By Stormwind
The Newtype Factor universe is an expansive one, covering hundreds of galaxies. There are of course, some explanations in order before the story is told.
This story is mostly about three starship pilots, but first you need to know what a “starship” is. A starship is no ordinary spacecraft. They are an average length of two miles long and are capable of faster than light travel. This is achieved by burrowing into the “NELF (Non Existing Light Refracting) Space”, which is the material that separates the alternate dimensions and their universes. By skipping through this material, much like a stone on water, faster than light travel is capable. Starships are built mainly as military weapons, as the general public cannot afford them. Designers can easily become rich, as the military is always seeking weapons and ship designs.
Weapons and defensive systems are now very advanced. Personal weapons from our era, or guns, would not even penetrate a toddler’s undershirt, such is the advancement in clothing. Personal shielding has been developed. This system works by using a generator, hidden somewhere on someone’s body, that responds to thought impulses. If the user suddenly has an impulse of fear from an object and commands the unit to engage, a powerful shield is deployed, protecting the user from harm. Guns all now work on either a laser or a plasma-based system.
There are also special types of guns such as the Caster and Darkflare. A Caster uses a spell encased in a shell, not unlike a bullet, and charges it with some of the user’s life force. It then releases the shell, encased in a temporary cocoon of energy. There are many different types of spells, and the amount of life energy required changes with the spell. A Caster user firing multiple shots will soon be forced to rest from exhaustion or perish from the process. A Darkflare is the perfect assassin's weapon. It makes no sound or releases any traces when it fires, and the shot will penetrate almost all manner of personal shielding. Depending on the setting, the Darkflare will simulate a heart attack, stroke, or other manner of death in the victim when it strikes the target. Like a Caster, the Darkflare charges it shot with life energy, but does not use shells, which limit a Caster’s ammunition.
Starship weapons tend to be large scale normal weapons, like plasma cannons or beam machine guns. Almost all types of starships also use missiles. They get an unlimited supply due to a micro-manufacturing plant system which creates new missiles. Giant EVA systems called “grappler arms” are also used during close range combat.
The now-standard power source is a “quantum refractor”. This is a large crystal which allows light in, but not out. The light then eternally bounces off the prism’s walls, generating a massive amount of energy which exponentially increases. After a few years though, the energy becomes to powerful and the refractor shatters. The higher the grade of the refractor, the longer it will last.
Money is no longer used in the normal sense. Depending of their job, a person is allowed a certain amount of “credits” that they can spend a year. At the beginning of a new year their credit supply is once again filled to the limit, with their leftover credits deposited in an account. A burger flipper might receive 100,000, while a teacher (who needs a college degree) might get 2 million. As extravagant as these allowances might sound, this was designed to keep unemployment and poverty down to a minimum. Since no currency is actually circulated, inflation does not exist. How many credits a person can receive depends on training, their job, and the importance of their career. Some people, like doctors, are completely exempt from having to pay taxes and such, as their job is very important. Consequently, this urges students to pursue advanced careers, and actually increases school motivation.
There are aliens of course. Many are semi-humanoid, reptilian, or insect-like, but most have slightly familiar appearances. There are of course, creatures that humans could not understand as life, such as sentient stars, or energy based life form. These remain hidden, invisible to all who see them, their existence unrecognized. A standard language has been adapted by all species, making most forms of communication easy.
