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For 35yrs the border between the Human Empire and Gorgonzola Empire as remained mostly peaceful. The citizens for the Human Empire of this border region are loyal to the last man, woman, and child to the Empire. It was on one of these worlds that gave birth to a legend. The world of Apollo 6 is one of the harshest worlds within the Empire. One so harsh that only it could claim to be the birth world of James J. Owens, the most feared of Death Dealers. A world that is even now poised to give birth to a new legendary warrior. One who shall be baptized in the blood of the Empire’s enemies. Robert Wolff youngest great grandchild of James Owens’ sister Cecilia Owens.

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Chapter 8
Pirate Jump point, Apollo 6, Highlands system
Bridge of the Mary Edwards Walker, Corsair Class dropship.

Captain Sparrow looked over his bridge crew. He knew that what they were about to do was close to insanity. A high-speed, low orbit pass over the northern Continent of Apollo 6. Looking over at his cargo master. “Marks are our guests ready?”

“Well, they’re wearing their drop armor. So, I can guess that they are, Captain.” The man answered with a sly smile.

“Captain are we really going to do this? I mean there’s two carrier battlegroups between us and that planet. This isn’t our normal smuggling run either.” The helmsman asked from his position at the wheel.

“Spenser the only way I’m turning down the pay for this contract is when hell freezes over and the Devil himself is serving ice-cream. Now move us into position for the run.” He looked back over at the cargo master. “Pass the word Marks. We drop in t-minus fifteen.”

“Aye, Captain.” Both men called out. Hearing this the rest of the bridge crew set about their own tasks for this unusual smuggling run.

“Comms at my command raise the flag. Guns ready a widespread barrage of beam splitters, missiles, and torpedoes. Hold back on the main guns in case we get boxed in. Medical get the sickbay ready for casualties.” Sparrow ordered as he turned to look at the ship’s Doctor. “And pray we don’t need your skills, Lissa.”

“From you lips to God’s ears Captain.” The ship’s Doctor Lissa Stein whispered to the back of her ship’s captain as the man continued to give out the orders that would decide their fate. “I’ll be ready Captain.”

“Helm bring us about. Engineering full military power to all reactors. Remove the limiters Chief. Navigation plot us a course over the Northern Polar cap.” Sparrow took a deep breath before giving his final command. “All stations! Commence Combat Operations! HOLST THE BLACK FLAG!”

With those final four words the bridge crew carried out their orders. Deep on the bowels of the Mary Edwards Walker the twin Fleod Drums fusion reactors roared to their full power. For the first time in forty years the full military grade power of those two-hundred-year-old reactors came online. Unlike most Corsair dropships, the Mary Edwards Walker had stayed out of the fighting in the last war. The small, fast, heavily armed, and agile ship had only worked as an Intelligence gathering asset on the boarder of the Gorgonzola Empire. It was in truth nothing more than a civilian spy ship in the employment of the Human Empire.

Now that the order had been given, she was showing her true purpose and hidden military power. For the first time sense the young man took command for his father, the legendary Pirate Captain Daniel Sparrow, Captain Johnathan Sparrow was taking his ship into harm’s way as a true Pirate Captain. All he could do now was stand back and let his crew carry out his orders. He felt his ship surge forward at an ever-increasing speed. The words of a long dead poet came to mind as they sped through the blockade. “Cry ‘Havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war!”

“Aye, Captain!” The bridge called out as one. Over the last few years, they had come to trust their Captain. He may have come amongst them as an untrained teenager. Yet his natural ability to lead and insane piloting skills marked him as the true heir to his family’s legacy of piracy.

Cargo hold #1, Mary Edwards Walker

I strapped the last piece of my drop armor into place. I moved my arms and flexed my legs. Double checking that there was not pinching or binding. I always hated wearing the bulky armor needed for Extreme-High-Altitude Jumps. I take the time to double check my drop ‘bag’. The four-foot-long canister made from Durraloy Plasteel. Flipping open the canister I make sure that my weapons are secure and protected. Especially the CheyTac Industries SEM-200 Mark 41 Snipper’s Intervention rifle. Even after serval millennia CheyTac was still the primer firearms manufacturer of long rang sniper rifles. This beauty was their top of the line. Celest put the specs for the rifle up on my HUD.

Action Type: CheyTac Long Action w/40 MOA Base
Effective Range: 2500+ Yards
Caliber: .408 or .375 CheyTac®
Sub MOA
Overall Length: 56 inches
Interchangeable Barrels:
29” .408 Cal Twist 1:10
29” .375 Cal Twist 1:9.5
Weight: 31 lbs
Stock: retractable
Trigger: Timney Elite Hunter 1.5-4lb adjustable

‘That is one nasty piece of iron, Robert. You sure you don’t want to change out that beast for the Hellsign Castle Arms SEM-98? It’s still not too late.’

