Vengeance teaser- Final Ghost visit

The air was icy cold, his skin dimpled and a slight frost began to form on the hair of his arms. Jonathon stepped further down the corridor and into the darkness, he stretched his left arm out out and felt the cold metallic sting of the hull plating running along the side.
A light in front of him snapped into life and filled the darkness burning his eyes. Charlotte stood before him illuminated in her Captain's uniform. She looked sad, her eyes were ringed with red as if she had been crying. She shivered and pulled her jacket tightly around her.
"Why are you here?" his voice rasped, he barely recognised it as his own.
"You keep bringing me here." He heard the hint of frustration. "If you don't want to see me stop summoning me."
He was doing this? How?
He took a step closer towards her but she raised a hand to block him.
"Stop please. Don't come closer."
"But why?"
"Jonathon, I barely know you anymore."
"I'm the same man you fell in love with, the same man who fought to save your life, the man who stood in front of the entire world and said I love you Charlotte Bell." He felt a lump in his throat as he felt her scorn. "You're my everything."
She looked on stonily, her eyes fixed on his. "I fell in love with a good man, a man of principle and honour, now your heart is filled with nothing but darkness."
"You were my light, without you I can only dwell in darkness." he bit back.
She shook her head and he could see a fiery rage he'd not seen in years, a deep burning poison was preparing to escape. Instead she spoke in measured tones.
"You're blaming me?"
"You left me..."
She cut him off with a controlled explosion. "You make it sound like I had a choice! I was taken from you! Do you think I wanted to go?"
He stared at her, his mind robbed of cognitive thought. The anger in her eyes still burned bright and he knew there was no point in questioning or pushing any further. He thought of the deaths, the blood on his hands and the route he had found himself on. Part of him, his old self was revolted by his actions. Was she a projection of his subconscious? Was it a N'kell trick?

"What would you have me do?"
"You need to turn back Jonathon, turn away from this course, you are a better man than this. Then maybe I can rest in peace."
"I wouldn't see you again?" He sounded needy, even to his own ears, had she dominated his life so much?
"One day..." She said wistfully.
"What would I do without you?"
"Go on living." She sounded incredulous. "Jonathon you have many years of your life to go, you can't become fixated like this. My life is over, yours is still ongoing."
"But I don't want to." Tears welled in his eyes. "Not without you."
"Then take your side arm, press it to your temple and end it." She lost her patience and snapped.

He glanced down at the butt of the sidearm protruding from it's holster. It seemed to call to him and he felt his hand twitch towards it. The lure of peace, of being with her. He felt the weight lifting from his mind, the voices quietening down.

Rage suddenly filled him, bubbling out of control and he spat vehmentally at her. "You would like that wouldn't you? For me to stop my work."
She was even more incredulous. "What?" she narrowed her eyes and her cheeks flushed with rage.
"You're one of them. You're here to stop me..."
"If I wasn't who I said I was would I know about Doolan? You're nickname was Freya because of your snoring? That your mother's name is Florence?"
He looked at her knowing what she said was true. How could a facsimile know all of those details?
But how could it really be her?
"You have to have faith, not everything can be explained. I can't explain it myself. All I know is I keep finding myself here watching you disintegrate from the man I knew and loved. It's too painful Jonathon - I can't do it anymore."

What am I doing with my life? Help please!!!

At somepoint this morning everything cracked and I found myself telephoning my wife and asking;

"What am I doing?"

"I don't know. What are you doing?"

"Well I'm on my way to work... I meant in life."

"Oh... do you..."

"Obviously not you and Sophie... Just everything else!"

I had been reading "One day" and was relating to Em's post university crisis of not achieving all that she had dreamed of and being defeated by the city of London. I started thinking about how I'd felt post degree and how I had hoped and dreamed and now....

Now I'm sat in a darkened room doing the same things day in and out for a company I'm no longer thrilled to be working for.

At 10.02 am I answer the same phone call "Hello Fred......... Thanks Fred....." EVERY LATE SHIFT.

I think about what some of my friends are doing with their lives or even what my sister is doing and it saddens me.

Other than my wife and daughter, of which I am eternally thankful and a hand full of close friends I've a massive hole in my life... I mean what is it all about?

In my spare time I write... not meandering rants/pleas for help like this but prose and essays that I publish on line but ultimatly what does it achieve? Nothing.
I read a lot too. I amass great swathes of fascinating (to me) information about people who are long dead and governments of countries that no longer exist and for what?

I want to do more Lib dem stuff but ultimatly can't imagine what it would achieve and I don't have the time or money to get as involved as I want to either. I just feel life has cornered me and is happily kicking the crap out of me and that Game Over is looming over my head.

I guess I'm reaching the point that I need some direction, I want to do something worth while, something productive or feel productive... Like I am doing something to benefit others, myself or society rather than sat in comfy chairs eatting Haribo waiting for the shift to end and wondering what the hell has happened with life.

I can't believe I written this... even if it is for a bet.

I woke up the next morning slowly, not with what have understandably been a shocked start in an unfamiliar room. A smug smile spread across my face as I pulled the white duvet over my head and nuzzled into the soft white pillow. I could still smell his aftershave on his side and I felt excitement build within me again and my heart skipped a beat.

I heard music gently emanating from down the hall way, it was... Oh what was it? The Magic Flute! I remember being pleasantly surprised. Then a new smell caught my attention.
Bacon.
I felt my stomach grumble as the smoky smell filled my nostrils, I was being pulled inexorably out of bed towards the kitchen. I stepped out onto the soft carpet and looked at my disheveled pile of clothes, abandoned in the heat of the moment. y eyes fixed on a soft white dressing gown and pulled it tight around myself and stepped out into the hall way. Sunlight streamed from the window at the far end blinding me somewhat. The kitchen-dining room door was open and the sound of Mozart and soft Germanic opera grew slightly in volume and in the background I could hear bacon sizzling under the grill.

I stepped into the room and there he was, dressed in a scruffy pair of jeans and an old graduation T-shirt from King Ælfred’s college. His hair was scruffy but roughly combed and his eyes fixed the bacon and sausages cooking under the grill, he clung to a mug of tea casually and a spatula with the other hand.
“How do you like your eggs?”  How had he heard me approach?
“That’s rather presumptuous of you.” I retorted. “I might be a vegetarian.”
“Surf and turf.” He said simply.
“What?”
“You told me your favorite meal was Surf and turf. Also in the restaurant you had Lamb Balti. Any way its Sunday. You have to have a cooked breakfast. It’s the law.”

I smiled “Scrambled please.”

He smiled back at me briefly then put the tea on the work surface. “Breakfast will be served in five minutes.”

I decided to let the master carry on his work and padded softly down the hall to the bathroom. As I washed my hands I saw his bathroom cabinet open curiosity got the better of me and I had a quick look. I’m not sure what for, maybe some sort of horrific medication or cream but no.
Just a flannel, spare razor blades, a bottle of aftershave and paracetemol . In a way I was a little disappointed.