This book also involves the concept of evolution (sorry to those who feel these theory is unsubstantiated), and humankind has begun a new and radical evolution. These new breed of mankind are called Newtypes and Neos. You are born a Newtype or Neo. The chances of this happening are not increased by AHE (Advanced Human Evolution) parents, it simply happens randomly. A Neo is a person with increased reflexes and mental capacity. In general they are physically stronger than the average person. They are born sharpshooters, often with better than 20/20 vision, and notice things that escape a normal person’s view. A Newtype is all this and much, much more. They have more mental capability (many are child prodigies) than a Neo and are always stronger than a normal human. Their reflexes are blindingly fast, allowing them to almost see an opponent’s movements before they happen. Like Neos, they are born sharpshooters and excel at hand to hand combat. Newtypes often have anatomical anomalies, such as wings or a tail, but these serve a purpose. Some can breathe water or are pyrotechnics. They are divided into classifications according to their abilities. The rarest Newtypes are that of the Delta, Omega, and Xi classification. Delta Newtypes have wings which they can retract into their bodies at will, Omegas are immune to electrical effects and generate electricity themselves like an electric eel or torpedo ray, and Xi Newtypes can see not only in pitch blackness, but also see through certain disguises, such as a cloaking device. They also can manipulate light and shadow energy.
While space is where most battles occur, ground combat hasn’t seen the end yet. Mobile suits, battlemechs, tanks, and starfighters are all used.
The Alpha Centauri Universe composes of ideas from several other places, such as Star Wars, Star Trek, Gundam Wing, and Outlaw Star. On minute the Jedi Council will be mentioned and the next minute a Gundam battle will ensue. I hope you enjoy this book.
Darkness Rising
The luxury cruise liner Dune Sea slowly cruised along to the urban city of Coruscant. As her ion engines left a glowing contrail, Captain Durae looked out of the main bridge.
So quiet and calm out here. All these passengers laughing and having a good time. Soon I’ll be just as happy as they are right now. With a promotion waiting for me at Coruscant, I’m going to be happier than I’ve ever been in my life!
Durae had sold information to the pirates in exchange for a big promotion. He was tired of being a lowly captain of some routine cruise in and out of the system. When he had overheard his boss talk about some weapons that were being shipped it had piqued his interest. When his boss wasn’t there he had planted a bug in his office. It turned out that the shipment would be arriving soon, and they were no ordinary weapons. No, they were a new breed of particle cannon straight from the SSF! He had sold information to rival companies before; selling black market weapons to the pirates couldn’t be that different, could it?
He had no idea how wrong he was. Never dealing with the pirates before had led him to believe that he could sell the information, get his reward, and get out, as he had so many times before. But he was wrong. There is no honor amongst thieves.
As Durae looked through the bridge’s wrap around view screen he noticed something. It was if some of the stars had suddenly decided to move from their places in the heavens. The objects twinkled slightly as they moved in unison. Durae instantly recognized them as starships, being the captain of one himself. But they were moving much too fast for civilian craft. He hadn’t done anything to attract the local space forces. Then what did it mean?
Hundreds of miles away five Interceptor Class starships raced towards the Dune Sea, their powerful engines leaving a glittering purple wake behind them. They were painted green, and on each ship’s starboard side a white skull-and-crossbones on a red diamond was painted…
Durae slammed his hand on the console. Sirens blared all over the ships.
“Attention, all passengers, please report to all escape pod sections; this ship is about to be attacked! I repeat, this ship is about to be attacked! All crew members report to battle stations!”
Crew members rushed to the bridge going to their assigned stations. The gun turrets were quickly manned and the ship was now ready to battle.
The Dune Sea’s guns roared as the Interceptors blazed by like comets. A few skilled gunners landed one or two shots on the targets, but the Interceptors’ shields rendered these useless.
Turning around for another pass, the Interceptors countered with their own shots. But unlike the Dune Sea’s crew, these pilots had fought all their lives and had had every single tactic and maneuver hammered into them since they were young. The Dune Sea would be no match for them.
Each Interceptor’s quintet of beam cannons yelped out as their bolts of energy slammed into the Dune Sea. In one pass her cannons were down. But her shields weren’t.
The Interceptor pilots began to get annoyed. She was a stubborn ship with all her systems devoted to defense, rather than weapons. They would just have to rip her apart, piece by piece.
Back on the Dune Sea Durae felt that they might actually win this fight. The pirates didn’t know that Dune Sea had concussion missile launchers. He smiled as he shouted: “Open fire with the missiles!”
Before anything could happen though, the Interceptors began their final assault. It looked as if hundreds of tiny stars were shooting out of each of them. Then with a small explosion, four cordlike grappler arms sprung from each ship. And Durae knew that they were now doomed.
The Interceptors charged, stopped, and then used their momentum to swing the arms like bullwhips, their sharp-clawed tips whirling toward the Dune Sea. They hit, going through the reinforced hull like a fish through water. Again and again they struck, toying with the Dune Sea, never hitting a critical point. Then they stopped their game of cat-and-mouse. One Interceptor whirled its arm straight into her power core. The Interceptors veered off as quickly as possible. Beams of light and energy burst from the Dune Sea’s sides, a ring of energy whirled from the ship, then… a light brighter then the sun showed that the Dune Sea’s core had gone critical, and she incinerated on the spot. Her explosion was beautiful, in a sad and twisted way.
The pirates’ had massacred a ship full of innocent people to ensure the death of one witness to a black market deal. Why would they do something that horrible? Because that is how pirates operate.
Unbeknownst to the pirates, twenty glittering escape pods rushed to Coruscant, each full to the brim with surviving passengers. The pirates had failed. But they would strike again, as soon as their mistake was realized.
An Ordinary Day
“Mr. Starwind would you please pay attention!”
It was a nice day, weather wise that is, at Jaburo Military Academy. Jaburo Military Academy (or JMA) was no normal military school. All students began at ages fourteen through sixteen, and all were extremely talented students who showed great potential. The school could also be a battle-ready military base with its students acting as soldiers in the blink of an eye.
There’s just one problem with this school, thought Colonel Edwards, it’s full of kids!
“Now, Mr. Starwind, would you mind telling us what is so much more interesting than my lecture?”
The class burst out into laughter.
In retrospect I shouldn’t have said that.
Tristan Starwind was fourteen years old. He had dark hair and eyes and normally wore a vest and a pair light-shield gloves. He was the kind of person you would call a class clown. But underneath that silly exterior was an amazing pilot. Tristan excelled at close range and aerial mobile suit combat. He was also a surprising tactician and elite swordsman. He had a strict close-combat battle philosophy and preferred speed and agility to heavy armor. As he once said, “You need armor to protect you from hits. But if you’re fast enough and good enough, you won’t be hit in the first place.” His standard firearm was an AX Special Issue Laser Handgun. His technical skills were of the “make particle accelerators from spare parts” type and he followed an ancient code of knights based on honor and skill. Also a fencer elitist, he had won several honors at the school for hand-to-hand combat techniques.
“Well sir, I was listening to your lecture on the Battle of Mon Caledonia. Wouldn’t the invasion also have worked if the Federation forces deployed large Interceptor squadrons to cover the slow capital ship’s flanks?”
“Tristan you have a tactical point there, but what I really was talking about was all the court marshals and ethical cases that went on after the battle. I am going to assign a report on one of these instances. Since you seem so interested, you may choose your topic first.”
“The case of Rukifellth Shadowscythe.”
“What? No, I’m sorry; I cannot allow you to discuss that case.”
“Why, is it another military skeleton-in-the-closet?” Only Tristan would dare speak like that to any commanding officer.
“Commander Rukifellth’s dishonorable discharge has been universally accepted by the SSF!”
“Fine. The case of John Mitchellson.”
Not long after the class, Tristan was joined by his friends Alan Starseeker and Mike Darksabre. Starseeker was taller than Tristan, with darker hair, and a pair of glasses. Alan was a quiet kind of person, but when he did speak it normally was important. An excellent long-range and starfighter pilot, his skill in a fighter was unparalleled, despite his inexplicable love for snails. A great weapons designer, he often sports a customized blaster that he designed and Starwind made. His combat philosophy was simple; “Block their escape routes and shower the only path with bullets.
Mike was sarcastic, caustic, and definitely not a morning person. Despite the personality flaws, he was still an excellent pilot, and like Starwind, excelled in mobile suit combat at all ranges. Focusing on heavy weapons rather than speed or armor, Mike carries a compact Excerleronne 9T1 heavy blaster, which disassembles for compact carrying.