‘Celest with all of the stupid fracked up shit concerning this mission.’ I told her as I put my hand on the rifle, I had carried sense I had graduated from Snipper School. ‘This is the one thing that has remained true. I know this rifle has never let me down. I’m not about to go fracking with something that works. Especially not this late in the fracking damned game.’

‘Far be it for me to screw with what weapons you choose Robert. I was just offering you an alternative to the CheyTac. After all the SEM-98 is a larger caliber, has a greater reach, and greater impact.’

‘That’s true Celest, but I surrender the accuracy of the SEM-200 for that range and impact. With what we’re doing I need the accuracy more. Remember this is about raising the rebel forces to the level of a real army. The only way to do that is through winning the hearts and minds of the Apollo 6 citizens.’ I pointed out to her as I closed the drop bag and secured the case.

‘Robert, I have to ask. What are our chances of raising the army that you’re talking about? I would like an honest answer.’

‘It won’t take much Celest. There is something not in your database. It concerns the people of Apollo 6. It’s the mentality of the people concerning the Cheeseheads. There is a hatred that runs soul deep among them that the only way for the Cheeseheads to pacify the planet is through genocide. They will have to kill every last man, woman, and child born on Apollo 6. If they don’t it won’t matter how long they occupy the planet. They’ll never know peace. If you want an example of the average Apollo 6 citizen just take a hard look at me. On my home planet I’m no one special there but in the rest of the Empire I stand out. Just like anyone else from Apollo 6 would stand out. We are a rude, crude, sociably unacceptable, and totally uncivilized lot compared to the rest of the Empire’s citizens.’ I chuckled. ‘Believe me. The people of my home planet are already giving the Cheeseheads hell.’

“Yo, Gunner. We just got the word. We drop in fifteen. You ready?” Iceman asked.

“Yeah, I’m ready, Iceman. The drop tubes ready for deployment?” I asked.

“All set, bro.” Iceman chuckled knowing how much I hated the damned things.

“Then there is nothing left to do but strap in, I guess. What about our friend? She ready to go?” I asked looking around for Blackjack.

“She’s in the center line tube, position one. Both of the LTs are in positions two and three. I hate to say this bro but you’re in position four.” Iceman held out his hand to me. “Spit in her eye.”

“Spit in her eye, Iceman.” I said taking his hand and giving it a firm shack. “See you on the ground Ice.”

I grabbed my drop bag and helmet then climbed into my drop tube. After I pulled on my tactical drop helmet then closed the drop capsule. I let my mind fall away and surrendered my fate to the whims of chance. I checked the timer for the drop. We just passed the T-minus 8 mark. I heard the launch tube open at the far end. I felt the first of the drop cases move into firing position. I knew that it was about time for us to make our departure. I could feel the heat of the dropship cutting into the upper atmosphere. It won’t be long now. I checked the countdown one more time. Damn where did the time go? Thirty seconds to drop.

I watched as the countdown seemed to crawl towards zero. When it finally reached zero, I felt the first capsules fire. The drop model took up the majority of the cargo hold was made up of four rapid firing tubes. Each tube was feed automatically. Each tube had its own magazine. Each magazine could hold ten manned drop capsules or twenty decoy capsules. The decoy capsules would fall faster into the atmosphere than the manned capsules. They would explode at random altitudes filling the sky with radar scattering chaff, laser reflective foil, or launch high intensity flares. Everything one could think of to draw off the air defense artillery batteries. The mess those decoys made of the air above a landing zone was enough to cause an AI driven ADA battery to the point of meltdown. They would be the first magazine to empty itself. Simply because it didn’t need to take precautions with its cargo.

I felt my capsule slam home into the firing chamber. The next thing I felt I was g-forces of being fired out the end of the launch tube. For a few seconds all I felt was weightlessness. “Damn that pilot is good. Nice and level. Perfectly parallel to the planet’s gravity well. Hope like hell he gets his ship and crew out safely. If not, I’ll repay the Cheeseheads for their arrogance in attacking Apollo.”

Then it hit. The full force of Apollo 6’s gravity. I felt the drop capsule nose down and cut into the upper reaches of the atmosphere. “I FRACKING HATE ORBITAL INSERTIONS! JUST ONCE I WOULD LOVE TO MAKE LANDFALL IN AN ASSAULT SHUTTLE!”

‘Quite your bitching! It could be worse. We could be making a container drop.’ Celest snapped voicing her own bitch about our insertion method. Not that I blamed her. Even I hated container drops.

