming anyone lived to tell it.
Seconds after the Enterprise appeared, a priority message arrived on her screen. “Jason, I’m getting a message from the Enterprise. ‘We’ll ground them. Bury them.’”
Yarain could hear Jason’s recoil in his voice. “What? What could that mean?”
“I don’t know. Admiral Redding is—”
She got cut off by Gilnt’s alert. “Sir! Hyper-light coils are offline. Auto-shutdown. No malfunction detected.”
“They have a jammer on board,” Jason said. “There’s no running now.”
“That may not be a good thing, sir,” Captain Gilnt said. “I have a large force of enemy fighters heading for the Enterprise. With the damage she’s taken, there’s no way she’ll survive.”
Jason hit the open comms to give orders directly. “Gold Group, turn for the Enterprise. Cover at all costs. Yarain, I need details of their status before we arrive. Inform Admiral Redding of our intent.”
“Copy that,” Yarain said.
She went to work, requesting a link with the Enterprise while sending a simple message to the Alamo detailing their current plan. The Alamo instantly confirmed and promised assistance. Yarain got on with the Enterprise at almost the same moment.
“Good to see you Gold Group,” a tired male voice said, “but I don’t think there’s anything you can do for us. There’s very little left to save.”
“What’s your combat status?” Yarain said.
“‘Shoot me’ sign.”
Cute and not helpful. “Do you have any offensive or defensive systems remaining?”
“Weapons are minimal, point defense is gone, we have no craft to our name, and what shield generators remain are at critical heat.”
“Stand by.” Yarain looked at Jason. “Jason, they have nothing left to fight with, and shield generators are critical.”
His response came without emotion: “Ride ‘em till they burn up. We’ll do the rest.”
“Enterprise, maintain shields for as long as possible. Gold Group will cover you.”
“Negative! You’re too outnumbered!”
“Never stopped us before.”
The Enterprise didn’t respond further.
Oddly enough, while some part of her knew it was a giant risk, the soldier within told that part to shove it. The Enterprise was the only thing keeping the enemy from escaping. Further, saving such a storied ship would be worth it for morale, especially after losing the rest of the fleet.
Besides, she’d lost too much already. After weeks of not being able to avenge her cub, she was about to get her chance.
The Gold Group pulled away from the fleet to ensure they got to the Enterprise before the enemy fighters. Captain Gilnt confirmed a flight of fifty Polaris fighters, which they now knew were called Comet-class heavy fighters. No doubt their answer to the Scorn, though not as well designed. While it had twin-barreled turrets on the side of a shoe-shaped hull, most of the weapons were on wings on the top near the back. The engines were tight to the hull at this junction point, and they didn’t have the Scorn’s Gatling cannons or thick shielding. That said, recent history had proven they could be a real threat.
“Barrage wall, prepare to engage,” Jason ordered.
The group formed a spread-out wall of fighters, meshing their ranges so that their field of fire was all the same. Yarain made sure the links were stable so no ship was out of position while also coordinating approaching reinforcements. The Enterprise fired a few token shots from her main guns, but she had exactly two barrels operational, and these fired too slowly to catch fighters. The enemy fighters continued their charge, returning fire the moment they came into range.
Their mistake was ignoring the help.
“Mow 'em down!” Jason said.
The Gold Group fired a full barrage into the teeth of the enemy squadrons. The focused fire erased four fighters from existence and sent nearly half of their shields flaring heavily. Additional fire appeared, announcing the arrival of the Blue Group right on Gold Group’s tails. The enemy scattered to avoid the barrage, which claimed another half dozen when their pilots panicked and collided to make them easy prey or the Enterprise got a lucky shot.
Not much of an answer, Yarain thought as she fired her turret on one target that had lost her shields. A pair of missiles went through the hole Yarain made in the armor, turning the damaged Comet into a fireball. Fitting. She went looking for another target and found the enemy fighters all turning into the advancing Scorns. Many were aiming directly for Gold 1.
Jason went on group wide again, “scatter and engage. Watch for focus.”
The Gold Group fractured in every direction like they’d done tens of thousands of times in training to confuse the enemy while covering anyone who found themselves being focused on. The enemy fighters tried to follow them, almost colliding with each other and doing little overall damage all the while finding members of the Blue Group nipping at their heels. Yarain kept watch on comms and her passive screen for any allies that found themselves under too much fire. Then the members of the Gold Group turned on the nearest target and fired every cannon they had. The result was a burst of shield flaring and a few explosions that cast a brief glow into Gold 1’s cockpit.
Jason sifted through the mess to settle on a single target. The moment he got on their six, Yarain turned her turret and fired. Her streams followed them as they tried to evade around the wrecks of their comrades. Jason kept them on target, allowing Yarain to deliver several bursts of fire onto the enemy fighter. When she started striking armor, the enemy fighter flipped over and turned toward them. Yarain and Gilnt focused a steady stream of fire directly onto the enemy cockpit. With the enemy shields already thinned, the combined turret and main cannon fire ripped through their minimal front armor. After the first rounds got through, the enemy bucked wildly up and away, right into another Comet fighter. The collision sent the second ship tumbling long enough for members of the Blue Group to finish her off.
“That works,” Jason said. “Who’s next?”
He flipped Gold 1 over to find what was left of the enemy running for their lives, followed by the still-firing Blue Group. The capital ships had held their course, but with their HL drives rendered useless, they too were running. Yarain glanced at the chatter for an update. Her screen noted a few Gold Group fighters had taken critical damage but also noted those that couldn’t disengage had managed a full survival ejection.
“We’re down four fighters, Jason,” she said. “No casualties reported, but Seventh Squad is down their top two. Six other fighters report damage but are still combat capable.”
“We’ll be fine.” His words were heavy, but confident. “We’re staying together anyway. Gold Group, continue pursuit!”
Just as she sent a quick note for the group to remain a single unit, she saw the Alamo had sent updated intercept courses to prevent escape. Polaris wasn’t getting away this time.
Soon after the chase began, Yarain’s attention was drawn to orders being sent personally from Admiral Redding. This can’t be good.
“Stand down, Gold Group,” he said. “I need you to cover the Berlin and the Alamo. We need to start search and rescue operations as well as provide cover for the Enterprise.”
Jason’s going to love this. Yarain almost lost her first word in a ruff. “STAND down, Jason. We’ve been ordered to cover the Alamo and Berlin while they provide support for the colony and Enterprise.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Her ears turned back in a slight cringe when she saw a channel opened to the Alamo. “Gold 1 to Admiral Redding. Sir, with respect, I’d rather—”
Admiral Redding’s voice came back heavy, but left zero room for debate. “You and everyone else in the fleet, Colonel. That’s why I want you to stay put. We have a colony and a carrier that need our help. With our fleet chasing theirs, I need a Scorn Group I can trust to take charge up here while I oversee search and rescue efforts in two places. I need the best, and that’s you. The Berlin will be supporting the Enterprise while the Alamo will head to support the colony. Keep everyone in line and keep us safe. We’ll do the rest. Admiral Redding out.”
Jason sighed an almost Holdren growl, then motioned for Yarain to relay the orders. “Odds and evens. I don’t care how.”
Yarain gave a soft growl of annoyance but like Jason, she surrendered to her orders. “Gold Group, fall back. Even fighters, cover the Berlin and Enterprise; odd fighters, cover the Alamo. We’ve been ordered to cover them during recovery efforts. No questions. Keep them safe while they search for survivors. Stand by for further orders as required.”
Yarain set the channel to standby as Jason led his half of the group to a low synchronous orbit over the main city. The Alamo flew even lower under them as shuttles and transports flowed from her to the planet below. Other transports, some big enough for multiple ground vehicles, were coming from the main fleet as well to add to the support. With nothing to shoot at, Yarain turned her turret so she could get a good look at the planet.
Her heart sank as she watched the proud colony claimed from the clutches of Raiders—the worst of pirates and slave traders—announce its own wounds. Pockets of orange still dotted the landscape, as did areas of gray where smoke was lifting into the air. Debris started falling with the support ships as the remains of the defenders returned to the colony they gave their lives to protect. Maybe now Command will finally “find” the money for a full defense system. They should have had a shield and weapon bases years ago.
Yarain’s ears floated back and forth between cringe and perk as she stared at the burning city below. When she saw no other ships on her scopes nearby, she realized she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sit and do nothing. She’d been doing just that for over a month, and it had yet to do anything for Sundale. It was time she took a more proactive approach with something.
“Jason,” she said. “I want to join the recovery efforts.”
Jason hummed in thought, which sent Yarain’s ears back in worry. “I like where your heart is, Major, but I can’t have an empty seat now. The enemy may not be gone.”
“Lieutenant Finnley can take my place.”
“Not as well.”
“Jason, please. I can’t sit and do nothing anymore.”
“I know how you feel, but that’s not enough.”
Yarain thought for a moment, then found more to offer with a couple of half-ruffed words. “I can be a contact you know you can rely on down there. My nose and ears are as good as any hound, but I can TALK. I can make a DIFFERENCE.”
Jason once again sighed, though this one sounded more like resignation. Yarain could only watch her station with an ear turned his way, refusing to neglect her duties while she waited for a response.