As I stepped back into the hall I saw the oor to the second bedroom open and again curiosity [piqued my interest. I stepped into what appeared to be a study with all the walls lined with shelves heaving with books and a loan desk in the corner by the window with a PC and a couple of framed pictures.
I started to look through the books casually to see what he was interested in. The first few shelves were general fiction, some thrillers and a couple of books by that upcoming authoress  whose name I can’t remember at the moment. Then there was a couple of shelves dedicated to his favourite sci-fi franchise including some technical manuals as to how all the ships worked etc. I shook my head with a wry smile. The next set were history books about Medieval  England, eighteenth century Imperialism and wars in America and of course lots of books on the Second World War. The shelf next to his desk, obviously the ones that were used the most, their spines creased or with little bookmarks poking out. A well thumbed copies of Goethe and Schiller, some political philosophy like Hobbes, Locke, Mills and even some Marx. I was pleased to see a copy of Mrs Thathcer’s autobiography among the collected works of Grimond, Beverage, Keynes and Asquith. I looked away to the desk and at the framed pictures, nothing out of the ordinary just a couple of family ones of what I assumed were pictures of his mother and brother, one of his ex… she certainly was a plain Jane! Short copper hair scraped back in a tight bun and a look of serious expression, he was sat at her side beaming and holding a glass of wine obviously having a good time but her eyes showed she was obviously hating whatever the event was. The last was him wearing a black suit and yellow tie shaking hands with…

My heart began to race with dread as I turned back to the bookshelves and stared at the politics books again. Grimond, Asquith,  Keynes, The Orange book… back to the picture of him shaking hands with another suited man wearing a yellow rosette. It was Nick Clegg.

Dave was a Liberal Democrat!

I felt, let down. I’d almost wished I had found a herpes cream in his cabinet instead. It sounds stupid but I really despised Liberal Democrats, I always had. They were always so wishy-washy, always on the fence and when they did have policies they were always opposite to what I believed in. Pro-Euro, always bringing up human rights and constantly banging on about electoral reform! There was nothing that needed reforming. My blood began to boil at the thought of it.

“Breakfast.” I heard him call from down the hall way.
I turned to look out the study door as he appeared in the doorway.
“Isobel,” he grinned. “Breakfast is ready. How would you like your tea?”
I looked at him with in hindsight was more of a glare, I tried to quickly recover and forced a smile. It couldn’t be that big a deal, so what if he was a Libdem? So what if I was a Tory and we had completely different outlooks on politics, the world and everything?

Book 2- Chapter 1. When Jonathon met Charlotte

Jonathon and Portia walked along the main street of Belgarum. The sun was setting and cast an orange tint across the houses. Portia shivered as a cold breeze whipped up and ruffled her platinum blonde hair. Jonathon put an arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I've missed this." She said "Your company I mean."

"I've missed you to. It's been too long."

They lapsed into silence again as they wandered the streets. It had been four years since they had last seen each other back on Rowlatt, they had both been on leave and bumped into each other and spent the next week soley in each others company. Portia had seen him change from a burnt out grief stricken young man into the care free youth he had been when he had left the planet for the academy, his metamorphosis had been amazing to behold. 

"How is home?" He asked presently.

She smiled "Not sure, haven't been back to that dust ball in four years but I imagine it’s still the same."

"Remember that guy who hangs around the star port?"

"Doug!" They said in unison.

"Oh my God yeah!" She giggled. "Remember the Doug trap?"

"Remember it? I'm still paying off the damage it caused."

They laughed as they pictured their youth on Rowlatt, the serene picture book version of their lives where the bad memories were white washed over and hurt was forgotten.

"What happened to those two teenagers Portia?" he asked sounding suddenly serious.

"We grew up I guess." She sounded distant, probably thinking of those days in the countryside.

"But why?"

"Well if I remember you wanted to go and fly your precious salamanders... I- I wanted to just get away from that place."

He nodded in agreement. "Now I remember."

Silence lapsed over them again as they walked with no direction.

"Do you ever regret it?" She asked.

"Some days." He was quick; he didn't even think it over. "But then I would never have flown, would never have met Doolan and would probably be working the family lot scratching out Potatoes. Strange but I spent all those days wishing I was elsewhere, fighting bad guys and flying and now I'd give anything to be that young and innocent back there, and I know I’ll never get back to that until I'm retired and too old to enjoy the pleasures of youth."

She squeezed his arm gently. "I know it’s been five years but... Do you still miss her?"

Jonathon looked down at the cobbled street and lost himself into thought. He had not thought about Claire in a while and he reprimanded himself for his failing.

"Often." He said finally. "We were close. I wish that I had realised sooner that I loved her, I wish that she had told me sooner and I wish she was here now."

"Those are quite a few regrets. You shouldn't live in the past."

Jonathon said nothing. He thought of the young woman he had lain to rest on Zosen IV all those years ago, her eyes always sparkling with mischief and that irresponsible grin. He missed her so much. She had always been there and he had thought, even presumed that she always would and the cold vacuum of existance without her stung him deeply.

"She would want you to move on." Portia continued.

"I know." Pentlow, Snellgrove and Stacey had told him that over the last five years but he couldn't think of a reason why. She had been his friend, his confident and perhaps his soul mate.

"Is there anyone else on the horizon?"

"No" he stopped and looked around the cold grey prefabs. "Where are we??"

She laughed that crazy boundless less laugh she had laughed when they were young.

"Only we could get lost in a town mapped out as a grid."

They turned around and headed back down the hill, pausing briefly to look out across the panoramic view of the city.

"Any way, what about you?" He tried to change the subject.

"No nor me. Although I wonder what my new first officer will be like. Maybe he will be the one." She half smiled. "I don't know Jonathon; I've not decided what I want yet."

The city lay below them in a quiet haze, street lamps began to come on as well as a few lights in the houses. He could just make out the town clock saying seven O'clock.

"Guess it’s time we got back to the Mordred and I can collect my new C-O"

Portia threw her head back and laughed. "Oh yeah Jonathon you will love her!"

He furrowed his brow and raised an eyebrow in concern "I don't like the way you said that. What is she like?"

"Charlotte is... well... She is an excellent officer. She knows the regs, is calm under pressure and exemplary in her field but..."

Portia paused that laugh still rang in his ear and made him worry. "But?"

She squeezed closer to him and kissed him on the cheek. "She's one of a kind." She whispered. "You get to meet her in half an hour."

The entry ramp to the shuttle slowly descended towards the docking bay floor, a stream of coolant spraying along its length. Through the swirling white steam Charlotte could see her Captain chatting to another officer. Her eyes narrowed with anger as she glared at Portia. Her opinion of her Captain had never been particularly high, she constantly flaunted the rules and let her crew get away with murder at times and When Charlotte tried to enforce the rules she was made to look like a bitch. Portia had always been really polite and friendly with her but deep down there was a mutual understanding that they didn't like each other. In fact Charlotte felt the Captain's motivation to put in a word for her at the Promotion hearing was so she could move her on. Charlotte would prove wrong, she knew she deserved this promotion and could handle the responsibility. She had put up with enough crap from her superiors and subordinates for too long. Now was her time to shine.

Portia and the other officer were finally within six feet of her; she threw a quick salute and clicked her heels.

"Good to finally have you back sir."

Portia winced at the thinly veiled rebuke.

"Shall I have some quarters prepared for your friend?" Charlotte continued unabated.

The other officer, a commander wearing the yellow rank badges of a fighter pilot and a collection of commendations on his left breast crowned by the Galactic cross at his throat on a torn ribbon looked shocked.

"That won't be necessary." Portia raised her hands defensively.

"Understood." Charlotte nodded again, another velvet covered sledgehammer struck home. "Nothing to report by the way."

"I'm sorry commander." The red haired pilot broke in. "That is no way to speak to a senior officer."

Portia squeezed his arm. "Jonathon it's ok. Don't..."

He held up a hand in defiance. "NO Portia... It's unacceptable."

"Well commander." Charlotte spat back acidically. "Seeing as you don't out rank me and this isn't your vessel." She gave him one of her cutting glares that was usually enough to silence the most rowdy of crew men or belligerent of officers.

"As acting Captain of the Agravane I do out rank you Commander." He puffed his chest out and tried to look more important than he was.

Charlotte looked shocked. Agravane? That was her ship. This jumped up space jockey couldn't possibly be the new Captain. Then realisation struck. It was worse than that he was her new first officer. A thin smile etched its way across her face.

"What's your name and position?" Jonathon continued.

Portia's eyes rolled and she squeezed his arm gently. "Jonathon..."

"Commander Charlotte Bell, First officer of the Mordred and Captain of the Agravane."

Icy cold horror washed over Jonathon. What had he done? "Oh shi-"

Claire Doolan's grave stood alone on the water meadows outside Dracon, long grass tugged at the shaft of the wooden cross and brambles were questing towards it through the undergrowth.It had been undisturbed since the fateful day it was placed there, standing like a beacon among the peace and serenity to remind passers by of the war and the sacrifice of a young officer who had given her life to save this planet and the human race from a genocidal onslaught. Through a sheer miracle her silver cross still remained hanging from the marker, sparkling in the sun and dancing in the wind.

A single red rose lay before it dying a slow death as a mark of sentimentality; laid by someone who loved her and had made the pilgrimage on her birthday, next to it lay a wooden Nautilus model, hand carved and painted by another who loved her although he had not been to her in a long time - for Jonathon the pain was far to deep.

The wind caught the small silver cross and it danced once again back and forth in its waltz with nature. High above the field the clouds turned black rapidly slowly whipping up into a swirling black mailstrom in the heavens, great forks of lightening arched across the formations and speared towards the ground ripping the ground assunder and tearing trees in twain.

Rain began to fall from the skies in long hard lines that hissed and burned on contact with the ground and caused the brambles to whither and die along with the once vivacious green grass. As the poison began to take affect all life on Zosen IV reached out before choking on burning trachia or suffering hidious chemical abrassions. Even the fish in the rivers that flowed past Claire's grave floated to the surface, their gills and eyes bleeding from the acidity in the water.

Within fifteen minutes all life had died and only Claire's grave remained now on the barren wasteland that had once been a lush green meadow even her silver cross had fallen, it's chain eaten through and its light died in the darkness of the passing storm that had killed the planet.

Keister watched Zosen IV die, something he had dreamed about for five years. This planet had been a dark stain on an otherwise immaculate career, he had been called to the prescence of the Gefuht for the first time and instead of a glorious promotion he was given a three hour dressing down followed by a demotion to Commodore. It had taken five years to claw his way bcak up to admiral, calling in old favours he had hoped to save for something really important.

Now though- Now he had his revenge on this pointless world - this planet that had blighted him. The black clouds swirled around the epicenter of the explosion slowly spreading out across the planet like a voracious tumour. He knew that under the black shrowd the Szac gas was killing all biological life and leaving a scarred burnt husk behind.

Within twenty minutes the swirling black clouds had taken over the whole atmosphere turning the planet almost invisible against the darkness of space.

Four small vessels roared past his flagship and dived for the surface, their glowing orange exhausts illuminating a yellow plasma trail in their wake.

"Remora." He spat. "Why am I not surprised?"

The Remora were the most hated species in the galaxy, no one knew where they had come from or where they went just that their tiny vessels always seemed to be around large battle fleets and often swooped in to pillage from the dead and dying. The admiralty had issued an order not to fire upon them though, an order he felt was an afront to the honour of the Navy but orders were orders.

He allowed himself a quick smile. They would be surprised when they landed on Zosen IV and found their lungs melting and their eyes bleeding. That would soon teach them.

He turned from the observation point and pointed to the helmsman.

"Ensign! Plot a course for Staaken."

"Yes Admrial."

Keister turned again to watch the orange light fade into the swirling black abyss that now covered Zosen IV, like candles in the night.

Jonathon sat opposite Charlotte in the shuttle's passenger bay on what felt like the longest shuttle flight in his life. He fidgeted uncomfortably as he replayed their first encounter in his mind's eye. How could he have been so stupid?

She was sat leaning away from him facing the loading ramp and staring intently at some paperwork, her eyes like icy pools devoid of light and warmth.

He cleared his throat nervously as he shifted again.

She didn't move.

"So sir..." he tried to break the tension. "How long have you served under Captain Wright?"

There was a long pause and Jonathon thought she would ignore him thenn her voice cut through the silence, her gaze didn't shift from the page.

"Two years." Her voice was was clipped and sharp.

He felt foolishly encouraged. "How did you find it?"

She sniffed distractedly and continued to read. "It was alright." She eventually muttered in the the same curt tone.

He looked at his boots and the foolish bravado that had powered him as a youth tried one last stab. "How does it feel to have your own command?"

She slammed the pad into her lap as a cold stab of rage filled her, those cold eyes came to settle on his and he felt himself whither away from it and stare back down at his feet like a naughty school boy.

"Is this inane interrogation going to go on much longer?"

He mumbled a brief "No sir..."

"Then Kindly do shut up." She scooped up the pad and with a frustrated sigh resumed her reading, obviously still fuming to herself.

Silence descended and Jonathon stared uncomfortably at the floor unconsciously flicking Doolan's Galactic Cross, his mind wandered to Claire. Her memory was fading but still close to his heart, he could remember actions, pranks they had pulled or her saving his life but the sound of her voice had faded save for that scream, her final scream as he had lapsed into unconsciousness. Guilt dug at him as he remembered rushing to her in the field hospital after he had come to, the night vigils by her cot - he never let go of her hand even as she flat lined he squeezed it tight.

A tear welled up in his eye as his heart sank. He missed her.

A scalpel sharp voice cut into his thoughts. "I said... Have there been any orders as to where our next mission is?"

Jonathon looked up to see that icy glare studying him as one would sturdy a biological specimen.

"Not yet sir. Just to rendez-vous with Mordred." He said slowly and quietly still thinking about Claire, her hair blowing in the wind, her smile and those sparkling blue eyes that enchanted him.

"When was your last medical?" Charlotte's voice seemed to be echoing from another room.

"Two months." He said mechanically, still staring at the floor and tugging on the medal at his neck. TWO MONTHS. He thought. IT'LL BE THE ANNIVERSARY OF ZOSEN IV AND CLAIRE'S DEATH.

"Right...Well I want you to undergo another hearing test." She muttered "I can't..."

He cut her off in midd acidic flow. "I need a week's leave in two months time...I have some personal business to attend to." His voice was still hushed and distant.

Charlotte appeared to think for a while and nodded gently. "Fine."

Jonathon nodded and looked down at the cross at his throat. He wished she was still here with him.