No one I know likes those. I mean you’re strapped into a twenty-foot-round ball with nine other people. That ball is dropped from low earth orbit. You actually fall like a giant rock. No chutes to slow you down. Only the padding and inertia damper to prevent injury at the end of your journey. Nine times out of ten you usually land in a body of water. Most of the time it’s a river or lake. The rest of the time you stand a good chance of hit an ocean. Then it’s a long swim to dry land. That is the only saving grace about a container drop. The containers float for about thirty minutes before sinking out of sight. Long enough for the passengers to get clear with their gear.

I feel the first two outer layers sluff off adding to the surrounding insanity that the decoys have created. Out of trained reflex I flip the switch for the air brakes. I feel them dig into the atmosphere slowing my descent. Next, I feel the drag chute deploy slowing me even more. After three seconds I feel it pull away taking the third outer layer with it. Just two more layers and I’ll be free. I can finally activate my HUD and scan the area around my drop capsule. Just as I feared. The ADA batteries are targeting the decoys as fast as they can. With this kind of fire, they were sure to hit more than a few of my fellow Death Dealers. I rotated my capsule scanning for the two LTs.

Then much to my horror I watched as both 1stLt Dan Strowman and 2ndLt Micha James were blasted from the skies. When I saw this, I hit the manual ride on my drop capsule blowing the last two capsule shells. I let myself drop clear of the casings. “Frack this shit. I’m not going to die fifty-five miles in the air. Time to take matters into my own hands.”

I flipped over into a headfirst position. I grabbed the cord for my drop bag and pulled it in tight to my body. I let myself drop like a bullet towards the ground below. I use my sensors to scan the area ahead of me. “Oh shit! Not good, not good at all. Celest weren’t we supposed to be dropped over the Dertrie Tundra?”

‘Yes. Why are you asking? Isn’t that it below us?’

“Oh frack! We’re more than a thousand miles off target. That’s the Stamburg Ice Sheet below us. Where are the rest of the teams?” I asked her quickly fighting down my panic. If I was this far-off target. Then who knows where the rest of the team will land. If at all.

‘Robert, we have a problem. The Fallen Angles aren’t landing where they’re supposed to land. The rest of the Black Saints are also off target. None of us are anywhere near to being on target. In short we’re screwed.’

“Yup, we’re screwed alright. At least I know where we’re landing. Keep an eye on the rest of the teams for as long as you can Celest. We’ll have to make arrangements for hookup at some time.” I looked down at the vast expanse of the glacier known as the Stamburg Ice Sheet. It didn’t matter where I landed on that ice. It was going to be a bitch of a walk home.

I double check my altimeter. I still have 40 miles before I need to open my main chute. I have got to get below 2000ft before popping my main chute. Even if I skeleton all the way it’s going to take me 30 seconds to reach my target altitude. Way too long to be hanging in midair with all the ADA fire. I can only hope that the hits that killed the LTs were luck. I rotated and looked to where they should be falling next to me. “There but for the grace of god.”

‘Don’t go getting all mushy on me kiddo. They both knew the odds when they climbed into their capsules. They’re the same ones that you and the others faced. I don’t care what those shitheads in the High Command say. The odds are the odds. They’re the same for every Death Dealer and Jump Infantry Soldier making an orbit drop insertion. One wrong mistake on the part of the dropship helmsman and you’re spread across thousands of miles. Worse you never get out the tube as the dropship burns up in the upper atmosphere. We’re free and clear. Now keep your eye on the altimeter. We're getting near the point of no return.’

“You can say that again sister. Start the countdown.” I ordered as I scanned the glacier’s surface. I had the feeling that this was going to be a hard landing. “Frack I hate landing in an icefield.”

‘It could be worse. We could be landing in the swamps or even a straight up water landing in a lake or river.’

“Not helping, Celest.” I snarled as my altimeter finally dropped below 1200ft. I flipped over so was I feet down and pulled the ripcord for my drop bag. Once it fell away, I pulled the ripcord on my parachute. The sharp jerk of my main chute opening let me know that it had fully deployed. I quickly looked up double checking the canopy, raisers, and guidelines. Praying that I wouldn’t need to pull the ripcord on the reserve chute. Not that it’ll help at this altitude. Not when I’m carrying an extra 200lbs of gear. “Looks like I’ll make down in one piece.”

“Gunner this is Blackjack. Over”

“Go for Gunner, Over” I answered over the radio.

“What is your location Gunner, Over.”

I brought up the map for the surrounding area. “I’m touching down at grid eight-two-nine-four-six by seven-six-seven-five-seven on the Stamburg Ice Sheet, Blackjack. What is your LZ, Over.”

“Two kicks magnetic north of your LZ. Still on the Sheet. Over.”

Damn. We’re spread the frack out worse than I thought. “Blackjack are you in contact with the rest of the team, