ALTERNATE TALES OF THE STAR FORCE

STAR BLAZERS---TREACHERY

Being the second part of THE NEW COMET--- BY: Frederick P. Kopetz

This Act is being completed with the Cooperation and Assistance of Derek A.C. Wakefield (as usual) Derek also contributed several sections of a long background outline about the Deke Wakefield character’s past that he allowed me to use, and I am indebted to Derek for that outline and his input in developing this character---Freddo

Notes: This chapter is dedicated to Inguz on fanfiction.net---thanks for the reviews!

This installment contains (in flashbacks) a bit of upsetting graphic violence—this is just to warn my readers--Freddo

ACT SEVEN: TREACHERY’S FRUIT

I. MEETING TIME

Earth

The Space Fighters’ Training School

Richardson Hall: Lecture Hall Five

Tuesday, October 1, 2205

1430 Hours: Earth Time

Deke Wakefield and Jere Marrable sat in about the fourth row in the huge lecture hall in Richardson Hall along with several hundred other Midshipmen, listening to the Commandant, Rear Admiral DeLong as he introduced the last of today’s guests. “And finally, this fourth and final officer is also a veteran of the First Star Force, currently serving as a Basic and Advanced Fighter Tactics Instructor; he has hundreds of hours of flight time as leader of the Black Tigers; let me introduce Commander Jefferson Hardy.”

There was more applause as Hardy stood. He was seated beside Commodore Derek Wildstar, Lieutenant Commander Nova Wildstar, and Commander Stephen Sandor. Then, Rear Admiral DeLong said, “Commodore Wildstar, would you begin today?”

Derek stood, saluted, and then walked up to the podium in his red and white Academy instructors’ uniform with his notes under some muted applause. “As many of you know, I am teaching here at the Academy this semester. However, your most important lessons will not be learned in a classroom; they will, instead, be learned in the real world.”

“We had to re-learn quite a few lessons ourselves at the edge of the solar system not long ago. I am authorized to inform you that, as part of a chain of events that began on 7 June earlier this summer…as of 7 June, gentlemen and ladies, we are again in an undeclared state of war with the Comet Empire.”

Wildstar paused to let his words sink in as the hall buzzed with surprised whispered comments. “I am aware that most of the details of this matter were not reported in the press; that was to avoid panic. As such, you must consider this information strictly classified under a confidential classification. There is much that I cannot tell you about this engagement that the Argo was involved in near the site of Brumus…”

The hall buzzed again; Wildstar again waited for everyone to calm down as, beside him, Nova sat in her own red and white uniform with her hands on her skirt on top of her notes as she listened to her husband. From his seat, Sandor noticed that Nova also had a Marine combat knife on top of her notes. He didn’t know why. He would soon find out.

“…but I can tell you enough to let you know that Earth was treacherously attacked by Cometine forces. While on maneuvers, the First Star Force was attacked by a fleet of fourteen Cometine destroyers and an antimatter missile ship. A good-sized battle ensued, with a degree of reinforcement and organization that told us that this was no random raid, but the beginning of a new war. At roughly the same time that we were attacked, the 18th Interplanetary Defense Squadron and the 20th Interplanetary Defense Squadron were also attacked by Cometine forces. These attacks began as attacks by antimatter missile ships and submarines, but they soon grew into an all-out engagement. I must stress that in this engagement, there were casualties. The 18th and 20th Squadrons lost two patrol cruisers and three frigates in battle, and the Argo lost several planes. The first engagement ended only when the Argo finally took out the enemy fleet with her wave motion gun, even though the 18th and 20th Squadrons also destroyed several vessels, even as they took losses. Some of you have been on your summer training cruise already, and I am sure you know enough to know that battle is no game. There are real costs, and you and your subordinates and shipmates will be faced with a real risk of death out there in deep space. Out in space, a mistake, an error of judgment, can kill you very quickly. Therefore, you must always be on the alert.”

The hall was silent as Commodore Wildstar continued. “However, the action of the seventh of June was not the only action we were involved in. There was a second attack on 8 June. As you know, there was another world-wide power blackout that day. That blackout took place because our energy transmission systems were attacked by more Cometine forces that day. I have been made aware that two of you spotted a Scorpion plane right over this campus that day and reported it. It was an excellent piece of observation.”

Deke Wakefield looked at Brew, and they nodded at each other, learning for the first time that their sighting was part of a much greater puzzle. A moment later, Commodore Wildstar continued as he said, “Later on 8 June, while the Argo sat on Pluto undergoing repairs from the first battle, the base and our ship were again attacked by Cometine forces. It was a major engagement. We just got out of dock in enough time to sortie. Many other ships didn’t sortie that day; many vessels were destroyed at their moorings on Pluto by the enemy. We were then involved in another fleet action that same day as we dealt with the fleet that attacked Pluto Base. After we drove away the enemy that day, we had left the solar system in search of remnants of the enemy fleet, and we were involved yet again in another battle near Centaurus with a large R’Khell force; we were aided by the Second Star Force aboard the space battleship Arizona in that battle. When the smoke finally cleared, we had defeated the enemy, but in a grim cost in lives aboard our ship. And, in that battle, we learned that the R’Khells and the Cometines are now allies.”

The hall buzzed yet again as Commodore Wildstar said, “Yes, we face a war from two fronts. And that is not the only front where we faced battle. After we were done fighting in space, we came home on 12 July. Not long afterwards, we were involved in another battle, with terrorists of the Josiahite cult, right here on Earth in the mountains of Colorado in the United States on 12 July. In that battle, Lieutenant Commander Wildstar and I, along with some other Star Force veterans, were in hand-to-hand combat with the terrorists in a ground action that was just as brutal as the combat in which were involved in space. And, we later received word through the Gamilon Embassy that the Gamilons were attacked by Cometine forces at roughly the same time. In that attack, Leader Desslok himself was almost assassinated. Since a good part of our current alliance with the Gamilon-Garuman Empire involves the goodwill of Desslok, we don’t know what the effect on interstellar politics would have been if Desslok, our former enemy turned ally, had been killed in that battle. And, at roughly the same time, I am told that the R’Khell/Rikashan Civil War flared up again on the other side of the Galaxy. And, finally, in the past few days, there have been further attacks by the Cometines, we suspect, on Earth shipping in the solar system from space submarines.”

“Nine attacks upon us and our allies, in less than five months. We don’t know the full pattern yet, and we are still investigating, but things could get worse at any time. For all we know, those of you who are seniors may be called back into this hall in a few weeks and informed that you are to graduate early in order to receive your commissions and go on active duty. It has happened before, ladies and gentlemen. And, my friends, we don’t know where this will end…”

Derek continued in this vein for several minutes, briefly reviewing some of the details of each battle, and emphasizing the grim truths that lives were lost in each battle. He finally stopped as he introduced Nova. The young officer received her applause, but the hall was quiet as she took the podium and said, “I am aware that you are taught in your classes that command may fall on your shoulders at any time during a battle, and that you must retain a clear mind in the event of this happening to you. It happened to me several times in the past, and, in the battle on 7 June that the Commodore has just lectured you on, command of the 18th Interplanetary Defense Squadron fell on my shoulders when the patrol cruiser that was our flagship was abruptly destroyed in battle along with our commanding officer. I had to take command since I was the senior officer present on my own patrol cruiser. I was trained for such an eventuality, but I must emphasize that it was not an easy task, nor an easy battle. I was scared. Several times, I thought we might lose the battle. It is no offense against honor to be scared in combat; but it is an offense if you can’t deal with that fear.”

At that, Nova paused, letting her quiet but assured words sink in among the midshipmen. Then, she continued. “I dealt with it, and I was able to pull victory out of the jaws of defeat in order to lend support to the 20th Interplanetary Defense Squadron as my decimated squadron joined forces with it in order to carry on the battle, and then to aid the space battleship Argo in battle. As such, any of you may, in your actual service, find yourselves in this situation at any time. It is not a game, ladies and gentlemen…and I saw graphic evidence of the death and destruction in that battle and in the other actions we were engaged in later that week, and in the following weeks. I saw the battle as a commander from the patrol cruiser Danube, I saw more battle later as an officer aboard the space battleship Argo as I was reassigned back there, and in my capacity as a combat nurse on the Argo, I worked on dying men and women. War is not a pretty business. Finally, in that engagement in Colorado, I saved lives as a medic, but I also took lives as an officer and soldier to protect my men; I took one of those lives, at close quarters, with this combat knife,” said Nova as she held up a Marine combat knife. She paused again, and said, “I put this knife right into a terrorist’s carotid artery, just as I was trained to do in that situation. My training took over at that moment. I dealt with the…complications…later on in the quiet of my heart. But, in battle, you don’t have that luxury. You react. Because in combat, it can be them, or you…and I had a knife like this against my own throat at that point. It is not a game. It can happen to any one of you in the Fleet, and…at any time.”

Near the back of the hall, Sasha sat enraptured and shocked as she heard her aunt’s story about the battles she was involved in. Mother was right, she thought as she remembered several conversations she had been through over the years with her mother, Queen Starsha. War is a very nasty business. Mother wanted to be sure I had the stomach for it before I even enrolled here. I just hope that I do have the right stuff to be able to deal with this…these stories…they sound just awful!

And, at that, the speech from Nova continued, followed by talks from Sandor, and from Hardy. Their talks were supplemented by battle footage from the different engagements.

The themes were similar; We are falling into war. The war will probably be worse by the time you graduate. You must learn hard, and be ready for action, at any time.

It was a presentation that would remain in the minds of the midshipmen for quite a long time. The mood remained somber even as the Commandant dismissed everyone. Not even Brew had any wise comments as they filed out of the lecture hall.

Well, he thought. Welcome to being an officer. Looks like they pay you like they do for a damn good reason.

What Brew did not know was that, in a few weeks, death would come right into the very gates of the Academy itself. And in the events that surrounded that death, all of them would learn one thing; in the parting words of Commander Jefferson Hardy, “Even when you are trainin’, it can be very, very dangerous. In this business, death is yoah constant companion. The sooner you leahn that, the better it will be for you when you strap on a fightah plane; or whatever you will be doing in the Fleet. I hope you understand that; this is no game, people. This is no friggin’ game.”

II. PRACTICE AND CONFUSION

Earth

The Space Fighters’ Training School

Firing Range

Tuesday, October 1, 2205

1730 Hours: Earth Time

Deke Wakefield hardly needed another reminder of the battle that he had been involved in back in July in Colorado as he helped Sasha “Petrovsky” adjust her hands on her weapon at the firing range.

 

“You’re getting a lot better at this,” he said.

 

“Thanks,” replied Sasha in a quiet voice as shivers ran down his spine again. Again, Sasha had her hair up, and her eyes partly hidden behind goggles.

 

Again, Deke Wakefield wondered what she really looked like as she primed her weapon for another firing session. “We’re going to be on full-auto now, Deke?” she asked.

 

Deke nodded. “Stay loose. Don’t let the weapon scare you. I know it’s hard to think of it as such, but this weapon is your best friend when you’re in a tight spot. Now, fire!”

 

Sasha smiled softly and then began to fire.

 

Nearly all of her practice laser rounds were bull’s eyes in the electronic targeting unit at the far end of the range, many meters away, even when firing a burst from a prone position. Deke looked at the score as it came up a moment later on the small LCD screen near her firing position. “Shoot, you’re getting better than I am with that!”

 

“Is that a bad thing?” said Sasha in a quiet voice.

 

“No, not at all.”

 

“I’m trying to think of this as an exercise, Deke. Even though…it’s kind of hard to. Especially after that lecture we heard today.”

 

“I know it’s hard,” said Deke.

 

“How hard is it?” said Sasha.

 

At that, Deke fell silent. For a moment, he felt like telling Sasha everything…everything about his childhood, the death of his parents and his sister in the Gamilon war, the suffering he had seen as a Junior Space Cadet Corps cadet then while keeping order, the pain he had seen during the Cometine conflict; the pain of his breakup with Dawn; the pain and suffering he had seen during the Rikasha Incident, and then what had happened to him during the events of “Wakefield’s Revenge” at the Academy in his freshman year, and, finally, the battle in Colorado.

 

Had he told Sasha everything then, he would have heard her full story, too, and she would have confided in him then, and held nothing back, and their relationship might have been very different.

 

But, he didn’t talk. He just looked at Sasha. Yet, he knew that even as he looked at her, she understood something.

 

How did he know that? He was thinking of a dark time in his past, a dark time during JSCC duty in the Gamilon War…

 

The dark time he had felt during the food riots.

 

It was a dark time because it was the first time he had ever killed anyone…

 

 

It was March 12, 2200.

 

At that time, Deke was just sixteen years old.

 

Due to the Gamilon planet bombings, the populace of Earth was living in underground cities below the ravaged, dry, dead radioactive surface of the planet.

 

Conditions in the underground cities were grim and difficult, particularly as supplies began to grow short as the Star Force continued on its mission towards Iscandar.

 

The battered ship was now very close to the Great Magellenic Cloud in March; but the populace of Earth didn’t know that. Despair was becoming everyone’s steadfast companion in those dark days.

 

And this was especially true in San Diego, California, where supplies were beginning to truly run short.

 

In January of 2200, civilian riots over shortages of food, clothing, and other basic supplies led to Deke and his JSCC Unit being mobilized to aid local Marine and police units in guarding critical supply centers in the San Diego region. This ended Deke's rather benign (up to that time) work with Dawn and his other classmates at the local World Health Organization Centers.

 

Deke remembered that Dawn had gotten scared at seeing Deke (who was now a junior cadet officer) leading a platoon on guard duty with their SL-41 Shetland rifles outside the local food production center (with angry picketers yelling and throwing things at the police, Marines, and JSCC guards). Deke vaguely remembered hearing her speaking with her mother Lynn and his mother Jess (who was then still alive) about her fears. Deke remembered that they were all concerned that it would only take one spark for the whole matter to explode...

 

That spark hit the tinder in the early afternoon of March 12, 2200 during a particularly tense demonstration near the underground city of San Diego’s Federal Food Distribution Center.

 

There was a major demonstration, that day. The leaders of the demonstrators believed that the Federal guards would not fire upon their own people. As food rationing increased, and everyone was abruptly cut down to half rations, they invoked a major riot at the Food Center as a desperate act to get more food. They felt they had no choice, particularly for the babies, children, and pregnant women involved.

 

Deke remembered that day was particularly chaotic. There was a lot of yelling and shouting at first, not much more than that. Still, Deke, in command of his Junior Space Cadet Corps unit near the entrance to the food center, found the spectacle to be disturbing.

 

“Remain calm!” an assistant police chief barked into a megaphone as the lights of the underground city glinted off his white helmet. “Your needs will be dealt with! They are being taken into account! However, we must make sure everyone is fed!”

 

“When?” cried a woman who was holding up a lethargic baby clad only in a diaper. “When my daughter dies? I’m sick! My milk has run out!”

 

“What about my son?” roared a man who held up his son. “My wife just died of radiation sickness! You said you couldn’t provide formula at once; you told me to find a relative who could nurse him! And his diapers have run out! Look! My son has nothing on because of you! LOOK!” he roared as he held up his naked baby son.

 

“What am I supposed to eat?” cried another woman in a dirty dress. “And what the hell am I supposed to wear? A paper hospital gown? My last dress is rotting on me. Look!”

 

“We’re starving, damn you!” roared a bearded man with a bandanna around his head. “And you want to put my son and daughter on half rations? What about my wife, who’s just begun bleeding from her gums?”

 

“We’re doing what we can,” said Deke as the man got into his face. “Now, get BACK!”

 

“Yeah!” roared another man a few meters away. “He says get back! A Goddamn kid is telling me to get back!”

 

“That cadet is a deputized peace officer,” barked a tough Marine gunny sergeant. “Now you people had better well stay on your side of that friggin’ tape, or…”

 

“Or what?” screamed a hysterical woman. “You’ll kill us?”

 

“You’re all Nazis!” yelled another man.


“You people are fascist pigs!” yelled a protestor through a megaphone that he grabbed from a guard he had just scuffled with.

 

Deke’s hand tensed on his weapon as the crowd chanted variations of “Fascist pigs! Kill us!” and other such curses and challenges for several minutes.

 

Deke saw a police unit beating down a man with truncheons after he threw a filthy, human waste-laden baby diaper at a policeman. He gritted his teeth at the angry people, ignoring the curses of a hungry ten-year old boy as he spat on Deke and he thought, If you people give me reason to use this Shetland, so help me, it’ll be the last damn mistake you ever make. This is getting ugly. You’d better not charge us…or else.

 

“Yeah!” yelled a burly man as he stood before Deke and his unit. “What are you gonna do if we charge this line?”

 

“Yeah, what?” yelled someone else.

 

A Marine unit began to fire a water cannon at the rioters. There was screaming and confusion, and several rioters were trampled by their own as they ran to escape the water cannon, and ran into Deke’s sector.

 

A moment later, Deke heard a sharp order over the earphones in his helmet. “Wakefield!” barked a Marine officer.

 

“Yessir,” he replied.

 

“Close your helmets, we’re trying CS tear gas on these people.”

 

“Roger that,” said Deke. “Squad!” he barked over his comm circuit, using a prearranged code. “Condition Green! Repeat, prepare for condition green!”

 

As one, the whole unit pushed down their helmet visors and made sure they had a gas seal. They got sealed just in time as, a moment later, three Marines tossed some CS gas grenades into the area.

 

The area filled with gas, screaming, and chaos as people fell to their knees weeping from their eyes. Deke could see some rioters running; others were vomiting. Deke felt a horrid quiver as he saw the naked baby boy in his father’s hands screaming in terror and pain while urinating on his father, and voiding his bowels all over the place. Other rioters ran around.

 

Deke saw a pregnant woman with long blonde hair that would have been beautiful in other circumstances putting a rag over her nose and mouth as she waved her arm in an angry gesture, skipping with some amazing grace over a man lying on the cold cement as she knelt to help him. The woman was still somewhat stylishly dressed in a checkered pattern maternity minidress with a little pleated skirt at the bottom and white sandals, and she had a white headband around her head. She fell back a little, and in the chaos, Deke was surprised to see her take the screaming baby boy from his father. She said comforting words of some kind to the father as she, with no shame at all, cleaned the baby and then opened her dress to put the child to one of her breasts in order to feed and comfort him; her true poverty suddenly showed with her dress open as it was evident that she was nude under her dress. Deke felt almost sickened at the pathos of the sight, and he was also amazed that, even in her vulnerable, exposed condition, apparently indifferent to her exposure as the gas burned her skin, she kept the rag over her face and gestured towards a few of the protestors as she held the baby boy against herself to make sure that he was fed.

 

The woman then seemed to look very displeased as some men shook their heads, and kicked aside two police officers. They picked up a barricade and, howling, they used it as a battering ram to knock their way through some of the police and bash their way into a window of the food center.  Two Marines began firing rubber bullets, but even as one of the men fell, another one climbed through the window and began to throw bundles of food out into a screaming, panicking, cursing mob.

 

Two minutes later, Deke received permission to fire rubber bullets at the rioters. Deke’s unit fired off one volley; three men fell bleeding, wounded but not killed by the non-lethal projectiles. Some of the group fell back; Deke thought he could see the woman in the headband waving something white over her head with her free hand.

 

She looked enraged when a moment later, someone disregarded what seemed to be her signal as someone flung a Molotov Cocktail at a police lieutenant who, even in his body armor, went up screaming like a human torch.

 

“Yeah!” yelled one rioter through a megaphone. “We’ll kill all of you!”

 

“KILL! KILL! KILL!” raved the mob as one of them got into a wrestling match with a Marine, got his weapon, and blew him away in cold blood with it.

 

A police officer did something to his weapon, and he fired at the armed protestor, dropping him in his tracks as his blood and internal organs sprayed all over the place. The crowd began to boo, scream, and roar at this.

 

Then, Deke heard a Marine officer barking again into his headset. “Mister Wakefield!”

 

“Aye, sir?”

 

“The Police have implemented Operation Hotel! Change ammo, and Fire at Will, Cadet Lieutenant!”

 

A quick thought ran through Deke’s head. He knew that he was being asked to begin firing live combat ammo at the crowd. Do we have to? he thought. But, then, as he saw more rioters coming up over the barricades with sticks, rocks, and even knives, he knew what his reply would be a second later. “Aye, aye, sir. Roger that,” he said laconically. 

 

The CO cut off in his headset with a loud click. He had his orders now. Deke looked back at his unit and took out a live cartridge. He removed the rubber bullets from his weapon and then snapped, “LOCK AND LOAD, PEOPLE!” as his training took over.

 

Deke readied his Shetland with a sharp click as, behind him, twenty more weapons snapped to. One cadet stood silent.

 

“Berringer!” yelled Deke. “Lock and load, Mister! You were given an order!”

 

“Sir, those are…”

 

Deke turned his weapon towards his own squad mate. “Do it, Mister Berringer!”

 

Berringer’s face went blank as he locked and loaded. At that, Deke nodded and turned to watch the crowd.

 

A moment later, the chaos really broke out. A few meters away, someone picked up a barricade and flung it at several police officers who were deployed behind their riot shields, and Deke saw a police officer fall down as he was stabbed. Shots began to ring out as the Marines returned fire in the gas and smoke, followed by the police.

 

Then, some flaming objects were thrown at Deke’s unit. A moment later, ten men howled and began to run at them with a burning barricade held up as a battering ram.

 

“GO!” yelled Deke over his headset to his squad as they responded by firing from the hip with their Shetlands at the raging men.

 

Deke was the third man to fire as his training kicked in and he began to spray the crowd with bullets. 

 

Then, Deke spotted his first target, behind the men. In the confusion and smoke, it was just a shape, but one that was running towards him very fast. A strong, evil-looking man behind her was screaming, “Run, BITCH, RUN! Don’t you dare tell us any of your shit!”

 

Deke only saw “threat”. He sighted in on the slender form a moment later and, snarling, he sprayed the form with bullets. Part of him was damn pleased when it hit the mark. Deke smiled grimly when he saw brain matter, blood, bone chips, and teeth flying back towards one of the protestors in a huge reddish-pink spray. Then, the form fell from the smoke into the light before him, twitching spastically as she fell onto her back.

 

Deke looked down at the form, which was right before his feet, and he felt sick.

 

Lying there, twitching in a huge pool of her own blood, was the young woman in the minidress with the headband. One of her arms still held what were now the pathetic, torn remains of the baby boy to her breast; her bare stomach was dyed red with her own blood from several bullet wounds. In her death throes, her head lifted up, and Deke could see that one of her eyes had been blown out-right through the back of her head.

 

Her head now had no back to it as blood spurted through what was left of her blonde hair. Her legs twitched, and one of her sandals fell off her now-bloody bare foot in her death throes. Something of what remained of her consciousness came to light as she lifted up a hand towards Deke, almost as if she was begging for help he couldn’t give. Then, she twitched one last time, rolled over onto her side (mercifully, with her legs now closed) and she passed into eternity, falling onto her stomach as a huge amount of gore and grue and internal organs oozed out of the back of her ruined head and out of her back through massive holes that had been blown into her dress.

 

Deke looked on in shock at the dead woman’s face; if it weren’t for her missing right eye and the ruin of the back of her head, she would have looked almost serene in death. Indeed, she had actually died with a ghost of a smile on her face.

 

Deke bent over in shock as he folded what was left of the dress over her pitifully bared pregnant stomach and breast. He felt as if he wanted to throw up.  Indeed, this pitiful moment would give him nightmares for years to come. “God,” he muttered. “My God.”

 

Then, a screaming, burly protestor with a red beard ran up to Berringer, who was beside Wakefield, and with a howl of rage, he slashed at Berringer and literally gutted him with a broken bottle. Then, he kicked the dying Berringer in the face and yelled, “You killed my niece, Sasha, you Goddamned son-of-a-bitch! Happy to see what you did? She was trying to get them all to fall back! Does it give you a hard-on or something, killing a total pacifist armed with a baby? Now, I’m coming for you, asshole!”

 

The man stepped on Berringer and came at Deke with the bottle. Deke hissed at him, then he just turned on the attacker and unloaded his magazine into his midsection with extreme prejudice. Reloading, Deke switched to full auto and with a roar, he mowed down a line of rioters charging their position as one of his men got Berringer.

 

“Sir, Jack is dead!” cried the cadet Corporal.

 

“I guessed that. Now get back into position! Volley!” Then, upon regaining control of his unit, they formed volley lines and proceeded to kinetically dissuade others from reaching their position with more blasts of fire as the chaos continued.

 

The chaos led to a 48 hour standoff between the rioters and guards. Dawn and Lynn watched the events from home as they unfolded on TV/Video (while Jess was working overtime at the Hospital). They were uncertain what might ultimately happen, or whether Deke was safe or not. The scene was a blood bath. Over two hundred people died in the battle. Eventually, the area was cordoned off by local authorities so that no one else could enter there. It wasn’t not until things calmed down that they learned Deke was okay. Dawn learned that when he

was  interviewed briefly by a reporter on TV. Dawn felt shaken as she realized that Deke was maintaining his leadership demeanor, but it was also obvious he was tired and shaken by the events. Deke's unit had to hold their ground for 72 hours before they could  be relieved by a Marine unit.

 

And, for the moment, all food distribution was stopped until the Marines could finally regain order and control over the situation. From that point onwards, the food center would be guarded like an armed camp.

 

A surviving protestor caught on video for a moment before being cut off raged, “We were trying to get food to people! Not all of us wanted to be violent! Some of us were just going to protest peacefully, but Mrs. Morningstar…they…they killed her when she was trying to order a surrender! They…”

 

Then, the protestor was cut off. Deke, who was watching from a video screen near his unit’s temporary HQ wondered who the heck Mrs. Morningstar was. He didn’t know, and didn’t care at the moment as he ate his soup like a robot. Later, Deke returned home dirty, battered, and bruised, but with no major injuries. He just slept for a day before regaining some measure of consciousness. Jess was still working overtime at the hospital, so Dawn and Lynn tended to the sleeping young man.

 

When Deke woke up, he found Dawn and Lynn leaning over him. He looked down at himself. He was in bed in his boxer shorts, and he felt horrible.

 

“Dawn?” he said. “Dawn?”

 

“Oh, God, thank God you’re okay,” she said as she held him. “But, I can’t look at you in that uniform today, Deke! I can’t!”

 

“Why not?” he asked dumbly.

 

“I heard about it; they didn’t have it on TV but there is a rumor going around that you killed a pregnant woman, Deke! WHY! WHY??”

 

“Dawn, please! Deke,” asked Lynn as she prepared to give him some soup. “Is it true?”

 

With tears running down his cheeks as he remembered in a rush, Deke said, “Yes, it’s true.”

 

“They made you into a killer,” hissed Dawn as she picked up one of his boots and threw it against a wall. “They made you into some rotten machine, Deke! I didn’t want you joining up! I didn’t!”

 

“What was her name?” Deke said in a broken voice. “I remember something like Sara…something like…”

 

“Sasha Morningstar,” said Lynn as she tucked Deke’s covers over his bare chest. “Why, Deke? Why did you…”

 

“I couldn’t help it,” sobbed Deke. “I am disturbed that I had to kill. I am disturbed that they killed our guys, too, Dawn. Berringer, Smith, Young, Harrison…all those guys, Dawn. All classmates of ours. All dead. All killed by those people!”

 

“Why did you shoot that woman first?” said Dawn. “For the love of God, tell me why!” she said as she began to cry. Deke tried to hug her, but she recoiled from his touch. Deke looked at her, seeing as if for the first time that she was in jeans and a top that didn’t seem to have been washed in three days. And her usually clean white socks looked filthy with dirt. “I mean, they stopped things because of the riot, Deke. The water was cut off until this morning. That’s why I’m filthy. That and wondering if you were ever going to wake up or not, Deke!”

 

“I was ready to kill Gamilons,” said Deke in a sheer monotone as he closed his eyes. “I never, ever thought I’d have to kill fellow humans. Hell, some of our classmates joined in the riot, and I had to kill them, too.”

 

“WHO?” screamed Dawn.

 

“Peters, Tarantino, Brown. They were throwing Molotovs at us, Dawn! In fact, Tarantino killed Harrison with some kind of bamboo spear or something…he just ran him through like a pig. I spazzed when I saw that, Dawn. By the time I was done shooting at Vic Tarantino, at full auto, he didn’t have an upper body anymore,” said Deke as he put his head in his hands. “It was the heat of the moment; just like with that woman. She was coming out of the smoke, and we were ordered to shoot to kill, and I thought she was rushing us and leading the damn charge like some cavalry leader! And with her dress open! And with some baby at her breast! Why couldn’t she find someplace quiet, away from that, to take that baby? What kind of woman would do something like that? And what made me that way? Shooting…God, when I realized what I did…I tried to cover her up…would have given her water, except…well, except that she just died so fast. She died. Almost in my arms! And I did it! WHY?” At that, Deke just began to cry, banging the bed in his sadness and frustration over the tragedy.

 

“Battle,” said Lynn as she stroked Deke’s hand. “It does that to people…even when they’re as young as you…”

 

“Looking back, I hated it!” said Deke. Then, Deke related his pain and rage during the riot, having lost a bit of his humanity in the midst of the fight.

 

He told Dawn, “I’m so sorry, but…but… the rioters were the enemy and I didn't hesitate to mow them down as they charged the center and their positions. I was trying to help all of us…what if they had gotten at food meant for everyone? Dawn, I was trying to defend all of us, and my buddies. So that was real combat, huh? It was exhilarating, it was frightening, but it left me with nothing but mixed feelings at the end. I feel some of them, the violent ones, deserved what they got, but I also feel many of them were just dragged into the mess and  didn't deserve to die. I’m not a killer, Dawn, Lynn. Please understand that. Please, Dawn. Understand! For us.”

 

Dawn sat crying for ten minutes, not saying anything. She was very disturbed over what happened. Finally, she said, “Deke?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I…”

 

“You want me to resign?”

 

“No….I don’t like what happened, but, I’m sorry I called you a killer. I don’t hold anything against you for your actions. You were just doing your duty…that’s all. Poor Deke…just doing your duty…”

 

And, at that, Dawn hugged Deke and held him. Then, they began to have a long talk about the whole thing while Lynn rewarmed his uneaten soup. They would have many long talks about the incident over the next few months.

 

A few days later, after Deke talked to his mother about everything, a memorial service was given for the defenders who lost their lives in the riot. Shortly thereafter, the surviving defenders received commendations for their service in a public ceremony. The Mayor, Chief of Police, and Marine Commander all made speeches about the service and dedication of the defenders. Similarly, they declared that the surviving terrorists who led and participated in the insurrection would be brought to justice and given the punishment accorded to them. Most of them were found and either sent to the irradiated surface to die or otherwise punished. But a few of them escaped punishment by crawling into the crevices of society, risking their lives and health in abandoned parts of the underground city of San Diego (on higher levels) in order to evade justice, not caring that they had to eat offal, garbage, and even corpses to live.

 

Some of them would later join the Josiahite cult. Some of those same men and women, vicious and embittered, would help Yvona Josiah herself take the space battleship Potemkin in 2202, and some of them gladly participated in battle against the Star Force, showing the EDF no consideration or honor whatsoever, as was typical for brigands. Others were with the Josiahites who had raided Colorado not long ago, while a few others were still alive and at large to this day. In fact, one of these same evil and embittered men, under the assumed name “Ashkeraz” had been the very man Nova Wildstar had referred to in her speech earlier that day in Richardson Hall; the very man who had put a knife against the gentle but strong heroine’s throat before Deke’s horrified eyes. The same man that Nova had finally killed with a knife and her own hands in that battle.

 

“Ashkeraz” had been the man who had screamed, “Run, bitch, RUN!” behind Sasha Morningstar as she had tried to order a retreat. He had driven the panicked woman into his sights like a fleeing lamb. If only Deke had known that at the time…

 

At any rate, as Deke tried to mourn, he found that no public service was permitted for those who died charging the center as their actions were seen as criminal. Only private ceremonies were allowed for their interment, which, under the circumstances in the underground city, would be the simple expedient of being placed in a crematorium in a shroud after having been removed from a light casket that had been reused several times. Although many saw the incident as being a massacre and a major injustice, the press was prohibited from covering the funeral services of the rioters who died so not to promote further civil unrest and violence.

 

Deke managed to learn more about the brave but sad woman that he shot down first during this time. Having been haunted by dreams of her slaying at his hands, he was nagged by the need to learn more about her. Against Jess's, Lynn's, and Dawn's wishes, he attended her memorial service dressed in civvies as his guilt and pain overwhelmed him.

 

At the service, it was said that the woman, named Sasha Morningstar, was very kind, concerned and involved in civic affairs. She was always volunteering for activities to help her community and fellow neighbors, and she had three children; with a fourth on the way. The fourth child would have been a little girl.

 

Deke also found out at the service that Sasha had been a member of a small community group dedicated to improving their lives by peaceful pressure, and dedicated to peaceful, legal protest. The sight of her husband James mourning over the loss of his wife and their unborn child just tore Deke up, particularly as he saw James trying to comfort the other three bereaved children. It was also clear that none of  Sasha’s family or friends understand why she would've charged the center as she aborrhed violence and was noted for her pacifistic ways.

 

“Why was she there?” asked Deke in a small voice.

 

“She was with a small group of friends,” said a bereaved woman, who, as  Deke learned, was Sasha’s sister Victoria. “She was always trying to improve things. She wanted to get there to present the Administrator with a petition and then just get her half-ration and leave in peace and quiet after presenting her petition. She didn’t even complain about how it might hurt the unborn baby, and she never asked for more herself. She was just…too good…too good to live, and she wouldn’t have even harmed a mouse,” sobbed Victoria as she looked at the white recycled pasteboard casket. The casket was covered with flowers, and it was closed. Yet, Sasha lay in the casket in what was now the only other dress she now owned due to the shortages and rationing….and soon, her body would be in a shroud, being burned. Deke prayed that her soul, somehow, had returned to its Maker to rest in His Peace forever.

 

Later that night, Deke spent more quiet time with Dawn and he broke down after having learned who the poor woman was. In spite of her charge, from what he had learned, it was true that she was just one of those who got dragged into the mess and didn't deserve to die, since she didn’t have a violent demeanor at all. He keeps wondering why the hell couldn't she have just have stayed home that day.  At any rate, Deke returned to guard duty at the food center, again serving as a platoon leader. There were still picketers marching around, but they stayed on their side of the "do not cross line" and their activities took on a peaceful demonstration-like demeanor as they sang and wept, some of them holding up small candles. Knowing better now, the demonstrators heeded the danger posed by the guards...

 

Especially Deke, who kept DJ locked and loaded…

 

 

In the present, Deke thought of telling Sasha all of this, but he decided not to. Still, she could sense that something was wrong as Deke stood there with his eyes closed and his face contorted in pain.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

 

“Nothing; just a very bitter memory…about the past here on Earth during the Gamilon War. I hate Gamilons.”

 

“So do I” said Sasha as she averted her own eyes.

 

“Why?” asked Deke.

 

Sasha thought back to an unpleasant experience; or, rather, many of them, while she had been growing up on Iscandar, and she said, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

 

“Just like I’d rather not talk about what went through my head just now.”

 

Sasha nodded and stood up, after securing her weapon. “I think we’re done for now,” she said as she pushed her goggles up over the brim of her fatigue cap. Deke suddenly noticed that she had beautiful light burgundy-brown eyes. Then, she said, “But you are an interesting person, sir. Let’s get together somewhere and talk a bit sometime.”

 

“Where?” he asked. “You’re an underclassman; you know they only allow juniors and seniors in the Rat.”

 

“I know,” said Sasha. “There’s this little coffee bar off-campus, over in the outskirts of Kawaguchi. It’s a bit of a walk, but you can be there in a few minutes. A relative pointed it out to me once.”

 

“So when do you want to get together to…talk?” said Deke as he picked up his weapon and equipment.

 

“Early Friday night; the fourth, at nineteen hundred, after dinner. I’ll be there waiting for you.”

 

“How will I recognize you?” asked Deke.

 

“Easy; I’ll be in blue,” said Sasha. “Take care, sir.”

 

“You too,” said Deke. It just escaped him that he had just accepted his first offer of a date…of sorts, ever since he had split up with Dawn.

 

But, Deke wasn’t thinking that way. He still had Dawn on his brain. But, part of Sasha stuck somewhere…in his subconscious.

 

He thought she was both smart and compassionate, and that it would be a shame if he snubbed her. She was just too…nice.

 

 

It was evident that Deke had Dawn on the brain, since when he returned to his room, the biggest thought on his mind was actually writing a letter to Dawn’s mother, Lynn (who had been like a mother of sorts to him, too, after his own mother Jessica had died) to ask Lynn why Dawn wasn’t replying to his letters.

 

Brew wasn’t there, and Deke spent some time looking over the room they shared.

 

Neither of them lived in a hovel, by any means (since such a place would not have ever passed the frequent military quarters inspections that were a part of Academy life). But, the two sides of their room reflected two very different personalities.

 

Brew’s side of the room had a rather bare desk with just a few books and note books on it near the computer, along with a collection of beer bottles set carefully against the wall like soldiers.

 

Above the desk, near his locker were the three posters each permitted to seniors (juniors could have two posters; sophomores could have one, and plebes were allowed no wall decorations at all.) One of the posters was a graphic of professional wrestlers, but two other two posters were much more…individualistic. One of them was a poster of several young women in thong bikini bottoms whose mostly-bare butts faced the camera and it had a caption that read “NO IFS, ANDS OR BUTTS”, while the other one was a shot of several females in wetsuits displayed from the back and sides. All of the women had wetsuit tops on; but none of them had on anything below the waist, and all of them had beautiful bottoms and legs on display. The one with the bare bottoms on it had been customized; it had a joke caption that said, WANT GIRLS? CALL MIDS(1) (CDT ENSIGN) JERE MARRABLE AT 999-9999 FOR IMMEDIATE SERVICE TODAY – BUTTS ARE MY SPECIALTY. 

 

Deke shook his head and smiled at Brew’s rather hentai poster collection for a moment and then he turned his attention to his side of the room.

 

Deke had three posters on the wall, too. The first was of a girl in a blue bikini surfing, and the caption on that one read “TOTALLY TUBULAR”.

 

The second poster was a piece of black-light art of a 1960’ish looking face with large glasses surrounded by a pattern of bizarre colors. The third was a standard flight recognition chart.

 

Deke’s desk and the small bookcase nearby were a totally different story than Brew’s desk and sparsely-populated bookcase. Deke’s desk had his computer on it, along with several textbooks, notebooks and flight manuals, all neatly stacked in such a way so they would pass inspection. The bookcase, again neatly stacked, was filled with a collection of books on surfing, classic cars, military history, and nuclear warfare. Beside a few more supplemental textbooks were a few recently popular books. One of them was a heavy tome which was entitled Our Star Blazers: An Account of the Iscandar Mission of the Argo in 2199-2200, written by Derek Wildstar, Nova Wildstar, Mark Venture, Stephen Sandor, and the late Peter Conroy. The book had been a few years in the making and it had been released in early 2203. A similar book on the Comet Empire mission was reportedly still in the works. Another one of Deke’s books was a recent-history book on the underground cities, civil defense measures, and the gradual move back to the Earth’s surface between late 2200 to late 2201 entitled From the Depths to the Sunlight. Deke hadn’t finished this book yet; his studies were more intense than usual this semester, and this particular book wasn’t pleasant reading…especially since he had lived through much of it himself.

 

Deke sat down at his PC and tried to begin his planned letter to Lynn, but he only got a few lines before he had to stop. It was just too painful.

 

That damned Stovall, thought Deke. Breaking up with Dawn was bad enough, but what he did to my life in Plebe Year…that was even worse. Far worse.

 

Deke felt as if he wanted a cigarette, but he couldn’t smoke in the dorms, so he contented himself with thinking about the past, and finally, after a few minutes, the following sad and angry missive poured from his fingers….

 

 

1 October 2205

 

Lynn:

 

 

Hi.

 

I know it’s been a little while since I last wrote to you. I’m doing fine, and I hope Dawn is OK, too.

 

I’m writing because of Dawn. I’ve sent her a few letters at Pan-Am University; I tried e-mailing her and they all bounced, and I got some paper and even tried the regular postal courier service (and you know how expensive that is, since the Government likes us to use e-mail; saves trees, they say…) but I’ve never gotten any sort of response from her, either via e-mail or via post.

 

I don’t know if she’s not getting my letters or if she is avoiding me on purpose. Maybe you could speak to her for me and tell her how I feel about things?

 

We grew up together, we were always together, and she was an inspiration to me for years, even after we stopped living together. I don’t know if there is anything to this, but I would love to hear from her again…I’m hoping…hoping, for what?

 

Hoping her opinion on the military has changed. I’m going to graduate in a few months, Lynn. I am about to achieve my dream, and I’d like to share this dream with her, even if she hates it, and…

 

Oh, I might as well tell you.

 

Dawn helped me get through my Plebe Year. And she nearly got me thrown out of here, too.

 

Well, you know I’ve always been a combative sort of man; people have always been walking up to me and ramming their mouths into my fists, whether it was saying something about me and the long hair I used to have, saying something about my being on the drumline in school marching band, saying something about Dawn….I’ve always been ready to fight.

 

Plebe year, I nearly got thrown out of here. And it was because I was defending Dawn’s honor.

 

Long-distance.

 

And she has never even written me to say hi.

 

Let me tell everything that happened to me in 2202, from Point A. I know we spoke about this a little once, but I don’t know if you know the full story, Lynn.

 

I remember hearing from you that at Pan-Am her first year, Dawn joined that sorority and she then went wild and became a party animal during her first semester at Pan-Am. Accordingly, you told me her grades suffered badly. Very badly.

 

Well, that same year of 2202, in late October, my upperclassman platoon leader here at the Academy was this utter asshole named Mick Stovall, a third-year cadet. He learned everything about me and Dawn and how close we were. Right?

 

You’d think he just use that information to taunt me? Well, that guy did worse than that.  One weekend he went to Pan-Am and found Dawn at a party. He got her drunk and he took advantage of her in a totally disgusting manner, and he also took a few snapshots as souvenirs.

 

In some of the snapshots, she was in her underwear. In some of them, she was naked, and in some of them…well, she was either doing things with him or was being exhibited by him in such a fashion that she looked like an extremely slutty centerfold model; not even a semi-tasteful shot of her nude like that damn blond actress Brandi Richards in Gentlemen’s Club, but the sort of things you’d see instead in a magazine like Sluts Unlimited. The sort of thing they sell in brown paper wrappers. He must have gotten her really blitzed to be doing stuff like that. Mickey Stovall got back and he decided to distribute the photos all over campus. When I saw them, I went utterly ape ballistic over seeing Dawn in such a compromising, horrible, position. This led to him (Stovall) shoving his jaw into my fist. You know what happened. I was then put under hack (house arrest) pending Mast, my trial. During this time, I was visited by the Chaplain.

 

I was charged with striking a superior cadet and forced to stand before a commandant's mast. I was very nearly booted out of the school, save for the testimony of the school's chaplain. Prior to the mast, the chaplain spoke to the commandant about what he had learned about me. I later heard the commandant had previously decided to kick me out of school. Upon learning the background of how we…Dawn and I…grew up together and how we had been an item for so many years…well…the Commandant learned that. The Chaplain told me. Also, the Chaplain made sure he learned how she broke up with me, and how I sacrificed my personal feelings to go ahead and come to the school instead of dropping out and making up with her. The Chaplain told me and the Commandant this spoke volumes of my commitment and potential dedication as an officer. I was remanded to walking punishment tours, banned from any leave for the remainder of the semester, and required to attend mandatory counseling sessions for anger management.

 

In other words, they nearly threw me out of here for defending your daughter. Your daughter and her honor. And she won’t even write to me, Lynn! What is wrong!? I’ve even told her everything in those letters. Did she never read them or something? My roommate, Jere Marrable gave me a lot of sympathy during this time and the years afterwards. He definitely thought I got screwed. 

 

At least there is some justice, though. My platoon leader, this Stovall guy, was shortly thereafter brought up on charges of actions unbecoming a gentleman and a cadet. I heard through scuttlebutt the Commandant was pissed at him beyond belief. I heard the Commandant said that socking it to plebes is understandable to weed out those that can't handle the rigors demanded of military life. However, he said, getting a non-plebe lady drunk and then seducing her, then spreading photos of her around to involve an emotional punch to a fellow cadet is beyond deplorable. I then heard the Commandant stated he had demonstrated by this action that Stovall lacked the character required of an officer. Thus, he was dishonorably expelled from the school. The whole incident later became known as "Wakefield's Revenge", and the whole Company of Cadets become very well aware of the incident through scuttlebutt. Everyone knows about it, but no one mentions it to me. They’re afraid of losing teeth, I guess.

 

I heard later that Mick Stovall was remanded to enlisted training, since he previously signed his EDF contract at the end of his second year, committing himself to a six-year term of enlistment. Heard he was sent to the Space Marines as a buck private to endure the rigors of boot camp as an infantryman. Later, I heard through the grapevine that Stovall wound up in Leavenworth for either indecently assaulting some young female officer or the wife of an Admiral or something; the story varies depending upon whom you hear it from. I heard that they stuck this guy so deep in prison for this he might never get out. God knows who he assaulted; word is that the report of the incident went all the way up to General Singleton’s desk in some morning report and he demanded that this guy stand the maximum penalty for it. I hope we never see HIM in the EDF again.

 

I know I wrote and told you a little of this in 2202, but I never told you everything, and I’m sorry. I know you must’ve heard something, from someone…I don’t know who wrote you, but you told me you would get Dawn to write when you wrote me about this around January of ’03. It is over two years later, and Dawn still hasn’t written to me. Even if she doesn’t ever want to be with me…again….I’d love to hear from her. We were so close…once.

 

Once. I still think about those times.

 

Hope to hear from you and Dawn soon.

 

Love,

 

 

Deke.

 

 

 

Then, Deke hit the “send” button and he sent the long missive to Lynn.

 

I don’t know what she’ll do, he thought. I don’t know what she can do. But I’d love to hear from Dawn again. Someday.

 

I wonder what happened to that bastard Stovall, by the way?

 

I wonder if he is still in jail?

 

Or did they boot him out of the service because of that…other girl he’s supposed to have assaulted?  And what happened to that girl?

 

Guess I’ll never know…

 

 

III. HOW FAR TO PARADISE?

Earth

EDF Greater Arabia Air Base

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Wednesday, October 2, 2205

1730 Hours: Earth Time

A large EDF cargo plane sat idling on the runway at Greater Arabia Air Base as a group of Space Marines stood in rows listening to a briefing by their platoon leader, a Lieutenant named Mahmoud Safeer. Safeer, who had been born in this area, was a hardened Marine officer with a couple of years of combat under his belt. The hot desert wind and the little bit of sand didn’t bother him at all as he addressed his platoon of sixty-five. They, like him, had changed out of desert tan fatigues into green BDU’s, even though Safeer and another Saudi in his platoon known as Sergeant Khalid Burghal were the only two in the group that wore the traditional checkered Arab khaffiyah, or desert burnoose headdress, as part of their EDF uniform.

 

“All right,” said Lieutenant Safeer; he spoke loudly so that he could be heard over the loud whine of the jets of the cargo plane they were about to board. “You know that we just accomplished our objective; they said there was a group of Josiahites trying to get at the Asran/Bahrain EDF fighter base there on our side of the strait at Al Khobar. Thanks to the efforts of you people, the 114th Platoon, and the efforts of the 120th and 163rd, not to mention those flyboys from the Firehorses, the famous Fighting 88th Squadron,” said Safeer, “we beat them down. But now, word has it that another group of these people is reforming in China, someplace around Nanjing. You people are getting a one-way, all-expenses paid vacation in wonderful China as a result. That’s why you are in greens, people.”

 

Safeer paused. “I’m proud of you people; and let’s give a big hoo-rah to our squad leaders. First Squad Leader Sergeant Ed Cantrell…”

 

The men cheered as a good-sized red-headed Canadian came forth.

 

“Second Squad Leader, Corporal Avram Kaufman…”

 

The men cheered again as a tall, but thinner Israeli with an eyepatch and a beard bowed at his Saudi CO.

 

“Third Squad Leader, Sergeant Namib Wanada…”

 

A strong, very dark-skinned African gave his CO a snappy salute.

 

“And last but not least, our newest Squad Leader, Fourth Squad Leader, Lance Corporal Mick Stovall…”

 

Only a few cheered when a tall, rangy man with a dirty face and stubby black hair saluted the CO. Stovall was a man with a thin, weaselly face that now looked meaner than it had in his Academy days since the bridge of his nose and a cheek were permanently disfigured with a nasty pink scar that had resulted from a bar fight he had been in not long after getting out of jail in Leavenworth. Stovall had since rebuilt his military record somewhat by serving a long time here in battle in Saudi Arabia and getting some rank back.

 

Everyone knew that Stovall was a great fighter, but they also knew that he was a mean, vicious man who was not easily trifled with. Stovall also had a terrible reputation with women; some word of his old indecent conduct conviction had made it out here to the desert, and his squad mates (some of whom had gone bar-hopping with him in Germany for a bit before being posted here) knew exactly how he treated women…which was that he treated them so badly that he would have made Bryan Hartcliffe seem to be noble by comparison. And his friends didn’t mind much.

 

“So,” said Safeer. “Do we have any questions?”

 

Stovall had his hand up. “Yes, Lance Corporal?”

 

“Hey,” said Stovall in a nasty-sounding backwoods drawl. “Do they have a lot of targets there in China for us to…you know, kill?”

 

“They say there’s a good-sized group of the cultists there, Stovall,” said Safeer. “And they’re telling us to use extreme prejudice on this bunch.”

 

“Yeah,” said Sergeant Cantrell. “Can’t wait to see action again, sir.”

 

“That makes several of us,” said Safeer with a dark grin as he put his sunglasses back on. “Now, enough of this standing around shit; let’s saddle up and get outta here, huh?”

 

The platoon roared their agreement, and then they broke ranks to begin going up the aft cargo ramp into the plane.

 

“Hey Mick,” said one of Stovall’s buddies, a guy named Parker Bunderman. “I bet you can’t wait to get at some pieces of ass, huh?”

 

“They say Chinese food is damn good for ya,” said Stovall. “But then they say that you’re hungry again an hour later. That true with their women, too?”

 

“I don’t think they mind that,” said Bunderman.

 

“Yeah, I hope they all smell like moo shu pork,” laughed Stovall. “You know what I wouldn’t give to visit the Academy again when this mission is all over with?”

 

“Thought you were off-limits from there,” said Bunderman as they boarded the aircraft and sat down together with their weapons on some of the web seating in the military aircraft.

 

“I’m sure I can finagle my way past some guards. Money talks. I wanna kick this one friggin’ cadet’s ass before the year’s out…if he’s still there, that is.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Californian son of a bitch surfer dude named Wakefield,” sneered Stovall. “I wanna kick his butt into next Tuesday. He’s the guy got me thrown outta there, and I didn’t do nothin’ to him,” said Stovall. “Nothin’ but a joke. Goddamn plebe piece of SHIT.”

 

“You told me you wanted to get someone else, too,” whispered Bunderman.

 

“Yeah,” said Stovall. “I wanna pay back a certain little bitch who put me in Leavenworth, next. Crying rape when all I did was put a friendly little hand up her little miniskirt once. Piece of crap. Gets away with shit because she’s a rich bitch. And her old man got my brother Lance offed in space.”

 

“Who was this?”

 

“Long story,” said Mick as he looked around. “But I’ll whisper to yuh what her name is.”

 

Stovall whispered the name in his buddy’s ear.

 

“No way!” laughed Bunderman.

 

“Hell, yeah,” he said. “They say that actress Brandi Richards, who played her in that there picture show movie is a knockout? The real article is a knockout squared, buddy.” Stovall smiled, not quite understanding the seriousness of his offense. As it was, he remembered the Court at his Court-Martial telling him that he was only being retained in the EDF because they needed manpower. The Presiding Judge had told him, “If it was up to me, you would be thrown out of the Service after you served your time…but, you will be needed after that. Remember that, and remember you will not have a second chance.” 

 

“You’re full of shit,” said Bunderman as he shook his head. “You are so full of shit!”

 

“And she has a little pet robot that she told to kick my ass.”

 

“Yeah, right,” said Bunderman as the hatch closed.

 

“I swear, buddy, it really happened,” said Stovall as he licked his lips.

 

 

A day later, a drastically different scene was going on at the Rathskellar at the Academy.

 

It was almost 2130, and Deke and Brew were at a side table, trying to talk over some rather loud (and badly played) rock music; it was Amateur Night in the Rat tonight, and a couple of on-the-spot bands had played and broken up just as rapidly on the stage near the bar.

 

“So what was that you were sayin’?” asked Deke as Brew finished yet another bottle of beer; his second.

 

“Did you bring your sticks tonight, ‘bro?”

 

“No, I didn’t, cuz.”

 

“That’s no damn excuse. You know half the Academy is waiting to hear you play the drums with someone.”

 

“I’m not going up there to play with that bunch, Brew.”

 

“Bro, that be no excuse,” said Brew as he laughed. “They aren’t half bad.”

 

“That Lindenmuth guy,” said Deke as he pointed out the Honor Board’s up-and-coming lawyer. “He can write a brief, but he can’t play a guitar for shit.”

 

“Yeah,” said Brew. “Who in here can play?”

 

“I can, mate,” said a heavily Scouse-accented voice as Brew and Deke noticed an officer in an Academy instructor’s uniform and flight jacket pulling a laughing blonde in glasses, a blue top, white short shorts, and sneakers up by the hand. She was carrying a beer bottle and paper coaster in her other hand.

 

“Well, hello, sir,” said Brew with a snappy salute as he recognized his Advanced Fighter tactics instructor, Senior Lieutenant Bryan Hartcliffe. “Deke, this guy here is my instructor, Lieutenant…”

 

“We’ve met already,” said Deke in a purposely noncommittal tone. He didn’t want to be disrespectful to a professor, but he had heard enough about Hartcliffe and his bizarre exploits in the Fleet to know that he wasn’t exactly a sterling example of an officer. Deke sometimes wondered how the hell he had become an instructor. “Sir,” he asked. “Who’s the lady?”

 

“Junior Lieutenant Angelique Hartcliffe,” laughed the woman. “Would you believe, I’m married to this guy? I’m flying with one of the fighter squadrons around the Megalopolis now, but I’ve got the night off, for once.”

 

“I’d believe anything, ma’am,” said Brew with a smile as Angie stretched and bent down to pick up the coaster. Deke smiled to himself as he noticed what part of Angie’s anatomy was being ogled by his somewhat crude friend; namely, her butt. It looked very nice in her short shorts. A moment later, Angie squealed as her husband grinned and made a grab for her posterior himself.

 

“I saw yer lookin’,” said Bryan with an evil grin as he looked at Brew. “You can look, but ye can’t touch, of course, me cadet mate. Got it?”

 

“He was looking at me?” said Angie as her face turned red.

 

Then, Brew’s gaze went elsewhere as a very attractive young woman in a gold and black Star Force shipsuit came up running her hands through her mid-back length honey blond hair. She smiled at Deke and Brew and then said, “Bryan, Paul sent me over here on a mission.”

 

“What the ‘ell?” said Senior Lieutenant Hartcliffe. “It’s Spooky Bleedin’ Aliscea herself!”

 

“I’m not spooky, Bryan,” laughed Aliscea Rosstowski.

 

Bryan got on his knees, rolled his eyes and said, “Please don’t set me on fire, Aliscea! I’ll be good! I won’t look at yer butt, luv!”

 

Angie slapped Bryan on the back of his head as a very annoyed expression came over her face while Aliscea Rosstowski rolled up her eyes and looked peeved. “I’m sorry, Aliscea, but this…man…doesn’t know when to stop making comments…when he’s with his wife. When did you come home?”

 

“The Arizona just landed this morning,” said Aliscea. “We got recalled after a little chain of events out by Ross 154, and…oh, I’ll tell you guys later,” said Aliscea, as the Pellian remembered she couldn’t say much more around a group of cadets. “Paul, Captain Venture, and Mrs. Venture are at that big table back there with Commodore and Mrs. Wildstar. Like to join us, Mister and Mrs. Hartcliffe?”

 

“Yeah,” said Bryan. “If I can bring me mates,” said Hartcliffe as he cocked a thumb back towards Deke and Brew.

 

“Why not, bro?” said Brew as he looked at Deke.

 

Deke rolled up his eyes. “Okay, cuz,” he replied. “Let’s go bother the brass for a while.”

 

“I’m orderin’ jalapenos,” said Bryan. “The big greasy kind.”

 

“Should you?” said Angie.

 

“I don’t see a problem with it,” he said as Deke and Brew noticed Nova getting up and coming over. She had on some sort of pink romper and boots tonight; Deke guessed she had found time to go home and change after classes. Nova nodded to Deke and Brew, and then she turned right to Bryan. “Bryan,” she said. “Paul thinks that band up there…he thinks they’re terrible.”

 

“So do I,” he said. “You remember me band, the Scarabs? I’m tryin’ to get together a new band, but they sound much worse. So what’s up?”

 

“Paul wants to get a band together. Like right now,” said Nova. “He’ll grab the bass, I’ll do lead guitar, he wants you on rhythm guitar. We need a drummer. Derek said he’d try, but…well, I know my dear, dear Commodore has never played drums before. My poor Derek would probably make an utter ass out of himself. We could use Deke. You know he drums. Remember that time in the hotel?”

 

“Yeah,” said Brew as he pointed out Deke. “He’s a veteran on drums; ain’t ya, bro? Ya willin’ to step out tonight?”

 

“Well,” began Deke. “I haven’t played much in a while, I….”

 

“You’d be great,” said Nova as her face lit up.“

 

“Ma’am, I’m really out of practice…”

 

“So are most of us,” laughed Nova. “C’mon, Mister. This isn’t like we’re going on prime time video! It’s just for fun and we know we’ll all probably make royal asses out of ourselves, but…c’mon!! What do you think?”

 

Deke took a deep breath. He had Dawn on the brain again, and, somehow, inexplicably, he saw Sasha’s face swimming in his mind. Guess she might like it if I did it, he thought in a strange groove that he hadn’t expected before. “Okay, ma’am, count me in.”

 

“Great,” said Nova. “I bet you’ll sound wonderful. What sort of numbers are we doing, Bryan?”

 

Deke took another deep breath; this seemed like it would be a very interesting band. I don’t believe it, he thought. It’s like Little Red Riding Hood is getting up to jam with the Big Bad Wolf.

 

“Well, I thought we’d do garage band shit,” he said.

 

“Watch the mouth, Mister Hartcliffe,” said Nova with a wink.

 

“I’ll be head lyricist,” said Bryan.

 

“Keep it clean, please,” shot back Nova.

 

“I’ll try,” he said. “Although I’m sure everyone here has ‘eard colorful metaphors before. I’ll tell ‘em all to shake their smeggin’ jewelry!”

 

“No you won’t” snapped Nova as she ran back over towards a large round table in the corner. There, Derek Wildstar (clad in a flight jacket, sweater, jeans and boots) was talking with Captain Mark Venture (who was still in his Captain’s peacoat and Star Force uniform), Paul Rosstowski (who was still in his Star Force uniform, too) and Holly Venture (who had changed into a white tank top, shorts, and thongs).

 

“Paul,” she cried. “We have a drummer. Mister Wakefield’s going to do it! I should have thought of that in the first place. I think I might’ve had one beer too many,” said Nova in soft, giggly tones.

 

“Who?” said Rosstowski.

 

“I said, I’d do it,” said Derek. “But…wait…Wakefield’s here?”

 

Nova nodded.

 

“Well, okay,” said Derek with a smile. “He’s better than me. Guess I can try drumming some other time. Venture and I were having a long talk, anyway. Have fun, Nova. Break a leg up there.”

 

“Thanks,” she said as she blew Derek a kiss. As the other band ended its number, Nova urgently waved her hand for Paul, Deke, and Bryan to come up towards the small stage.

 

Commodore Wildstar invited Brew to sit down at the table with them, and Brew smiled like a fool as Wildstar introduced him to the Ventures and the Rosstowskis. Angie drank some of her beer and ate a few French fries; Nova had had the foresight to buy the group a large platter of bar fries covered with bacon and various cheeses beforehand. It was junky, but it was a fun dish to munch on in a bar at night. Brew was offered a few fries by Holly Venture as Commodore Wildstar asked Mark, “So how did it go out there?”

 

“End of the patrol was a mess,” sighed Venture. He looked at Brew, prominent in his cadet uniform and then whispered to Derek, “I don’t know how much I can say with him here, Derek…”

 

“They know there’s a war brewing already,” said Wildstar. “If it’s about that submarine attack earlier in the week out by Ross 154…well, we told them about that already…in a big meeting earlier this week. They’re talking about the possibility of early graduation for this class.”

 

“Okay, I guess you know,” said Venture as he looked at Brew. “The Arizona was in a battle right before we came home.”

 

“How bad?” said Brew.

 

“Bad enough that our engines were damaged,” said Venture in a low voice. “We were just able to manage two more space warps before we had a burnout. When that burnout happened, we blew all our Titanite, Wildstar. Good thing it blew between Earth and the Moon. We had no Titanite supply left. It was submarines, Wildstar. Two wolf packs…going after a huge bulk freighter of ours heading towards Iscandar and Gamilon. They were Cometines, all right. We got them, but took a lot of damage, and we lost four pilots who were assisting with anti-sub warfare.”

 

“Who?” said Wildstar as he gritted his teeth.

 

“Marris, Kurimoto, DiCrezenzo, and Verree. The first two of those guys were experienced. DiCrezenzo was on his second cruise, and Ensign Dana Verree was on her first cruise.”

 

“Damn, I knew Verree,” said Brew as he painfully shut his eyes. “She even went out with me twice before she graduated last year and we had to break it off,” he said as a tear ran down his cheek. “My Nubian Princess, blown up like so much trash!”

 

“And Marris and Kurimoto were with us ever since the Rikasha Incident,” said Wildstar with a sigh.

 

“Yeah, we lose people in these wars,” said Holly with a tear running down her cheek while Aliscea shut her eyes and bowed her head as she quietly prayed for the repose of the dead pilots.

 

“Now I know what it’s like to lose your friends,” said Brew as he banged the table with a fist.

 

“Easy, Midshipman,” said Wildstar in a soft voice as he put a hand over Brew’s angry first. “Just chill. But I know it stinks. You don’t know how many buddies I’ve lost.”

 

“I almost wish they would graduate us early,” said Brew as fire burned in his eyes.

 

 

In the meantime, up on stage, Hartcliffe was tapping the mike and tuning his borrowed Fender Telecaster guitar while Paul Rosstowski strapped on a big red Fender Jazz Bass. Nova was tuning her borrowed baby-blue Stratocaster and flicking a few switches on the instrument to get a “dirtier” sound out of it while, behind her, Deke had picked up an unfamiliar-feeling set of drumsticks, which he was using to feel his way among the tom-toms and the snare of the large mother-of-pearl drum set he sat behind while his foot took the measure of the bass pedal. The set wasn’t set up the way he normally liked a drum set (the snare was on the wrong side for him, for one thing), but he could easily adapt to it. This’ll be sorta fun, he thought. Except I have no idea what we’re playing yet. This might, my friends, turn out to be an utter fiasco.

 

“What are we calling the band?” asked Paul as he finished preparing.

 

“The Bloody Cockroaches!” yelled Hartcliffe as he shook some hair out of his glasses. He had recently shaved off his mustache, but his hair had grown longer and messier, and he looked more deranged than ever, somehow. While Nova shook hair out of her eyes, he yelled at her, “My hair’s longer than yers, luv!”

 

“You’re probably right,” sniffed Nova. “What are we playing?”

 

“Garage band and surf music shit,” said Bryan. “All of yer know Surfin’ Bird?”

 

They nodded, and Deke was kind of pleased they were doing surf music; he liked it.

 

“Good. All of you know Pipeline? Wacky Surfer? And we’re gonna end with Helter Skelter, got it?”

 

The band nodded. “Good. Let’s count on in, then, one, two…”

 

“Wait, we have to be introduced, first,” said Paul. The announcer introduced the band, and then, at a signal from Hartcliffe, they started in on a clashing, grinding, screaming version of Surfin’ Bird, a deranged piece of garage rock from the 20th Century when surf music had first been popular. As Deke grinned and drummed quite hard, Hartcliffe jumped around like an ape and screamed into the microphone like a maniac while playing mad power chords. Behind him, Paul and Nova stood behind two mikes, playing it cool as Rosstowski contributed the bass line and Lt. Commander Wildstar played a very professional-sounding lead at high speed. The crowd began to clap and cheer on Hartcliffe and Wakefield while Paul and Nova momentarily took Bryan’s place on some of the more deranged vocals (which consisted of screaming and bubbling noises as the “bird” supposedly wiped out, Brew guessed) while the deranged-looking lead singer and rhythm guitarist caught his breath for a moment.

 

Finally, the song ended with lots of applause. The judges had an applause meter nearby, and they noted that The Bloody Cockroaches had a pretty good score.

 

Hartcliffe looked at Nova for a moment; she had taken off her guitar and was quickly pulling her boots off, followed by her socks. Then, she found a pair of pink legwarmers in her bag; she slipped them on, leaving the balls of her feet and toes exposed in the light knitted leg wear.

 

“Why’yer doin’ that?” said Bryan.

 

“Makes it easier to dance,” laughed Nova as she strapped back on her guitar. She began tapping her toes as they followed up with Pipeline, followed by Wacky Surfer (which was a contemporary surf-music style instrumental), the applause continued at each break in the act. Finally, they ended with Helter Skelter, a number that brought the house down, complete with Hartcliffe’s shout at the end of  “I’ve got blisters on me fingers!”

 

They came in second in the battle overall; an all-cadet band that had performed before them had taken first prize. When they sat down again, Hartcliffe returned to the remainder of his jalapeno dish while they talked some more.

 

Finally, Bryan stood. “’Scuse me,” he said. “Feels like I gotta hit the loo…”

 

“Bryan, isn’t that too much information?” said Angie. Then, she noticed.

 

Then, everyone noticed. Bryan had left a “silent but deadly” in his path.

 

Someone behind the bar rang a bell, and two people wearing gas masks came up to the area with air freshener spray to spray down the mess.

 

“Who was it?” said one of the men.

 

“Hartcliffe,” said Commodore Wildstar with a disgusted look on his face.

 

“That guy,” said Venture.

 

“Derek, let’s get out of here,” said Nova.

 

“Good idea,” said Deke. “Damn good idea,” he added.

 

TO BE CONTINUED....

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