Charlotte turned back to her paperwork and resumed her reading.

Fantasy teaser.

Just something I had been mulling over...

The scorched earth and timbers still smoldered in the cold morning mists. All that had remained of the Mott and Bailey castle were the beams of the great hall standing skeletally on the central hillock and a few posts of the palisade walls.

He had spent the whole previous day searching for survivors and signs of flight but had found none. There were many charred bodies throughout the ruins but he could not tell which ones had been his wife or daughter, the fire had burned too hot.

He knelt in silence before the mass grave that he alone had dug and filled through the night, treating each body as sacredly as the first. They had been his friends, his loyal servants and his family, now all taken from him by an unknown hand.He leaned on the hilt of "Justice" and felt the blade biting into the ground beneath.

The breeze caught his deep blue cape and gently lifted beneath it but failed to raise it far and filled his eyes with burning smoke that made them stream.

His thoughts turned back to the Vixtant, sat on her throne four days ride from her. He wondered if Ariana knew of what had happened or if she was behind it in some way. He shied away from those thoughts. This was not done by her hand or order, he could not believe it. He would not believe it.
No this was done by someone else, someone far more devious and underhand. It could only be by the hand of Beausted her left hand. For years he had been jealous of his standing with the Vixtant and they had often clashed over policy and often Council meetings had become quite heated especially of late.
He had hated leaving Lady Tabatha out here in his family seat whilst he was away at court serving Ariana. He thought of his feelings for Ariana, the way his heart pounded for her and his mind was fogged by even the merest thought of her. He had managed to keep it buried deep in his breast for years and denied it even to himself. Some how he knew his wife must have sensed it still, if not the love he had for another then definitely the hatred he had for himself and the guilt that gnawed at his soul. Tabatha was a good woman, and he loved her and honoured her as he did his daughter and it was now, as he stared at their final resting place that he felt the pain that he feared he never would. They had been his world and he thought of all the things he would never experience with them from his daughter's wedding, to grandchildren, growing old with Tabatha and even small things like his wife's smile. Anger rose inside of him, at himself for leaving them and loving his Vixtant, at Ariana for having allowing dishonourable men like Beausted to serve her and above all at Beausted.

He pulled himself to his feet and slid "Justice" back into it's scabbard and filled with a burning hatred and wrath spoke.
"I swear my Love that I will avenge you, I will bring down all that is wrong with this kingdom and then I shall return to you here forever."
He looked up at the gathering storm clouds that rolled over the Downs towards the forest clearing and thought of the storm that he would bring to Beausted's house.

Sir Mitchard Renily of Mereden would remind them all what a knight of the realm truly stood for.

Taster of Everlasting (book 2)

The sun slowly rose above the horizon, its' bright light playing up shadows and silhouettes across the desert and touching all in its' path with its' path with a pinkish taint.
Jonathon sat atop a dune overlooking the HAB staring out across the shifting sands, his jacket loosely held about his shoulders, the new born light was dancing on the silver rank insignia.
His mind meandered and he wondered about the last time he had seen a sunrise, he scolded himself for being in Space for too long. He ran his fingers absently across the Galactic cross at his throat, the cold metal sending a shiver down his spine and he pulled his jacket close around himself and tightening his grip on his copy of Werther with his left hand.
Claire would have thought this was truly beautiful. Her lose still hung heavy in his heart as if it were yesterday, though the searing white hot pain had lessened to a dull pounding ache that hung on him. The Galactic cross was all he had left of her now, in fact apart from her parent's house and the grave at Zosen there was little in the galaxy to show she had existed at all.
He could still see her now in his mind's eye with her mischievous smile, the light dancing in her eyes, so full of life. He clenched his fist around the medal feeling the metal dig into his palm.
Charlotte was stood behind him. He had sensed her approach, even on the sand he had heard her, now he could see her out of the corner of his eye, the sun highlighting her features and the warm morning breeze tousling her mousy blond hair. He didn't want to acknowledge her yet, she had a way of disrupting his pool of calm like a storm front that brings deadly undercurrents and whips up the surface water into a swirling maelstrom- But why?

"I was worried." her voice broke through the silence, soft but firm and he wondered if she genuinely had been worried or if it was just observing polite convention. "Have you checked the trap?"
"Not yet." his voice sounded alien to him, dry and croaking. "I was just watching the sun rise and thinking."
"About Claire."
He felt her name sluice through him to the bone. He had spoken to people about Claire's death before but something about Charlotte asking him seemed like a fresh wound. He wondered how she did that.
"You were close." It really wasn't a question but he nodded in response anyway. He really didn't want to have this conversation with her. Claire was his memory, his pain and he kept it close in his heart.
"She was an amazing person. It is indeed rare for me to connect with someone so easily but... she was open and friendly despite my barriers. I wish I had had the chance to know her better." She said wistfully.
Jonathon  just stared forward, his mind wandering back to that cursed air raid, the explosion, the death.
"JONATHON!!!" he heard that scream every day in his mind first thing - yanking him from his restful slumber.
"I don't want to talk about it." he muttered as he closed his eyes.

Defiance Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jonathon jumped down from his Nautilus with a loud metallic crunch that made his head hurt. He wasn’t sure how he had survived the last battle or what had happened but he was still alive and so was Grant. He adopted his usual grin and walked towards Claire’s fighter. He watched as she took off her helmet and shook out her blonde hair, the light dancing across it as she moved. A warm feeling washed over him, he was glad she was here with him; he didn’t know where he would be without her. He watched her dismount and slide off the wing delicately landing on the deck.

“Doolz.” he waved at her.

She caught his eye and he could see the rage in her them as she stormed over.

“What the frick do you think you are playing at? You almost got us both killed!”
He took a step back under the onslaught. “But we’re both still alive.”
“No thanks to you!”

He could see the anger and disappointment in her eyes raging and swirling like a storm. “Claire I’m-”
She shook her head “I don’t want to hear it!”
“But...”
“You’re a good pilot but… But you’re going to get us both killed.” her tone changed briefly. “What you did was reckless and irresponsible, we’re not students anymore, we could die out here.”
“I’m sorry” he said meekly. “It won’t happen again.”
“It had better not if Pentlow hadn’t intervened I’d...”

She was interrupted by a familiar smug tone. “Be scattered over a wide area.”

“Pentlow.” Jonathon muttered as the other approached, the reassured swagger and arrogant grin all grated on him. Why couldn’t it have been anyone but Pentlow?

Claire turned and forced a smile. “Thanks again Matt.”
“Sure thing.” he nodded at her. “Where was your wingman? Seems odd she had no cover eh Eldon?”

“I was on my way.” Jonathon said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah keep telling yourself that champ.” Pentlow clapped a hand on his shoulder. “But let’s face it if it wasn’t for me your little girlfriend would be toast.”

Jonathon turned to face him. “Hey! She is not my girlfriend!”

Claire looked down and muttered. “Leave it Jonathon.”
“Yeah.” Matt smiled. “Listen to your girlfriend Eldon. Claire I’ll see you at seven?”

Claire shot Matt a look “Maybe.”

“I look forward to it.” He turned to face Jonathon. “Maybe I’ll take her from you too.”

Jonathon turned to square up to him, Pentlow’s smug attitude had pushed him too far, and it was time for someone to take him down a peg.

A light hand gently touched his shoulder. “Jonathon...” Her voice filled his ears. “Leave it.”

He took a step back and turned to look into those soft blue eyes. She was right of course; brawling on duty was a serious charge.

“We’ll see.” Jonathon looked up into his rival’s eyes before following Claire’s lead in walking from the hanger. She walked with her head down, shoulders slumped forward, something was on her mind.

“Probably the whole dogfight thing.” He thought

Suddenly she turned on him. “Why can’t you just leave it?”

“He infuriates me, I wasn’t going to let him talk to us like that.”
“Damn it Jonathon this isn’t the school yard and we are not twelve.”
“But...”
“Just...” She looked exasperated at him before taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Look don’t worry. Go get some sleep yeah?” Her smile returned and she gently touched his shoulder.

“Ok.” He smiled back at her. “See you later?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Have to report to the GCap for the restructuring of the group.

“Enjoy that.” He laughed. He had no idea how she could put up with those sorts of meetings.

“I’ll try.”

Stacey kicked the door to the tenement open and was greeted with a shrill female scream as she dived to the side for cover. Eddie looked over at her from the opposite wall, a smoke grenade in his right hand; he was mentally counting down, concentration etched onto his face.

“Everybody on the floor!” Stacey called into the house as Eddie rolled the small grenade in. Moments later the reassuring fizzing of smoke through the filters echoed out.

“Give it a second or two.” Stacey muttered to herself. “Eddie, go to night vision.”
They both pulled down their visors and suddenly everything went a grainy green and black. She turned to the other two troopers. “Jackson, Cooke. You’re up to. Cooke take the habitation rooms, Jackson the kitchens, Eddie and I will take upstairs.” She didn’t wait for an acknowledgement. With one fluid flourish she was through the door into the tenements reception room, furniture was overturned and broken, blood was sprayed up the far wall and she could see feet sticking out from under the table.
She swung around levelling her shotgun at the stair case and then over to face the back passages. “No sign of anything.” She sighed with relief.

She heard the cautious approach of boots and in her periphery she saw the others approaching.
“Right you guys know what to do?”

“Yes Corp.” Came the measured response.
“Get to it. Eddie it’s your turn to go first.”

Eddie quickly wiped the expression of panic from his face. “Sure Stace.”

They moved towards the staircase to the right, Stacey crouched by the table and checked the feet protruding from under the table. She felt her stomach clench as she saw the remains of the former occupant, her throat had been cut but only after she had been disembowelled.

“Is she?” Cooke asked.

“Yeah.” Stacey nodded. “She’s dead. Let’s find this guy.”

Jackson moved into the kitchen, his shotgun swinging nervously from side to side in the cramped conditions. The small rectangular room could not hold more than three people at any one time. The work surface was littered with the detritus of daily life, open food boxes, dirty plates and general clutter. It reminded him of his home on the other side of the city, his wife singing as she chopped fresh herbs from his garden, the children laughing and playing underfoot. He sighed with regret. Why did the N’kell have to come and spoil his perfect life? He reached the end of the work surface and came to the semi glazed back door next to a large cupboard. He glanced out into the small garden. He could see what looked like foot prints across the small patch of grass and dark hand prints on the fence.

“Jackson to Nash.” He pressed in his comm. gently and whispered. “Looks like he’s flown the nest, no sign in the kitchen.”
“Secure the back entry and wait by the front door for extraction.”

“Yes sir.” He deactivated his comm. And took a final look around.

The Cupboard door burst open and a large dark shape charged him, pure brute force and momentum knocked the trooper off balance and against the far wall, his shotgun clattering uselessly to the floor. Jackson felt a pair of large hands tighten around his throat, he tried to struggle but the iron grip crushed his larynx, he spluttered and gasped as he stared into the hate filled eyes of his attacker. A metallic silver object glinted in the moonlight catching Jackson’s eye, it looked like a bayonet blade.
With a loud wet thud the blade passed into him and into the wooden panel behind. Jackson felt searing pain as the blade punctured his body, he could feel his life’s blood draining away but he could do nothing more than groan with his last breath.

Cooke stood looking out of the front door at the night’s street. This was the fourth home on this street they had checked so far tonight. The intruder had done his work here and gone, they were wasting time. He inhaled another lung full of smoke from his cigarette and looked up at the stars. It was a beautiful night; he would rather be outside or up on the hills on one of his late night strolls than here. This was a waste of time.
Movement caught his eye, when he turned around though the lounge was empty.
“Jackson?” he asked.

There was no reply and still no one there. He brought his shotgun up and moved slowly towards the kitchen door.

“Jackson?”

Still nothing. Something wasn’t right, he moved quicker.

As he passed behind an arm chair a dark figure darted out and Cooke felt a cold metal blade slide across his throat and a spray of blood shot across the room. He tried to call out but could only gasp as consciousness flowed out of him.

Stacey kicked open the second bedroom door and ducked to the side. Eddie dived through and took cover behind a chest of drawers. There had been nothing in the master bedroom, only signs of a struggle.

“It was strange,” Stacey noted, “this tenement could and was furnished for a family of four but so far only one body. Where were the others?”
She moved to the door and dropped to her knee and covered Eddie.

“Clear.” Eddie’s voice rang out loud and clear from the darkened room. Stacey sighed, they had wasted time and their target had got away. He was probably out butchering another innocent family.

She could see Eddie’s grainy green visage get up and move into the room. What was he looking at?

“Ed!” She rasped. “Come on.”
He came out visibly shaken, his hands shaking as he tried to grip his shotgun.
“Well I’ve located the children... What’s left.” His voice was tear choked.

Stacey jumped to her feet and pushed him aside. He tried to catch her as she pushed past protesting “Stace No.”

The room was quiet and tidy. A wooden dolls house lay under the window next to an open chest of toys. The twin beds to her left were nearly undisturbed, save for the two figures tucked up as if they were asleep. She swallowed hard and walked closer to them, a growing dread filled her, she knew they were dead and didn’t want to see the horror on their faces, nor the blood that would be soaking the bed linen.

“Stace!” Ed called after her. “I can’t reach Jackson or Cooke on the comm.”
With a sigh of relief she turned back. She hadn’t seen the children. She looked at her friend as he stood in the door way, his finger holding his ear piece in.

“That’s odd...” She was cut short. An arm reached into the room and grabbed Eddie by the throat and ripped him out onto the landing, she heard a muffled shout and the sound of breaking wood then silence.

“Ed?” She called out “Ed!”
No reply.

She brought her shotgun up and took a slow step towards the door, sweat broke out across her forehead and her throat dried out. How could they have been so wrong? They had done everything so carefully, followed all their training.

Like an explosion the shadow burst through the door, a dark wraith full of speed. She managed to fire her shotgun twice through reflex but neither blast seemed to slow him. It hit her like a train and she fell to the floor as the arm hit her across the chest knocking the wind from her. Her brain swam with shock as countless possibilities whirled through her mind. The sight of the silver blade quickly snapped her back to the reality of the situation. She reached out with her right hand and caught the blade arm, she felt the strength in him as he pressed down, it was all she could do to slow the blade and fight the urge to bring her left arm to hold him. She grabbed frantically at her flak jacket for her knife; her hand grabbed at the Velcro pockets and came down on something hard, it was the butt of a pistol. Relief flooded through her as she gripped it and pulled it free of the Velcro with a satisfying tearing sound. The blade was descending closer and closer to her chest, she had to act quickly, and she twisted the barrel around to point into the assailant’s chest.

“Game over.”

Before she could pull the trigger the N’kell shifted and knocked the gun clattering across the floor. She thought quickly and caught him off balance with a sharp knee to the chest forcing him to rollaway to her right. She lunged forward for the gun that lay a mere three feet away. She felt powerful hands grab her shoulders and lift her from the floor. She looked into the eyes of the creature that had killed her friends and these innocents and saw only hatred burning, even through the grainy green night vision. For the first time she felt fear. The right fist took her by surprise as it struck her across the face; the force of it knocked her to the ground. She lay clutching her left cheek, tears welling up in her eyes. The drive in this man was unstoppable; she feared he would not rest until they were all dead.
“Now... I have finished toying with you.” The creature could speak English but in a very broken accent.

He raised his blade and took slow deliberate steps towards her.
“This is it.” Stacey thought. “What’s that?”

Something lay under her back digging into her spine, she fumbled quickly under her and to her relief she pulled out the gun, she saw surprise wash over the face of her foe and his pace quicken but it was too late. She pulled the trigger.
The flare discharged into the man’s chest in a ball of white hot light. She cursed as the light burnt her retinas through the night vision, she closed her eyes and batted at the visor but all she could see was a white glare. She heard him screamed a scream that chilled Stacey’s blood as he began to flail around the room as she crawled away, feeling out towards the door way. She opened her eyes and could make out the outlines of the door frame but her eyes still hurt.
The landing was covered with broken wood splinters from the ruptured banisters, something had been hurled through with quite some force, and then she saw him. Eddie lay sprawled on the stairs below on a bed of banister and splinters staring up at the ceiling.

“Ed!” she called through her own pain.

“Stace?” the voice was weak. “Are you ok?”

She smiled and pulled herself to her feet. How had he survived that fall? She had always thought he was lucky. She stumbled towards him, slipping on the wood and stairs as she gingerly felt her way forward trying desperately not to pitch herself down the stairs.
“You alright?”

He looked at her with that infectious youthful smile of his. “Not bad. I’ve had better.... think my leg is broken though.”

She reached his side and sat down next to his head cradling her head and her burning eyes.

“I’m sorry.” She muttered.

“What for? We did nothing wrong. He was just stronger than us.”

She shook her head in denial. “Tell that to Cooke and Jackson.”

“Don’t beat yourself up Stace... even Sergeant Wild would have suffered similar losses....”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand and tapped her comm. Unit. “Echo seven to command, need first aid team to search 4 Over.”

There was a garbled response that she hoped was an affirmative. She caught the smell of burning cloth and what she assumed was flesh. The flare must have set fire to the rest of the room. She glanced up at the room to see if the fire was spreading.

Her eyes widened in terror.

The shape, a burning man, his uniform and flesh blackening and flaking off as the flare emanated from his chest, moved forward clutching Stacey’s shotgun.

“Holly Frick!!!” She screamed.

Eddie looked up at the burning spectre, his eyes widening with fear. “How is he not dead?”

Stacey moved quickly. Sliding down the stairs she swung Eddie over her shoulder and moved for the door. He was surprisingly light. - Or was it the adrenaline? Stacey wasn’t sure.
He screamed out in pain as his broken leg flapped ineffectively against her back.

“Hold on mate. I’ll get you out of here.”
She heard the shotgun fire and something tore into the flesh of her back, Eddie whimpered in her ear.

The door, their salvation grew ever closer. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the N’kell walking slowly, even more laboured down the stairs, he had discarded the shotgun in favour of his knife, and she could see her gun, smoking with singed flesh on the stock, lying on the landing. What was driving this man?
Suddenly she was outside in the cold night air but she was still moving.
“Corp!” Her rank caught her attention. Two troopers clattered towards her.

“Sir are you ok? Jeeze Ed your arse is full of buck-shot.” Exclaimed the first one. “You got caught running away at last?”

“Shut up Watson.” Eddie muttered disdainfully.

“Holly frick.” The second trooper tapped Watson on the shoulder and he span around.
The N’kell had reached the door, his movements even more laboured, his breathing slowing as he gripped the door frame for support.
“Shoot him!”

The night air filled with cordite rich smoke and gun shots.

Caroline sat in the officer’s men watching people float past and observing them in their own worlds. There were a mixed crowd in tonight. A group of engineers sat in the corner discussing their theories about crystalline drives and efficiency- Very dull. One officer sat reading some ancient philosophy, his ale hardly touched. He was the inverse of a pilot at the bar who was toasting a full shot glass at the bar with his ninth whisky- obviously lost a friend today.

Her eyes fell on another couple at the bar. She recognised the woman; it was Doolan, the woman from the other day that Bevan had been chewing out. She sat opposite another pilot, a tall dark haired man who was talking incessantly to the bored looking Doolan. It was funny, she had heard a rumour that she was seeing a red haired pilot; apparently she had swapped assignments to serve with him, which is what she had been disciplined for. Caroline didn’t usually put stock in rumours, usually hate or jealous spiked lies spread with venom or boredom but every now and then there was a grain of truth but she quite liked this story though. It appealed to the romantic in her soul that existed under her armour. She wondered who the other man was, they looked like they could be on a date but by the way she kept glancing at her watch and staring into her drink not a very successful one. Caroline wondered about the to her man, maybe the rumour was false, it was all idle speculation, she didn’t care about Doolan or anyone in this room really after all they didn’t care about her.

“Your drink Miss Bell.”

She glanced up at the man in front of her. Andrew held out a cocktail glass for her, it held a sparkling orange drink with an umbrella stuck into a lemon slice; he held a pint of ale in the other hand.

“What is it?” She asked as she took it into her hand.

“It’s a... well I’ve not named it yet.” He looked away embarrassed. “It’s a peach schnapps mixed with orange, mango and lime, shaken and poured over ice with a slice.”
“Interesting.” She smiled as she took the glass from him; her nose caught the gentle citrus flavours and the aroma of peach schnapps. She took a gentle sip, dubious of the concoction. Her taste buds tingled as the chilled liquid ran across her tongue. Logic told her that this drink shouldn’t work but it did.

“So... Rough day?” He took his seat opposite her.

She rolled her eyes as she remembered that idiot Harkins moving her.

“Something like that.” She muttered bitterly as she stared down at her drink. She brought her gaze up to look on him and a smile broke out across her lips. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s not talk about it.”
“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She beamed. “The days of our youth are the days of our glory. If one day is horrendous it’s probably best to skirt over it and think of tomorrow.” She didn’t believe that tomorrow would be much better, in fact the more she thought of her future the more she saw gloom.

He smiled at her, those ivory white teeth flashed under the white light. “If you say so.”

Claire looked at her watch for the seventh time; she thought for a moment that she had seen the hand moving backwards. She sighed and took another mouthful of her drink.
“So what’s up?” Matt, who had finally stopped talking about various simulations and flights piped up again.

“I’m just tired.” She muttered.

“Ah-huh” he nodded. “But really? Come on Claire I know you well enough to know.”
“You don’t know me at all.” She countered angrily as the frustration and boredom gnawed at her.

“No I guess not.” He looked down at his beverage. “I want to though... I know we’ve had our differences in the past but... well we’re on the same team now.”
“Matt! Is that an apology?” She looked up at him wondering if he was as bad as she had thought.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” That tone edged back, oozing out of his words like a noxious pollutant. “Let’s just say we’ll wipe the slate clean? You forget the pork chops in the exhaust incident and I’ll forget the rigged ejection seat.”

She beamed remembering the look on his face. On finals day, sat in his salamander, prepped for launch in front of all the top brass, Pentlow had flipped the ignition and was fired out by the ejection system. Jonathon had bribed the band to play “The world turned upside down.” as Pentlow drifted back towards the earth on a parachute. It was a prank that would live on in infamy.

“It was a good prank.” She smiled nostalgically.

“Yes well.” He looked away crossly, obviously still stung by the memory.

“What about Jonathon?” She asked “Will the slate get washed off there?”

“That depends on him.” Matt said bitterly.
“I’ll talk to him.” She smiled. “It may take some time but I can convince him.”

Matt took another mouthful of ale and levelled another accusing glance at her.
“What is the deal between you two? Are you together or are you friends with benefits?”

Claire’s hackles raised on the back of her neck. This wasn’t the first time she had been asked about her relationship with Jonathon but it was the first time that it had been phrased so bluntly and raised her anger. Normally she was able to shrug it off with one of her sweet disarming smiles that made everyone think it was a rumour but the bluntness of Matt’s accusation made her feel as if she was under a direct attack as if a relationship with Jonathon was tantamount to treason.

“We are just good friends.” She said through gritted teeth.

“You love him don’t you?” She felt as if his very gaze was forcing information out of her and she wilted away from him but her anger still burnt within her.

“We are just good friends.” She repeated.

“That may be but you still love him.”

She brought her head up sharply, pooling her reserves of strength and unleashing her anger. “We are just good friends and in the spirit of the amnesty I’m telling you to drop it.”

Matt nodded, he would concede this point.  “Alright, but one last question on the subject.”

“If it will shut you up.” She snapped.

“Why did you transfer here?”
“I wanted to fly with the best.” Came the well rehearsed answer. Matt didn’t believe her but he knew the truth, he’d seen the way she had looked at Jonathon even if he hadn’t.

Andrew laughed and put his pint glass down onto the table.
“The just fell over and we couldn’t stop laughing!” Caroline finished, her face was etched with tears as she reminisced.

“How did you get away with it?”

“I think he was too embarrassed.” She beamed staring into her drink, her mind sifting back the years to a better and happier time far from here.

She had really enjoyed herself, for the first time since she had arrived on the ship. Her heart pounded on the inside of her chest as she looked into those hazel eyes.

“I’ve had a really good time tonight. Thanks for taking my mind off things.”
He looked up at her. Those hazel eyes meeting hers across the table and a smile broke out on his lips. “You are more than welcome Miss Bell, what are friends for?”

She felt like a school girl as she stifled a giggle and tried to mask her excitement. How could he see straight through her, past her defences? Why did she let him through?

“I’m –Erm going to freshen up.” She rose from her chair a little too quickly and a look of concern briefly crossed his visage. She didn’t want him to think she was trying to escape.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” She said as reassuringly as possible.

She floated across the mess and into the women’s restroom and stood by the mirrors looking at her reflection.
A young woman with flushed cheeks and a youthful grin looked back at her. Who was this stranger? Caroline couldn’t remember her, she had seen likenesses, not quite as happy but similar recently. Although she did vaguely remember her from photographs she had in her quarters and at her parent’s house but now she was all but a stranger.

“How’s your date?” A cubicle behind her opened and the pilot Doolan stepped towards the sinks.

“It is not a date!” Caroline snapped. How dare this woman presume to interfere with her life?

“Whatever.” Doolan shrugged before turning the tap on. “Is it a good evening?”

Was it? Caroline began t beam again as she straightened her hair and checked her eye makeup.
“Good thank you. How is your date?”

Doolan scoffed “He wishes!”
“Whatever.” Caroline shot back. “Thought you were seeing someone else.”
Doolan’s head shot up. “Where did you hear that?”

Caroline shrugged indifferently. “Grape vine says you ignored orders and came here to be with some guy you are in love with.”

Doolan’s eyes flicked nervously from her reflection to Caroline’s. “That’s not... What I mean is...”
Caroline turned to face her and waved a hand dismissively. “Look, I don’t particularly care, I’m just guessing that the guy you want is not the guy you are with. If you do love someone else you should be with him surely?”

She wheeled on her heels and strode from the restroom.
“Lieutenant Bell!” Doolan’s voice made her pause at the door. How had she remembered her name?

“When you are having a night like the one you are having... The trick is to keep breathing.”
Caroline turned to face her, saw a deep sadness in her eyes before she returned to washing her hands. Caroline sensed moment they had shared, Doolan had briefly opened her soul to a complete stranger, something Caroline hadn’t seen in a long time.
“See you around Doolan.” She nodded

It was early morning. The sun shone brightly over the city, its warmth still just a fraction of what I would become, gently touched his skin in the coolness left over from the night. The light reflected on windows and the metallic fixtures on roofs creating hundreds of false suns that tried to blind him as he surveyed the city.
“Such unimaginable calm and tranquillity.” He thought “Citizens a slumber, unaware of the carnage I must bring. The chaos that precedes a new order. I hope one day I can be forgiven this trespass.”
“What are your orders sir?”

The Obst had asked that question every hour on the hour since the first red light had touched the horizon. His eagerness and fervour, although commendable, were beginning to grate on Teuber. Had he been this eager and impatient in his youth? He couldn’t remember – It seemed so long ago?

“Distance?”

“Half a kilometre east. Numbers eighty-five. Four heavy repeaters with one thousand rounds each, seven snipers, two medics, three grenade launchers and an engineering team.” The obst reeled off their tactical strength without prompting. He was eager. Teuber smiled to himself. They would be out numbered and out gunned for an undetermined amount of time. This was the kind of combat an infantry officer dreaded. How many of his men would be lost? How would he survive?  As a guards officer though he yearned to prove himself as more than able to guard the Gefuht’s bathroom and he knew his men were willing to do the same, willing to die for pride and honour, for the regiment, for the Gefuht and for the Empire.

He pulled his officer’s cap from his head and placed it in his kit bag at his feet.
“We move in five minutes. Tell the men to make one last weapons check. No wasting ammunition. We take no civilian prisoners or wounded, we have not the means to care for them.”
“Yes sir.”

“That doesn’t mean we kill them. They maybe unworthy but that is for God to deal with. It is not our plan to carry out his judgement.”
The young subaltern nodded slowly. “Understood sir.”

Teuber turned his attention to his steel helmet in his hands, pulling it over his head and fastening the strap. He knew it would offer little protection but it was better than his cap. He felt the weight and the tightness of the webbing. He knew soon he would not even notice it.

He ran through the standard routine checks of ammunition and gear. His water bottle was nearly full; he had enough ammunition for ten hundred shots.  It would be enough for taking the star port but how long until they were relieved?