“Tristan, do you have any idea how stupid it was to say that!” It was hard to tell whether Mike was screaming with disbelief or laughter.
“Yes it was not exactly a display of brilliance.” Alan’s calm addition to the chastising was dripping with disappoint. As a normal person Alan tried to avoid combat at all costs. However in the simulators, Alan had been known to fire weapons at any target that had the slightest hint of danger on it.
“Well, the truth never hurt anybody. Besides, the case I chose wasn’t that bad.”
“Yeah, who is John Mitchellson?”
“I got Lumin Dengar.”
“John Mitchellson annihilated an enemy Nebulon-B Frigate that had been converted to medical duty. The rules of engagement state that enemy medical vessels should never be fired upon or used as bargaining tools. When he was tried he got away with it scot-free.”
“So who was this Rukifellth Shadowscythe character you were talking about?”
“Rukifellth Shadowscythe directly refused to shoot down an enemy medical vessel that belonged to rebels attempting to escape the planet, then protected it, and allowed it to escape into NELF.”
“He protected it!?”
“He took down sixteen friendly craft who attempted to destroy that ship. All he had was a single Stealth.”
Alan finally joined the conversation “Wait, you’re saying he took down that many pilots in only one Stealth. But that’s impossible, unless…”
“You’re an ace,” Tristan finished, “And that’s exactly what Rukifellth was. Rukifellth had literally every Medal of Honor you could win. That’s the only reason that he wasn’t executed.”
Suddenly, the ground decided to move.
“What the…”
Sirens blared all over. Another explosion rocked the base.
“This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. All military personnel report to the mobile suit bays at once. Please report to your assigned sector.
“This is not good…”
Strange Assistance
The three friends dashed quickly to the bay. Visions of other students flashed by them as they rounded the corner. There was fire everywhere and falling rubble had obscured some of the passages. This was definitely not a drill.
But there was a problem with following the order to get to their sector…
Beam pistol and machine gun fire filled the air as the three cadets rushed down the hall.
“Assault droids in Hangar 5!”
As the three reached their station a realization hit them.
“Guys, aren’t we in Hangar 5.” Tristan said, looking very distraught
Droids sprayed energy at the cadets till they ran to hide with the others.
Tristan fumbled with his watch.
“Now is not the time to see what time it is, Tris!”
“Alan, I’m not checking the time; I’m calling Ted and the others!”
“Hmm, seems for once you have a good idea!” Even in the midst of an emergency, Mike still had to throw in his two bits.
In the friends’ apartment, an alarm clock beeped loudly. Slowly the six occupants of the room awakened from their peaceful slumber.
“What in blazes is making that infernal…? Fawkes, Neptune, Saturn, Corona, Shadow, they’re calling us!”
“You’ve got to be kidding; they’re calling at this hour of the morning.”
“You multi-segmented waste-of-space, it’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon!”
“Hey you were asleep too.”
“You two argue like your masters.”
“Get up all y’ slaepy loomps. If y’ dinnin note, ah’m the oonly woone who was awaked.”
“You, excuse me sir, but you were snoring louder than any one else.”
“Ach, awa’ wi’ ye, y’ grate shel’d lil’y livr’d piece o’ ‘aggis. Ah’m Fawkes the Fyree, an’ ye cudd d’ well tae ‘member it.”
Two more creatures joined the verbal abusement.
“All four of you, SHUT UP!
“Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“Yer try’n tae slep, et ae taem l’k this?”
“Hey this is our argument not yours’!”
“FOR THE LOVE OF MIKE, EVERY ONE OF YOU SHUT UP AND REALIZE THAT YOU’RE BEING CALLED!” the alarm clock roared.
“Right sorry Bob,” the original voice stated, “Now in a remotely organized fashion let’s answer the alarm and see what the problem is.”
The alarm clock’s communication device crackled with static.
“Ted, can you……….caught up in a crossfire at Hangar Five…………assistance……..now!”
“You heard the man, now let’s get moving.”
“Right!” the five other voices roared in unison.
The apartment door smashed open as the six occupants rushed forth.
Anyone in one of the corriders would have been greeted by quite a bizarre scene. The six occupants were about as mismatched as it gets, in terms of looks, personality, and at least in one case, dialect.
The original voice belonged to Tristan’s kneazle. Ted looked like a cross between a cat, a fox, and a god-knows-what. With a catlike body and paw and a foxes tail, he was sleek and lean with a hints of strength. A triangular head, two rabbit-like ears, and a pair of angel wings finished his look. Midnight black, with white tail tip, socks, wings and finally a hexagonal ruby on his forehead, Ted possessed diamond-sharp claws, psychic powers, and a seriously stubborn attitude.
The distinctly Scottish accent belonged to the aptly named Fawkes the phoenix. Fiery red with golden talons, Fawkes was actually quite intelligent, despite the illegibility of his sentences. Fawkes had a Scottish personality to go with the accent, need I say more? To Fawkes, fire was a plaything, and he was already over one hundred years old when Tristan came into possession of him (still a brash and, pardon the pun, hot headed youngster by phoenix standards).
Then there were the two giant arthropods Neptune and Saturn. Neptune was essentially a giant centipede, and was just as ugly as his terrestrial counterpart. With hundreds of legs and a black and yellow segmented body, he wasn’t exactly cuddly. His body worked like an electric eel or torpedo ray and could generate jolts of electricity. He could also burrow, curl up into a ball, and, surprisingly enough, swim. His predisposition towards food was more than murderous and his nonchalance in battle could be unnerving.
Saturn looked like a woodlouse, with diamond hard steel blue plates all over his body. Six legs and the power to create seismic activity were his primary weapons and his ability to roll up into a ball or spin like a top were also unique.
Mike’s dasharon was named Corona. Looking like a golden fox with seven tails, they were rare pets, said to bring the owners good luck (never gamble against a person with a dasharon). These tails could flash with pure sunlight, or be focused into powerful natural lasers.
Shadow was a strange looking creature. Looking like a small, black tyrannosaurus, he had a pair of hidden bat-like wings that could be extended at will. Though capable of firing shadow energy from his mouth, he preferred to fight with tail and claw, capable of smashing his opponents with immense strength.
And yes, I did say they were pets. Odd pets, but pets nonetheless.
Back in the bay the three friends returned fire at the ever increasing amount of droids. A few cadets had already fallen to the deadly barrage of blaster fire from the advancing army of relentless killers. Just as the last line of defense was about to fall a dozen droids were lifted into the air and exploded simultaneously.
“Looks like the cavalry has finally come.” Alan said hopefully.
Ted suddenly appeared, claws fully extended, slicing opponents to shreds. Fawkes blazed about spewing flames from his beak. Droids were impaled upon the sharp spikes that Saturn let loose from his shell. Even more were fried from lightning that arched from Neptune’s body. Corona’s tails melted robot after robot while Shadow’s claws smashed other foes. In minutes the six creatures had completely eliminated the opposing forces.
“It appears our job here is done,” Ted commented, gazing upon the smoldering wreckage that had once been an army.
“Can we eat now, I’m hungry, I’m starving, I’m…” Neptune started before a large, blunt, metal object struck him soundly between the eyes.
“Grit thenks tae ye lad.”
“No problem,” Alan responded, “he would have just kept going.”
“Thanks guys, we couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Yeah, you’re free to go now.”
“Ughh,” Neptune said groggily, “can…we…eat…n…”
CLANG
“Thanks Fawkes.”
“Nae probloom et all laddie.”
