COMMANDER

This was the third set of teeth I had grown on the right side, and it didn’t hurt any less than the second set had when I gritted them, or ground them together too hard. It didn’t stop me, though. It was almost like the pain helped me to center my focus, stop worrying about what was going on in space above the planet. If I wanted to get up there, I first had to ensure the planet was well in hand.

We had to make sure the alien technology was secure, we had to ensure there was no possibility of any dirtside Torbor mounting a counter-assault, and we had to maintain a good political relationship with the Hanosians. Shut the fuck up and do your job, trooper.

“Mouse, status.”

“Right an’ tight, Wolf.”

“Was that you who dropped the two helos?”

“Yeah. It looked like they were making for the roof for a possible recovery effort.”

“Good work, trooper. Flyboy will show up shortly with the AV. Make a hole in the east face for access and transfer the alien goodies into the AV so long as you think it safe. If you don’t think it safe, figure out some other way of securing them.”

“Aye, aye, Wolf.”

“Hold what you have. Wolf out.”

“Flyboy, status.”

“Stitch is locking Star into a restriction field now. Sensors show an armed column moving in from the southeast and what looks like a dozen or so flyers. My guess is helos from the heat signature. Two klicks out.”

“Understood. Take the AV to the east side of the ministry building, top floor. Mouse is there with the alien technology of five or six different devices. She is in charge of what to load and how to load it onto the AV but we need to get that stuff secure. Have Dog do what he can to slow or stop the armed column and the helos in addition to cover, but the technology is your priority.”

“Clear, Wolf. We’re on it.”

Sporadic gunfire continued from some distance away as ministry loyalists attempted to continue fighting. The buildings and compounds around the primary ministry building were now quiet despite the smoke and flames of battle damage. I went back to the communications room to check with Tamaria. She was standing near the door while another man in civilian dress was speaking into the microphone. There was both fear and welcome in the faces of the RCF personnel gathered there as I approached.

“Tam, what’s the situation?” I queried externally.

“Two of the continents report their ministers stepped down quietly, and there is significant positive reaction from the public. On the fourth continent, the ministers chose to stand their ground and there are numerous casualties on both sides. When they heard the news the capital is RCF controlled, they surrendered. So far, we believe we have captured all of the Torbor on the planet.”

“That’s good news!” I responded. “Your RCF team has done some fine work here today.” As she nodded in agreement, I continued, “I hope to meet with the RCF leadership soon and consolidate our relationship.”

Tam held up her hand as a voice began speaking over the speakers in the communications room, rapidly and excitedly. She hurried over and turned on a 2D television to show a newscaster speaking. Both the radio and television contained reports from all continents announcing the victorious coup of the RCF, and instructing all resistance to cease. The takeover was completed and all ministry personnel were to be detained for interrogation.

The television changed picture to show a dignified looking man standing before a microphone on a simple wooden pedestal before him. He began speaking, glancing occasionally at notes sitting on the pedestal. He introduced himself as Bota Tonnoe, leader of the RCF, and began outlining the plan for taking over governmental leadership. Within moments, hand-held radios carried by other RCF personnel began to crackle and speak as field personnel reported.

Ministry loyalists everywhere were laying down arms and surrendering. The fight was over and now the mop up would begin. I touched Tam on the shoulder and motioned her to follow me outside into the hallway.

“We have taken custody of the alien tech as agreed, Tam. Since the fighting here is over, we would like to get back to space and see what is happening as quickly as possible. If the Torbor won the battle up there, we are all in grave danger, the whole planet.”

“There are only a few spots of resistance we are aware of now,” Tam replied, “and we should be able to handle those. I agree you should check out the situation in space immediately. Please let us know what you find. Any warning may be helpful. Let me get you a set of frequencies to use, and I’ll have our people reserve them for you.”

“You’ll need to get your own people to take over at the security guard compound and the Torbor compound so I can pick up my people. I don’t want to have us separated.”

Within a couple of minutes all of the arrangements had been made and the AV was on its way to pick up the team. I made it to the courtyard where the AV landed shortly after picking up Boomer’s group and we waited as Ronin’s group ran to meet us. The AV outer airlock hatch had just clanged shut and locked and I was handing out assignments when the transceiver came to life.

“Commander Rawlings.”

“Here, Captain. Mission Green.”

There was a wry chuckle. “The good news is, so are we. Here, I mean. It was touch and go for a while, and the news is not all good, but we are still here. Ship Mission Yellow.”

They had been victorious but there had been casualties.

”A brief summary . . . we have captured the Torbor ship with considerable damage to both vessels. We lost nine heavy fighters and twelve light fighters. We have approximately two hundred and fifty Torbor prisoners. Both AI’s report no detectable transmissions. It’s a mess up here, JD. You’d better let the Hanosians know some of the fighter debris, both ours and theirs, will likely hit the atmosphere within a couple of hours and the downfall may last for a day or more. We are salvaging as quickly as possible but we cannot get them all. While we believe most of the debris will burn up completely on re-entry, we’re just not sure about the Torbor items. Some of their construction is of a heavy, dense metal we have never seen before.”

“I’ll pass the word.”

I needed to contact my lieutenants for their sitreps and was about to give my end of the situation so I could sign off.

“There’s one more thing, JD. Your Lieutenant Timmons . . . he was lost . . . but he went outside a hero.”

Damn! It took me a moment before I could reply.

“I would expect no less from him,” I finally managed to say. “Tell me about it when I get back. As for planet side operations, we captured several alien technology devices here. I hope the science team made it through because they have some work ahead of them.”

“They did, indeed, Commander. When will you be returning?”

“Immediately, Captain. I will have the radio frequencies reserved for our use sent up and you can begin arrangements with the new planetary leadership for relationship agreements. By your own admission, you are somewhat more skilled in political negotiations and relationships than I.”

The captain laughed out loud, and heartily. “Somewhat, you say! Commander, you are a master of sarcastic understatement! Very entertaining! And you should see all of the officers on the bridge glancing at me like I have lost my mind with my singular guffaws and no one near me. Ah, well. There is much to do, Commander. I will see you shortly. Lewellyn out.”

“Let’s go, Flyboy!”

The Navy had thirteen crewman gone outside, some pilots and some gunnery crew.

We had lost a total of twenty troopers. Eight had been piloting fighters, nine had been assisting with Navy gunnery, and three had been in the heavy fighter hangar launch bay; Lt. Timmons, Trooper Harvin, and Trooper Cassavettes. Cassavettes was prepped in a heavy fighter waiting for launch command and Timmons and Harvin were suited and working on a damaged missile loader in the launch bay opened to space when a group of ten Torbor in space suits appeared in the hangar bay.

According to the Navy personnel commanding the launch bay from the controls cabin, the Torbor simply appeared. One second there was empty space, and the next second the Torbor were there, firing hand-held weapons.

The weapons were some sort of energy weapon which fired in pulses, with each pulse coming out of the end of the weapon like an elongated translucent ball of bright yellow. These pulses went through metal and thermoplastic like a cannonball, as though the balls of yellow light were somehow incredibly dense.

Their first target was the heavy fighter on the launch pad. The fighter, and Cassavettes inside it, were both ripped to pieces in a matter of seconds. The bolts of yellow smashed through the fighter and into the bulkheads of the hangar bay causing major damage as they ripped through and into the interior of the ship. Harvin was hit by a yellow bolt immediately to drift away in two large pieces.

Lt. Timmons never hesitated. He grabbed a section of the missile rack he was working on and flung it at the group of Torbor, then raced forward straight at them as they scattered. The rack section took out two of them. Timmons was firing both lasers, his plasma cannon, and his mini-missile launcher as he ran at the intruders from a distance of fifty meters. At thirty meters, he suddenly juked to his left, toward the open mouth of the hangar bay, never stopping his fire. He made it to twenty-five meters before a bolt took off his right arm at the elbow. There were three Torbor left by then.

Lt. Timmons skidded to a stop and turned to face them, as if daring them to take aim, and never ceasing his fire. Bolts took off his left leg at the thigh, then immediately the right leg at the knee. He kept firing even as he was falling and his blood was boiling away into vacuum. The last bolt of yellow hit him dead center in the chest and his suit and body blew apart like a grenade had gone off inside his chest. The last burst of Timmons’ plasma cannon, fired only milliseconds before, hit the last of the Torbor, as well.

By running toward the center of the bay and to the outer edge, Timmons made himself a target for their bolts of energy and directed their fire where open space was the backdrop rather than the ship which could be further damaged.

My regret over the loss of our friendship scored through my emotions like a dull knife, tearing and ripping rather than cutting. The pain was deep and visceral. We would never have the chance to make it right between us. Despite the differences in our beliefs and how we might individually approach any given situation, there was no doubt about the commitment and courage of Lieutenant Eugene Timmons, a true soldier, and a true hero.

One of the things a soldier learns, should they live long enough, is how the emotional wounds and scars they carry are far more painful, deeper, and longer lasting than any physical wounds. Every soldier must find their own way of coping with those emotional wounds, if they can. We have psych programs and training and very good therapies today, and we save far more soldiers from breakdowns, ruination, and suicide than ever before.

Shut the fuck up and do your job, trooper. I gritted and ground my teeth, and determined I would always regard Gene Timmons as my friend and as a hero. After all, he had the balls to stand up to me when he thought I was wrong, and I respected him for it.

There was only minor damage to Marine country so I assigned as many troopers as we could spare from our own duties to aid the Navy personnel. Once the Rontar was sealed again and safe from venting, the captain and I gathered our crews and held a ship-wide funeral service. Lewellyn delivered a eulogy and a short speech, as did I. We emphasized our gratitude for the cooperation our crews had shown each other, and recognition of the fact that we were, as far as we knew, the last remaining remnants of the Navy Fleet and the Expeditionary Marines.

We ordered a bulkhead in the main hold to be set aside as the Hero’s Wall, to be set with the names and images of all our fallen. Lieutenant Timmons was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross and the Marine Medal of Honor, and the story of his incredible courage and sacrifice was told by those who had witnessed it. The medals and the printed tale were affixed to the wall under his image.

Then, we all went back to work. As the captain had so aptly stated, there was much to be done.

The day after we returned to the Rontar, Mouse appeared at my office door. I was at my desk re-ordering my clan. Again.

“Might I have a word, sir?” she asked in a low, somber voice.

Uh-oh. This didn’t sound good. Neither did her expression look good.

“Come in, Trooper Bulo. What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been, um, going over the files we took from the Hanos archives, sir,” Judy told me. “You really should see some of it. I’ve cued up some video examples taken from the Torbor encrypted files. I don’t think any other human has seen this stuff.”

She handed me her slate, and I touched the Play button for the video stream she had put together. Scenes rolled across the laminate screen, and sounds came from the audio. My eyes widened in shock.

Blue-skinned Shaquaree had humans—men, women, and children—on what looked like medical tables and were doing what could only have been torture and medical experiments. Expressionless, the Shaquaree opened body cavities and flayed organs and skin without anesthetic, as proved by the screams. Special attention was paid to reproductive areas, genitals of both genders. A couple of the Shaquaree were taking notes. Others were tasting the bloody bits they tore from the agony-ridden humans.

Other scenes followed, one after the other;

– Shaquaree herding humans onto and off of their gigantic shuttles, killing indiscriminately any human who showed any resistance or did not obey quickly enough.

– Torbor gathered before a large vid-screen, gesticulating and laughing as they watched the horrors the Shaquaree visited on their captured humans. One Torbor with many devices on his “clothing,” a leader, a military officer, stood and shouted at the screen and a Shaquaree on the screen nodded and spoke back. The scene cut to space as seen from a ship, watching multiple Shaquaree ships fire missiles at a planet. Obvious nuclear explosions detonated all over the planet land masses and oceans. With so many missiles, the planet would die. No way could anything survive. Cut back to the Torbor, who were cheering the destruction!

– More of Shaquaree conducting torture and experiments on humans, and happily eating humans both dead and still living.

– Shaquaree decimating towns and villages and herding the survivors into shuttles.

– Torbor and Shaquaree working together in this same kind of wanton destruction, with the Torbor clearly in charge.

“They have an edict from some other race in the LCP,” Mouse stated. “Capture and enslave as many humans as possible. Destroy their colony planets. Learn as much about the humans both physically and psychologically as possible.”

“And both Torbor and Shaquaree are taking great joy in their conquering,” I finished for her.

“Not so much the Shaquaree, sir. We don’t think they feel emotion. But the Torbor are certainly having a good time.”

“Thank you for bringing this to me, trooper. Try to keep it to yourself, if you can, until I decide what to do with it. Go see Doc Annsbury if you feel any negative effects.”

“I’m all right, sir,” she stated, her eyes blazing in fury. “Just tell me we’re going to do something about these fuckers! Um . . . sir.”

“No worries there, Mouse,” I assured her grimly, “and you will be part of it.”

She nodded sharply, and said, “I’ll transfer these to your slate for you, then remove them from mine. You will have to put a lock on them in the Combat AI, sir.”

Gods Above! I watched her leave the office as I was thinking about what to do with these vids. They were incendiary! First things first, I had to show them to the captain. Then we would have to consider whether to show them to the new planetary government on Hanos.

I watched Andreas Lewellyn turn several shades of color, from red to pasty gray, as he watched the horror of the Torbor and the Shaquaree deliberately torturing men, women, and children, enslaving, murdering en masse, annihilating planet life, and celebrating their cruelty and destruction. We then shared the vids with the leadership council of the new Hanosian government. It would be up to them how much they shared with their populace.

“What are your thoughts about what to do with this stuff, JD?” Andreas asked me, alone together in his Ready Room.

“I am going to work with the doctor to shape these into training material for my troopers,” I told him. “My people need to see this. They need to fully understand what they are up against and why we are fighting with a ‘no quarter’ ROE. What are you going to do?”

“I do not know,” he admitted with red-rimmed eyes. “This is napalm. This is plasma! How, by the Gods Above, do we handle this without destroying ourselves? I must think about this. The one thing we should not do is simply react in our horror and rage.”

He was right, of course. Emotion should never be allowed to make decisions, only be used as an indicator the right decision was made. Despite knowing this in my head, my fury clamored to be allowed to be in charge, to take the fight to these alien bastards in berserker mode. But, Andreas was right. He was right, damn it! I would get back to my own office and focus on matters at hand to take my mind from those vids and the soul-bending horror they contained.

I sat in the office and worked with the AI on several possible scenarios for re-organizing the clan while Lt. Jenkins worked with his Navy counterpart to oversee repairs and salvage. The number one priority was to get the Rontar battle-worthy.

“AI, locate Gunnery Sergeant Flynn and send a message for him to report to this office, immediate.”

“Message sent, Commander Rawlings.”

It took Flynn twenty-nine seconds to appear at a full run across the hold.

“Sergeant Flynn reporting as ordered, sir!”

“Gunnery Sergeant Flynn, your clan needs you. AI, record! Gunnery Sergeant Flynn, as of this moment you are promoted to lieutenant, and ordered to take command of Wedge One as your first duty. Your second duty is to begin production of power blade katanas for all troopers with mass production units for general troopers, custom-built for Special Ops personnel. AI, end recording.”

“Promotion and orders acknowledged and recorded, Commander Rawlings,” the AI reported.

“Sir! Lt. Flynn acknowledges, sir!”

“Alright, enough with the official stuff. You will also need to name someone to succeed you as clan Blademaster. You won’t have time to instruct classes anymore. Give me a name.”

“Senior Sergeant Donner, sir. She’s the best we have.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant, choose another. Donner has other duties.”

“Corporal Allard, sir. He’s the next best, although I don’t know if he’s really . . .”

“Hell, Flynn, none of us are ‘ready,’” I interrupted him with a tired smile. “Shut the fuck up and do your job, Marine.”

He grinned at me. “Yes, sir. I’ll send Allard in right away.”

“Get your rank tattoo replaced and see Jenkins about protocols. Carry on.”

“Ronin, report to my office.”

“On my way, Wolf.”

Donner looked haggard, worn thin.

“You haven’t stopped since we got back, have you?” I asked her.

“Too much to get done, sir, and not enough of us to do it,” she responded.

“At ease, Sergeant. Now then, I need two names from you, two team leaders.”

“From Team Zulu, sir?”

“Yes.”

I could see the consternation in her eyes, the confusion, and knew the questions running rampant through her mind. Was she being replaced? If so, why? Had she done something wrong? Was this a demotion? Gods Above bless her, though, she did not hesitate.

“Boomer and Spear, sir.”

“AI, record! Sergeant Donner, as of this moment you are promoted to lieutenant and ordered to take command of the newly formed Special Operations Group. You will be responsible to find the right personnel to induct into SOG and train them to the standards with which you were trained. Trooper Carson and Trooper Vickers will be promoted to sergeant and be assigned as team leaders for the two teams you are ordered to form initially. You work out the rest, and you deliver the orders. AI, end recording.”

“Promotion and orders acknowledged and recorded, Commander Rawlings,” the AI reported.

Donner tried but she could not stop the grin from appearing.

“Sir! Lieutenant Donner acknowledges promotion and assignment, sir!”

“Get your tattoo replaced and see Jenkins about protocols.”

“Do I have complete freedom to pick the new team members, sir?”

“Yes. I will make sure Lieutenants Jenkins and Flynn know about it. How do you intend to pick them, Lieutenant?”

The grin got bigger. “Lt. Flynn, huh? Hot damn! I’ll start with personnel records, sir, then maybe I’ll see if there are any hotheads who might be molded into what we’re looking for.”

“Dismissed, LT. And get some sleep!” I added, grinning, as she about-faced and headed out the door.

“I’ll sleep when I go outside, sir!” she flung back over her shoulder as she disappeared.

Gods Above, how she delighted me!