What mattered now was the star port; he would worry about later, later. The high command had promised relief within forty four hours but he had heard those promises before only to be told that the righteous could always hold out longer.

“We’ll see.” He thought as he holstered his pistol.

He could hear the muttered voices of his men in their basement hiding place. There was a wave of patriotic oaths and muttered prayers for protection and victory. Teuber wondered how many of his enemy would be doing the same? Whose god would will out? He knew most of his men would claim to know victory was theirs.
“The righteous always triumph over the heathen.” Or “God wills it!”
Teuber had often wondered how these men knew the will of the almighty so intently.

He glanced at his Chronometer. Two minutes to go. He took one last look at the cityscape and turned to walk down the steps to the cellar.

The Sentries on the west perimeter fell quietly and quickly. Teuber’s men moved stealthily and quickly to secure the west command bunker, taking care to disable the security cameras without appearing. Moments later the combat engineers disabled the power generator to the main complex plunging the whole port into chaos.

Commander Baker was fretting. He was a natural worrier but this time there was a just reason. He had transports on final descent and no computer navigation programs to bring them in, his west perimeter bunker was not answering calls and neither the mechanics sent to repair the generator.
“Do you think it’s a N’kell attack?” He asked wringing his hands as he paced.

Lieutenant Kramer, his adjutant was used to this continued self doubt and worry; it was one reason why his predecessor had been promoted over Baker. “I wouldn’t have thought so sir. Most of the landings took place on the other side of the city and command reckons they are contained in small pockets of resistance. They aren’t a threat.”
Baker nodded but continued pacing. “Still- Should I put in a call to GHQ?”

“Why are you asking me? You’re the commander!” Kramer wondered.

“I mean just to be sure.” Baker continued after a moment’s pause.

Kramer shook his head. “Give it another five minutes sir, what is the worse that could happen?”

“You’re right... Of course.” He smiled as he tried to convince himself. “Probably nothing...”

The door to the command centre annexe burst open and two well placed silenced blasts caught the defenders unawares. The two guards slumped forward in their seats.

The four N’kell troopers stepped into the room and fanned out, expertly covering the doors. Their orders were simple. Whilst the power to the cameras and other security systems were disabled by the combat engineers they would move to the central command point and neutralise the command staff and take control of the internal communications.
The Obst checked their positions on his data up link. He turned to the other three men and pointed at the left door and they all formed around it silently, they all knew what to do –it was what they were trained for. The Obst gave it a solid kick and the wooden portal exploded inwards to reveal the main command point.

NCO’s were working behind consuls so intently that at first they did not notice the door explodes inwards, a few glanced up and panic suddenly took over. One of the human commanders squealed and hid under his desk; the second shouted a couple of orders and drew his laser pistol.

The four death commando’s began to fire their silenced pistols with well placed single shots putting the desk bound NCO’s down quickly before they could mount any serious resistance. Within moments the dead littered the command desks. The last to fall was Kramer, his valiant defence and accurate shooting had claimed the life of one of the commandos but yet no one had witnessed it and he went to his death unrewarded for his efforts.

The Obst turned with a satisfied smile to the two remaining soldiers.

“All too easy.”

Teuber received the commando's message of success with a sigh of relief. He was taking an awful risk but he did what he had to. His men had taken the western bunker, the power generators and the central complex all within twenty minutes.

He had dispatched teams to subdue the hangers and any if the transports that had landed on the turf fields. He was watching one of the teams now through his field glasses from the relative safety of the western bunker's observation tower.

The five man group waited for the engines of the space borne leviathan to begin their irreversible cooling cycle before moving up to the lowering cargo ramp.

"Sir." his adjutant tapped him on his shoulder disturbing him from the unfolding drama.

"What is it Cera?" he snapped irritably. Cera was fresh from the military academy on Bauer, he was one of the Gefuht's loyal goose steppers with no military pedigree, his eyes were still closed to the reality of war.

"The Radio..."

"What about it?" Teuber snapped, interrupting the younger officer.

Cera blinked quickly and recomposed himself. "Sir. We have established communications with Admiral Keister." He held out the receiver to his irritated commander.

"Teuber?" The voice demanded across the stars. "Report!"

Cera wondered if the higher your rank the more grumpy and irritable you became; he fought unsuccessfully against the grin that was spreading across his lips.

Commander Baker crawled from under his desk and took in his surroundings. They were all dead, slumped over where they had worked. Kramer lay crumpled over a chair at the far end of the computer bank. Fear still coursed through Baker's arms veins as he began to shake uncontrollably again.

"What am I going to do now?" his eyes began to well up as fear dissolved to panic, a panic that blocked his senses. He didn't hear the jack boots that crunched across the glinting sea of broken glass that covered the floor. He didn't know the N'kell was there until the boots came to a halt in front of his face.

He looked up at the alien. The N'kell's uniform was immaculate with buttons that shone like miniature suns across his chest and laced with silver braid on his epaulettes and collar patches. "This is someone of importance." Baker thought.

Then he saw the barrel of a light repeater pointed at his face and suddenly a wave of calm washed over him as if the inevitable had arrived with this jackbooted invader. Baker stood up and straightened his jacket before brushing shards of glass from his uniform and snapping to attention.

"My name is Commander Baker 1622832335." He said calmly as he stared into the enemy's cold dispassionate eyes. "I am willing to cooperate in any way I can and here by surrender this field and myself to you without condition."

The alien smiled and levelled his gun.

Lieutenant Chris Cawdor jumped down into the entrance of the east bunker and took cover. How had the field been overrun by the N'kell so quickly?

The large metal door opened with a cold scraping noise as it grated across the wet concrete and two soldiers rushed out, their faces grim.

"Sir!" We have lost communications with complex." The first soldier spat out quickly.

"What are our orders?" The second garbled.

Cawdor looked out across the field. In the distance he could see another group of N'kell were storming a transport that had hit the turf, the repeater bolts shining in the morning light.

"Send three runners to GHQ tell them we've lost the star port."

"YEs sir." The first soldier saluted and ran back into the bunker.

"Graves... We need to sabotage these facilities so they are useless to the N'kell. We need to mine the fuel refinery to the north." Cawdor pointed across the field to a large industrial complex half a mile away from them, its great fuel tanks and miles of piping made it look imposing but Cawdor knew that a few well placed explosives would bring the whole thing crashing down.

“Then... We should try and do something about the complex. Maybe bring down the power grid permanently.” He squinted as he looked at the silver tower at the heart of the star port, uncertainty slowly taking over his thoughts, this sort of scenario was not in his training, he was a mere lieutenant not a Commander or General.  “We’ll wait for orders on that.” He said finally.

“Yes sir.”

Cawdor took turned his gaze to the field again settling on the now burning transport on its pad, helplessness filled him as he thought of the unsuspecting crew as they had walked quietly into this ambush and even their deaths, like lambs to the slaughter, blissfully unaware there was a problem and here he was stood watching their funeral pyre burn, filling the air with belching black smoke. What could he do?

“Get a sniper up here.” He snapped “Try and pick off their teams as they assault.” Cawdor took one last look across the field and turned towards the entrance of the bunker shaking his head with despair.

The N’kell had taken them by surprise, people were dying and there was nothing they could do