MS Battle
Tristan hopped into a Jegan. Jegans were light green in color. Rather than being heavily armored, they were extremely maneuverable and light. Armed with a rack of grenades on their hip, a beam machine gun, Vulcan cannons, and a shield, they were still competent mobiles suits. Tristan was a member of the 2nd Light Squadron, all of which used lightweight mobile suits capable of flight. His Jegan stood out however, with heavier armor, more powerful thrusters, a pair of machine cannons in the shoulders, and an advanced beam saber, all designed to fit his martial philosophy of close range combat.
Mike went to his Jagd Doga. With a huge armament of missiles, grenade launchers, a beam assault rifle, and mega particle cannons, it was a heavy assault suit. Though it had minimum speed and maneuverability, it was still very effective. Mike was a member of the 5th Heavy Dragoons, which used overwhelming firepower as their main tactic. Due to the already powerful nature of the Jagd Doga, Mike had simply added another pair vernier thrusters and a four-barreled beam machine gun in each shoulder.
Alan, on the other hand, went to his personalized Guntank. Barely considered a mobile suit, Guntanks have treads for legs, a pair of long range “Long Tom Cannons” on their shoulders, and a set of four grenade launchers for hands. Alan was a member of the 6th Artillery Division. His Guntank’s shoulder cannons had been redesigned to fire cluster shells and he added a pair of missile launchers to the arms.
Each suit’s eyes flashed with light as they turned to the hanger doors and exited.
“Flight One to rest of Flight squadron, do you copy?”
“Roger Flight One, let show these suits what for.”
“Big Gun One to rest of Big Gun division do you copy?”
“Roger Big Gun, let’s make some fireworks!”
“Sabre One to rest of Sabre dragoons, do you copy?”
“Copy Sabre One, let’s waste some ammo!”
Tristan and the rest of Flight squadron to the air and proceeded to rid the sky of the bombers that were dropping the shells on the base.
Dodge, dodge, shoot, block, Tristan thought.
Aiming carefully, he sprayed the air with his machine gun, the bullets shearing off a bomber’s wing, sending it careening into the ground.
Take that!
His victory was short lived as a fighter pounded him with a pair of missiles from behind. Swinging around in mid-air, he simultaneously fired his verniers and a salvo of rockets from his shield. All four struck the jet, sending plumes of smoke and fire into the air as the flaming wreck plummeted into the ground.
They just keep coming; there must be a dropship here somewhere.
Off from Tristan’s position, Alan and the rest of the Guntanks were readying their suits.
“All right people, let’s start the shooting!!” Alan cried, his anxiety and battle readiness, overpowering his normally calm nature.
Manning his own suit, Alan took less-than-careful aim and fired his cluster cannons. The shells soared, making burning paths as they streaked towards their targets. A split second before they hit the ground, the shells fragmented, erupting in multiple massive explosions. The enemy suits and tanks in the surrounding area were either destroyed or badly damaged.
“Right on target!”
“Alan you moron!” Tristan screamed.
“What?!”
“Not only did you take out the enemy, you nearly knocked me out of me out of
commission too!”
“Sorry, I didn’t see you!”
“How could you not see me, wouldn’t the explosions and Jegan suit be clues enough!”
“Well, you have to make yourself more noticeable!”
“Alright you two cut it out!” Mike yelled as he deftly sliced a Zaku’s arm off, and then proceeded to shred the next apart with his beam gun, “Clear the comm. channels for priority use only!”
“He started it!”
“No he did!”
“You shot at me!”
“You were in my way!”
“DID YOU HEAR ME!?” Mike shouted, losing his temper as the pair babbled on.
“Right, okay, no more bickering.”
“Hey, you were the one bickering!”
“Me, why you little…”
“That’s it I give up.” Mike really didn’t want a part in the conversation anymore.
Suddenly the explosions and decimation stopped.
“This doesn’t feel right at all…” Tristan murmured.
Suddenly the radio roared to life as another cadet screamed.
“It’s, it’s a Talon Dropsh…” Then the radio crackled with ominous static.
I knew it, there was a dropship. But now we have a serious problem.
The dropship loomed overhead like a deadly omen. PPC and Gauss blast rocked the cadets’ worlds as suit after suit exploded. The deadly light show arched across the sky, searing the region with flames. Smoke blinded the remaining suits as they vainly tried to search for the dropship that rained fire and brimstone on them.
Tristan took off into the sky, engines blazing, but was quickly forced back to the ground.
“There’s too much anti-air flak, I can’t stay up there. Mike we’re going to need the Dragoons’ firepower.”
“There aren’t any “dragoons” in the plural form left, if y’ know what I mean. But I’ll do the best a solo pilot can do.”
“Roger. Alan, how about some artillery support?”
“Not much I can do, my main guns got shot off. I can still use the grenade launchers though.”
“Good, I’ll try to get it with my grenades and missiles. Let’s do this.”
Quickly the only remaining members of Jaburo’s mobile suit forces quickly pulled themselves together and fought back.
Explosions rocked the Jagd Doga’s shoulders as eight missiles shot off and then plumed like fiery flowers. The beam gun lanced off shot after shot with the built-in grenade launcher adding to its firepower. Finally Mike activated the weapons he had been waiting to use. Their limited ammunition cut short their usage but their firepower was unchallenged in any other mobile suit design.
“Computer, activate remote particle cannon funnels.”
Six golden tubes wrenched themselves from the shoulders of the brawny mobile suit. Hovering in mid-air they slowly turned and automatically aimed and started charging. Orbs of light hovered in front of the cannons’ glowing tips. The shining spheres glowed and expanded until they reached the critical point. Then the globes exploded in luminous fury, sending their shafts of destruction towards the heavens. The lances of power struck the dropship’s underside sending plumes of flame racing along its surface.
“That enough support for you?!” Mike shouted, a maniacal laugh welling up inside him.
“I think so, Alan now!”
The Guntank’s grenade launchers opened fire upon the crippled dropship.
Shards of glass and twisted steel rained down upon the attackers from the fleeing dropship’s battered superstructure.
“Good just keep it up. I’ll finish him off.”
Picking up a bazooka from a fallen Zaku, Tristan took aim and fired.
The veritable straw that broke the camel’s back, the bazooka shell finally took down the dropship.
“Man, I thought that would never end, Tris were there…” Mike suddenly stopped, then finished quietly, “were…there any…confirmed ejections.” The smoke and flames that scorched the ground were a sobering sight. A cadet’s baptism of fire is a harsh lesson that cannot be forgotten.
“As far as I can tell, there were…three…only three.”
Alan eyes narrowed. “I’m gonna get the guys who did this.”
Mike had a grim look as well. “I’m with you there buddy.’
Tristan quietly added his comment, “I know we’re fighting for what’s right. But sometimes, sometimes I just wish we didn’t have to fight at all.”
A new voice crackled on the radio “Still, the naïve, idealistic warrior, eh Starwind.”
“What ever you say, Commandant Shrike.” Tristan had little or no respect for the Saurian commander. At seven feet, eight inches, the reptilian humanoid was an imposing sight, even to one familiar with the race. Tall with steel blue skin, Shrike’s arms rippled with muscles. Starwind despised him for his utter lack of humanity and caring, his hard militaristic nature clashing with Starwind’s hope for peace.
Shrike never missed a beat when it came to discipline, and Starwind’s obvious lack of respect grated his nerves. “Soldier, if you keep that attitude, you’ll have more than just a detention.”
Tristan grated his teeth. You heartless monster, your students just died out there, don’t you care? “Sorry, sir! I am a naïve idealist sir! What do I know about combat sir!”
“You three are needed back at base. We’re reading zoids on long range sensors. You three are some of the only cadets who know how to pilot them.”
Alan looked at the Commandant strangely, “Aren’t you going to organize a search-and-rescue…sir?”
“When we find the time for that. For now, just get over here.”
When you find the time, Alan thought in disgust, don’t you care about the wounded cadets out there. I’m starting to think that what Tris says is right. You really are one of those commanders who think people like us are “expendable”.
Hoping and praying for their downed comrades, the trio sped back to base.