After another breath of stress, Jason tapped on his console. “Gold 1 to Alamo. I need someone qualified for POSN duty. Lieutenant Finnley would be my first choice, but I’ll take any I can get.”
“Something wrong, Colonel?” a firm voice said. “Is your POSN injured?”
“Major Yarain is going to join the search and rescue teams. They’ll make better use of her natural talents than I will. But I want a full crew in case the Pols come back.”
“Copy that. Stand by . . . Request approved. We’ll get you what you need. Alamo out.”
Jason brought the fighter to a lower orbit over the main city, set a holding auto-pilot, then looked back at Yarain. “Full tactical gear, Major. I don’t want you taking any chances down there. If anything happens, I want to know, got it?”
“Understood,” Yarain said.
She had unbuckled and began strapping her armor on the moment he asked for a replacement. It held the same blocky yet smooth texture of all armor, except hers covered her entire torso down to her hips and abdomen, with a thin layer covering each limb to the first joint. Her helmet covered most of her head, not counting slots for the ears, with a thin layer going out over her muzzle that stopped at the mouthline. The eyes had a thin display cover to allow for a HUD. At least this one doesn’t tickle my whiskers. Even so, she retracted it so the protection stopped at her ears for now. More than likely, PAICCA would have all the info she needed.
“Find us some survivors, Major,” Jason said.
“I’ll try,” she said.
Yarain snapped the strap over her sidearm on her ribs, slid a combat knife into place on her back at the hip, and deployed her pants and boots. I’ll be walking on too much rubble to chance it. They were mostly form-fitting, though they didn’t hold her entire paw shape as well as the armor during Sundale’s rescue had. I’ll have to see about changing that. She grabbed her twin-barreled plasmoid rifle and stood in the middle of the fighter.
“Miss Gilnt,” Yarain said, “can you send me to one of the transports down below?”
“I can do one better, ma’am,” Captain Gilnt said. “PERM already has an incident command post set up, complete with mobile transit pad. I can send you there.”
“PERFECT. Transit when ready.”
She’d been in that corridor outside his quarters every minute she could be while off duty. She’d tried to get his attention for the first two days, but it had gotten her nowhere. Since then, she’d just laid on the blue-colored metal floor, tucked tight next to one of the support beams along the similarly tinted walls of the carrier. She kept her ears up and all three tails laid loosely beside her, trying to create a sense of stability for him to find.
Yet every time Sundale came out, he utterly ignored her. Nothing Yarain did even got a turn of an ear. Not a single bark or whimper or word or glow of her rust-red tail tips drew any reaction. She’d tried showing up naked so he could see her full coat. She had taken great care to get it clean that day so the dull orange touching the back of her neck, shoulders, and back stood out against the sandy gold primary color. Her white underside almost reflected on the floor, and the small flecks of dark grey on her face and throat helped to highlight the dark grey that covered the entire tip of her muzzle. She was a beacon of natural holdren, a first mother—what humans would incorrectly call an “alpha female”—claiming that space for her pack to inhabit in safety, yet he walked by like she wasn’t there. Meanwhile, she had to face a reprimand for being out of uniform despite the I.C.V. Alamo being near the front lines.
I don’t understand.
Why would Sundale shun her when he needed her the most? What did Polaris do to him while he was their POW? Why did he want to be alone? What had happened to her cub? The questions came, never with any hope of an answer. Without any input from Sundale, the best she could do was be there if—no, when—he snapped out of it.
Yarain heard familiar footsteps behind her. She turned an ear to note his presence but otherwise held her vigil.
“I’m not leaving, Jason,” she said. Her voice was always soft and gentle, which apparently left humans expecting a British accent that wasn’t there.
A sigh suggested her comment had failed to stop the conversation. “Yarain, this has got to stop. You’re doing him no good by being here, and frankly, it’s starting to worry me.”
Yarain did not let her gaze waver from Sundale’s door. “My duties and performance have not suffered.”
“It’s you I’m worried about, Major. What good is this if he won’t respond?”
“Someone has to be here when he returns to us.”
Lieutenant Colonel Jason Harlem knelt beside her. He was a thin man, some would say too thin to serve, with a narrow face and dark brown hair and eyes that complemented his fair, smooth features. Like her, he wore a deep-blue uniform with a silver sash made of three beveled lines. The “shield” of Interstar, three shooting stars in front of a star-field background, lay on his chest. The emblem of the Gold Group, their fighter unit, sat proudly on their arms. It was a gold and black tricorn design with the longer lower tip outlined in black with seven stars. The group motto, name, and designation were emblazoned on tiny banners over this lower section.
But their uniforms had a number of differences, too. For one thing, he kept his combat knife on his back so he could reach it with either hand, and he was never, ever, without it or his sidearm if he had a choice, whereas she still had her sidearm only because of regulations. He also had a pin on his rank tabs of a falcon with spread wings, and she only had two wings with two mini suns between them. Their specialty tabs around their name and rank plates above the shield were also different, most notably the Passive Operation Systems Navigator or “POSN tab,” on hers. Both had socks tucked against their uniforms that could auto-deploy for decompression, except Yarain’s uniform stopped at the first joint on each limb and left her tails exposed. So long as her paws weren’t in danger, Command allowed her to leave them bare so she could remain comfortable and retain her full mobility. Jason, like all humans, wore full long sleeves and black boots.
After he failed to find the right words, Jason put his hand on her back in comfort. “You sure he will? I talked with Simon before Intelligence got a hold of him. The things Sundale endured . . . Let’s just say Simon’s father is going to be facing a few war crimes when this is all over. I get the feeling he didn’t tell me everything, and I’m not sure I want to hear it. We might have lost Sundale.”
Yarain glared at him, ears perking as her hackles fluffed a touch. She half barked a word as her throat couldn’t quite separate her native barks from spoken words. “He’s NOT dead.”
Jason huffed with a shake of his head. “In a way, he might be. That kind of torture can change a person—or a holdren. It can turn them into someone completely different. Yarain, I don’t want to give up either. I’m still asking God to bring him back to us every night. But I think we must face the chance that the Sundale we know died on that station. We may have to get to know each other all over again.”
“And where does that leave me?”
Jason’s hand fell off her while the other floated across his face, looking for a spot to induce thought or relieve stress. It soon settled in his lap as he looked away in search of an answer.
After another sigh, he rose while pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Yarain held her gaze on Jason, though her hackles and ears softened. “I won’t abandon him.”
“Even if it means wasting away in this corridor?”
“YES,” she ruffed.
Jason almost growled, cursed under his breath, and then faced her with a hand on his hip. “Yarain, I know he’s your cub, but somehow, someway, you have got to find a way to—”
Alarms and the lighting shifting to blue cut Jason off. The Personal Artificial Intelligence Combat Computer Assistant, or PAICCA, barked details in his usual, steady tone.
“General quarters! General quarters! All hands to battle stations. Set condition one! Enterprise carrier group engaged with Polaris forces at Phoenix Perch—prepare to assist.”
Jason blew out his frustration, but when he looked at Yarain, he was calm and collected. A look she knew all too well. His “internal switch” that kept his emotions in check during combat had fully flipped. “Come on, Major. We’ve got work . . .”
He trailed off as Yarain had already begun to shift into her finesse form at the first alarm. By the time PAICCA finished his announcement, she had changed from standing three feet tall at her shoulder to about seven feet tall not counting her ears. Her hind legs grew larger while her front paws had become hands that still remained largely paw-like, including pads and claws. While it wasn’t quite Jason’s switch, the effect was the same. She had a job to do. It was time to do it. Anything else would have to wait until later.
“In Sundale’s stead,” she said with a growl.
Jason nodded approval before squeezing into the nearest lift with half a dozen other members of the Gold Group.
“Why Phoenix Perch?” one soldier asked. “There’s nothing there of value, no strategic importance. Why attack it?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Jason said. “It’s the Enterprise carrier group. That ship carries not just her own legacy but that of every ship of her name throughout history. Taking her out would be a big blow to morale. I doubt the colony had anything to do with the attack.”
“Then the colony itself should be safe,” another soldier said. “Everything military is in orbit, starports included. The surface is all civilian.”
“Small favors, assuming you’re right. If not, they’ll wish they’d never heard of me.”
“You don’t really think—”
“Think about what they did to Sundale, then ask that question again.”
An uncomfortable silence that spoke volumes fell on the lift.
When the doors opened, the riders moved in one group toward the shaft-shaped hangar at a steady, if hurried, pace. Once inside, they split off for their G-21 Scorn heavy fighters. Each one was a brick-red ship with a rounded nose and bevel down the middle, with the main weapons and systems occupying the sides of the central fuselage. This “central block” sat between matching engine nacelles that had a sensor cone in the front and a twin-Gatling plasmoid-cannon turret on top. The wings added only a small amount to its profile, though they held the primary heat sinks. The group and Interstar insignias were painted proudly on the hull. An X1 beside it marked Yarain and Jason’s ship.
Yarain and Jason headed for Gold 1 hip-to-hip amid a flurry of other crews doing the same. The only thing that slowed them down was the last-minute movements of ships and munitions as the carrier prepared to unleash her fighters on the enemy. Most were G-21 Scorns, but there were a few Phantom squads scattered among the hangar. These were really little more than a large cockpit pod in the middle of two smaller pods attached by thick struts. Though fragile by comparison, even Scorns couldn’t match their agility, and their upgraded Gatling cannons made up for a lot.
They found that Captain Hars Gilnt had once again beaten them to their fighter. Does she sleep in the hangar? She was a young, tall, stiff-standing woman of Asian heritage with silk-smooth black hair. With Sundale still recovering, she had continued to serve as Gold 1’s Active Engagement Systems Officer—AESO for short, or sometimes, “second seat.”
Gilnt waited until they were in easy earshot to give her report. Only imminent combat prevented another picture-perfect salute. “The ship’s prepped and ready, sir. Magazine is fully loaded; standard weapon configuration is in use.”
For the first time since she’d taken over for Sundale as AESO, Gilnt spoke more like a dog barking. She also had a stark, acrid scent about her that spoke of a tension Yarain had never found on her before. Stranger still, it had a weight to it that, for a second, had Yarain’s tails on the verge of waving in uneasiness. If it weren’t for Jason’s calm aura, she might have lost herself in trying to understand why. As it was, she waited for Jason to take the lead as she knew he would, though one ear stayed trained on Captain Gilnt.
“Very good, Captain,” Jason said. “Take your station. Yarain, if you’ll take yours, please.”
“Yes, sir,” both said.
Yarain filed through the rear hatch of the fighter behind Gilnt and took her station behind Jason on the right. While the cockpit of a Scorn was small, it still had enough room for a person to stand between the second and third seat stations. Tiny cabinets on the walls held personal gear, and the smallest toilet possible, known as the bucket, sat to Yarain’s right. Jason, of course, slipped into the pilot seat as smooth as putting on a slipper.
As her displays hummed to life, Yarain buckled in, and then proceeded down the pre-flight checklist. Here, she could let herself be lost in the hunt. Her instincts wound through her training and experience, forcing her to focus harder than most on getting things right. Energy coursed through her, but she never felt her heart. It was smooth motion after smooth motion as she collected mission and navigation details, processed data from the group, and prepared for combat like she had a thousand times before.
Yarain had just finished pre-flight when the carrier group’s commanding officer, Rear Admiral Mason Redding, came over her com-link with specific orders. His tone remained even, but Yarain heard a weight to it few humans would catch.
“We’ve lost contact with the Enterprise and the colony. We have no further information on enemy numbers or location. All fighters are to prepare for a Charlie-two launch. Green and Blue Groups will engage enemy fighters along with Squash and Tagger squads. All other strike craft will cover the carrier group. Be ready for additional orders upon our arrival. Admiral Redding out.”
Yarain relayed those orders, to which Jason sighed. “Sounds like we may be too late,” he said. “There may be little or nothing left of our base by the time we get there.”
“Which means,” Captain Gilnt said, “the enemy may get away, too. If their target’s destroyed, they’ll have no reason to stay.”
“Let’s hope we’re wrong, on both counts. I don’t intend to let anyone slip through the cracks today.”
Nor do I, Yarain added silently.
With all systems checked and ready to go, the three of them went back and forth for a few minutes, fine-tuning the group’s deployment while they waited to arrive. They’d just begun discussions about how far they should let themselves be drawn from the fleet when a repeating alarm sounded in the hangar. Red lights in the ceiling began flashing as well, announcing to all that launch was imminent. The flight staff cleared the area around the landing pads as fighters began to hover over them.
Yarain double-checked the available intel as an almost invisible shield layer rippled over Gold 1’s hull. Getting nothing more than best guesses on enemy numbers, she put her focus on her target screen, her hands statue still on her controls. The only thing moving was her waving tails as she sat in preparation for the hunt.
That and her voice to start a common ritual before combat. “First Called.”
Gilnt continued the group motto: “Final Star.”
Jason finished it, “We hold the line.”
After an eternity passed by, the hangar doors opened. The second the doors were fully open, running lights turned green and ushered the fighters out. Every ship moved at once, blasting into the stars at full combat speed seconds after the Alamo had dropped out of hyper-light.
Streams of fighters melded into clouds and formations as the groups and squads formed up. They were joined by clusters of point defense drones, which were little more than two Gatling cannons stuffed between tiny engine nacelles under a thin veil of armor. Yarain’s sensor screen tracked every friendly with ease while exact enemy locations proved less certain. Gilnt tried to get a better reading, but the enemy E.C.M. was too strong at this range.
Through her targeting screen, Yarain could see a planet very much like Earth to starboard despite the many ships, drones, and fighters in the area. As the Green and Blue Groups moved to join the battleships and cruisers at the lead of the carrier group, the Gold Group was splitting into a wide-range formation to cover the space between the front line and the carrier. Drones from the Alamo merged with them in preparation to defend the carrier group.
Yarain was checking her message screen for any updates when a frantic cry came over the comms that drew all life out of her.
“They’re attacking the colony!”
Captain Gilnt soon announced the same and more. All that remained of Interstar’s forces were burning hulks and clouds of debris. Yet the enemy fleet, instead of leaving in victory, was in low orbit firing on the colony below. Yarain turned her turret to look at the planet and found a surface pocketed with the orange glow of fire where the central city should be. There was a solid block of flame on the outskirts of the city glowing like a fresh scar on the surface.
Jason turned to Yarain, but she held up a finger as Admiral Redding was on the line with new orders.
This time, his voice was hard with controlled anger. “All forces disregard original orders and attack! Stop them by any means necessary! Keep your heads, but take. Them. Down!”
“Orders rescinded,” she said. “All units, defend the colony at all costs.”
Jason turned forward halfway through her report. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Gold Group, form up and follow me!”
The fleet, fighters and all, pushed their engines to full acceleration toward the enemy ships. Orders came to keep the fleet together, but otherwise, the mass of ships had one thing on their minds:
Terminate!
The enemy fleet, now caught between a planet and Interstar, turned at an angle in retreat. Clearly, they hoped to avoid combat long enough to warp away. Interstar would have none of it. Yarain received an engagement angle to intercept them long before they got the chance. With one button, she sent the course to Jason’s screen and kept the feed active so any updates to it would automatically be sent to him.
“Not sure it’ll be enough,” Jason said. “We’ll get some of them, but some will get their hyper-light cores to full spin before we can stop them.”
“I’m not seeing a better course, Jason,” Yarain said. “Any other angle would mean a longer intercept time.”
“I wonder if it would be worth it to try some long-range—”
“NEW contact! Bearing 350 by 2. It’s . . . Jason, it’s the Enterprise.”
Yarain could see her decloaking in the distance almost directly in the path of the Polaris forces. She was the same class of carrier as the Alamo, a long-boxed hull that came to a point at the bow, though the Enterprise had been updated with very tiny wings to hold heat sinks away from the main hull while the Alamo had not. However, the Enterprise’s long tube-like hangars lining the sides on the back quarter of the ship were either missing or heavily damaged. Some hull breaches along the main hull were still burning, which spoke volumes about her damage. How she’d managed to cloak in the middle of the battle was likely a story for the ages, assuming anyone lived to tell it.
Seconds after the Enterprise appeared, a priority message arrived on her screen. “Jason, I’m getting a message from the Enterprise. ‘We’ll ground them. Bury them.’”
Yarain could hear Jason’s recoil in his voice. “What? What could that mean?”
“I don’t know. Admiral Redding is—”
She got cut off by Gilnt’s alert. “Sir! Hyper-light coils are offline. Auto-shutdown. No malfunction detected.”
“They have a jammer on board,” Jason said. “There’s no running now.”
“That may not be a good thing, sir,” Captain Gilnt said. “I have a large force of enemy fighters heading for the Enterprise. With the damage she’s taken, there’s no way she’ll survive.”
Jason hit the open comms to give orders directly. “Gold Group, turn for the Enterprise. Cover at all costs. Yarain, I need details of their status before we arrive. Inform Admiral Redding of our intent.”
“Copy that,” Yarain said.
She went to work, requesting a link with the Enterprise while sending a simple message to the Alamo detailing their current plan. The Alamo instantly confirmed and promised assistance. Yarain got on with the Enterprise at almost the same moment.
“Good to see you Gold Group,” a tired male voice said, “but I don’t think there’s anything you can do for us. There’s very little left to save.”
“What’s your combat status?” Yarain said.
“‘Shoot me’ sign.”
Cute and not helpful. “Do you have any offensive or defensive systems remaining?”
“Weapons are minimal, point defense is gone, we have no craft to our name, and what shield generators remain are at critical heat.”
“Stand by.” Yarain looked at Jason. “Jason, they have nothing left to fight with, and shield generators are critical.”
His response came without emotion: “Ride ‘em till they burn up. We’ll do the rest.”
“Enterprise, maintain shields for as long as possible. Gold Group will cover you.”
“Negative! You’re too outnumbered!”
“Never stopped us before.”
The Enterprise didn’t respond further.
Oddly enough, while some part of her knew it was a giant risk, the soldier within told that part to shove it. The Enterprise was the only thing keeping the enemy from escaping. Further, saving such a storied ship would be worth it for morale, especially after losing the rest of the fleet.
Besides, she’d lost too much already. After weeks of not being able to avenge her cub, she was about to get her chance.
The Gold Group pulled away from the fleet to ensure they got to the Enterprise before the enemy fighters. Captain Gilnt confirmed a flight of fifty Polaris fighters, which they now knew were called Comet-class heavy fighters. No doubt their answer to the Scorn, though not as well designed. While it had twin-barreled turrets on the side of a shoe-shaped hull, most of the weapons were on wings on the top near the back. The engines were tight to the hull at this junction point, and they didn’t have the Scorn’s Gatling cannons or thick shielding. That said, recent history had proven they could be a real threat.
“Barrage wall, prepare to engage,” Jason ordered.
The group formed a spread-out wall of fighters, meshing their ranges so that their field of fire was all the same. Yarain made sure the links were stable so no ship was out of position while also coordinating approaching reinforcements. The Enterprise fired a few token shots from her main guns, but she had exactly two barrels operational, and these fired too slowly to catch fighters. The enemy fighters continued their charge, returning fire the moment they came into range.
Their mistake was ignoring the help.
“Mow 'em down!” Jason said.
The Gold Group fired a full barrage into the teeth of the enemy squadrons. The focused fire erased four fighters from existence and sent nearly half of their shields flaring heavily. Additional fire appeared, announcing the arrival of the Blue Group right on Gold Group’s tails. The enemy scattered to avoid the barrage, which claimed another half dozen when their pilots panicked and collided to make them easy prey or the Enterprise got a lucky shot.
Not much of an answer, Yarain thought as she fired her turret on one target that had lost her shields. A pair of missiles went through the hole Yarain made in the armor, turning the damaged Comet into a fireball. Fitting. She went looking for another target and found the enemy fighters all turning into the advancing Scorns. Many were aiming directly for Gold 1.
Jason went on group wide again, “scatter and engage. Watch for focus.”
The Gold Group fractured in every direction like they’d done tens of thousands of times in training to confuse the enemy while covering anyone who found themselves being focused on. The enemy fighters tried to follow them, almost colliding with each other and doing little overall damage all the while finding members of the Blue Group nipping at their heels. Yarain kept watch on comms and her passive screen for any allies that found themselves under too much fire. Then the members of the Gold Group turned on the nearest target and fired every cannon they had. The result was a burst of shield flaring and a few explosions that cast a brief glow into Gold 1’s cockpit.
Jason sifted through the mess to settle on a single target. The moment he got on their six, Yarain turned her turret and fired. Her streams followed them as they tried to evade around the wrecks of their comrades. Jason kept them on target, allowing Yarain to deliver several bursts of fire onto the enemy fighter. When she started striking armor, the enemy fighter flipped over and turned toward them. Yarain and Gilnt focused a steady stream of fire directly onto the enemy cockpit. With the enemy shields already thinned, the combined turret and main cannon fire ripped through their minimal front armor. After the first rounds got through, the enemy bucked wildly up and away, right into another Comet fighter. The collision sent the second ship tumbling long enough for members of the Blue Group to finish her off.
“That works,” Jason said. “Who’s next?”
He flipped Gold 1 over to find what was left of the enemy running for their lives, followed by the still-firing Blue Group. The capital ships had held their course, but with their HL drives rendered useless, they too were running. Yarain glanced at the chatter for an update. Her screen noted a few Gold Group fighters had taken critical damage but also noted those that couldn’t disengage had managed a full survival ejection.
“We’re down four fighters, Jason,” she said. “No casualties reported, but Seventh Squad is down their top two. Six other fighters report damage but are still combat capable.”
“We’ll be fine.” His words were heavy, but confident. “We’re staying together anyway. Gold Group, continue pursuit!”
Just as she sent a quick note for the group to remain a single unit, she saw the Alamo had sent updated intercept courses to prevent escape. Polaris wasn’t getting away this time.
Soon after the chase began, Yarain’s attention was drawn to orders being sent personally from Admiral Redding. This can’t be good.
“Stand down, Gold Group,” he said. “I need you to cover the Berlin and the Alamo. We need to start search and rescue operations as well as provide cover for the Enterprise.”
Jason’s going to love this. Yarain almost lost her first word in a ruff. “STAND down, Jason. We’ve been ordered to cover the Alamo and Berlin while they provide support for the colony and Enterprise.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Her ears turned back in a slight cringe when she saw a channel opened to the Alamo. “Gold 1 to Admiral Redding. Sir, with respect, I’d rather—”
Admiral Redding’s voice came back heavy, but left zero room for debate. “You and everyone else in the fleet, Colonel. That’s why I want you to stay put. We have a colony and a carrier that need our help. With our fleet chasing theirs, I need a Scorn Group I can trust to take charge up here while I oversee search and rescue efforts in two places. I need the best, and that’s you. The Berlin will be supporting the Enterprise while the Alamo will head to support the colony. Keep everyone in line and keep us safe. We’ll do the rest. Admiral Redding out.”
Jason sighed an almost Holdren growl, then motioned for Yarain to relay the orders. “Odds and evens. I don’t care how.”
Yarain gave a soft growl of annoyance but like Jason, she surrendered to her orders. “Gold Group, fall back. Even fighters, cover the Berlin and Enterprise; odd fighters, cover the Alamo. We’ve been ordered to cover them during recovery efforts. No questions. Keep them safe while they search for survivors. Stand by for further orders as required.”
Yarain set the channel to standby as Jason led his half of the group to a low synchronous orbit over the main city. The Alamo flew even lower under them as shuttles and transports flowed from her to the planet below. Other transports, some big enough for multiple ground vehicles, were coming from the main fleet as well to add to the support. With nothing to shoot at, Yarain turned her turret so she could get a good look at the planet.
Her heart sank as she watched the proud colony claimed from the clutches of Raiders—the worst of pirates and slave traders—announce its own wounds. Pockets of orange still dotted the landscape, as did areas of gray where smoke was lifting into the air. Debris started falling with the support ships as the remains of the defenders returned to the colony they gave their lives to protect. Maybe now Command will finally “find” the money for a full defense system. They should have had a shield and weapon bases years ago.
Yarain’s ears floated back and forth between cringe and perk as she stared at the burning city below. When she saw no other ships on her scopes nearby, she realized she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sit and do nothing. She’d been doing just that for over a month, and it had yet to do anything for Sundale. It was time she took a more proactive approach with something.
“Jason,” she said. “I want to join the recovery efforts.”
Jason hummed in thought, which sent Yarain’s ears back in worry. “I like where your heart is, Major, but I can’t have an empty seat now. The enemy may not be gone.”
“Lieutenant Finnley can take my place.”
“Not as well.”
“Jason, please. I can’t sit and do nothing anymore.”
“I know how you feel, but that’s not enough.”
Yarain thought for a moment, then found more to offer with a couple of half-ruffed words. “I can be a contact you know you can rely on down there. My nose and ears are as good as any hound, but I can TALK. I can make a DIFFERENCE.”
Jason once again sighed, though this one sounded more like resignation. Yarain could only watch her station with an ear turned his way, refusing to neglect her duties while she waited for a response.
After another breath of stress, Jason tapped on his console. “Gold 1 to Alamo. I need someone qualified for POSN duty. Lieutenant Finnley would be my first choice, but I’ll take any I can get.”
“Something wrong, Colonel?” a firm voice said. “Is your POSN injured?”
“Major Yarain is going to join the search and rescue teams. They’ll make better use of her natural talents than I will. But I want a full crew in case the Pols come back.”
“Copy that. Stand by . . . Request approved. We’ll get you what you need. Alamo out.”
Jason brought the fighter to a lower orbit over the main city, set a holding auto-pilot, then looked back at Yarain. “Full tactical gear, Major. I don’t want you taking any chances down there. If anything happens, I want to know, got it?”
“Understood,” Yarain said.
She had unbuckled and began strapping her armor on the moment he asked for a replacement. It held the same blocky yet smooth texture of all armor, except hers covered her entire torso down to her hips and abdomen, with a thin layer covering each limb to the first joint. Her helmet covered most of her head, not counting slots for the ears, with a thin layer going out over her muzzle that stopped at the mouthline. The eyes had a thin display cover to allow for a HUD. At least this one doesn’t tickle my whiskers. Even so, she retracted it so the protection stopped at her ears for now. More than likely, PAICCA would have all the info she needed.
“Find us some survivors, Major,” Jason said.
“I’ll try,” she said.
Yarain snapped the strap over her sidearm on her ribs, slid a combat knife into place on her back at the hip, and deployed her pants and boots. I’ll be walking on too much rubble to chance it. They were mostly form-fitting, though they didn’t hold her entire paw shape as well as the armor during Sundale’s rescue had. I’ll have to see about changing that. She grabbed her twin-barreled plasmoid rifle and stood in the middle of the fighter.
“Miss Gilnt,” Yarain said, “can you send me to one of the transports down below?”
“I can do one better, ma’am,” Captain Gilnt said. “PERM already has an incident command post set up, complete with mobile transit pad. I can send you there.”
“PERFECT. Transit when ready.”
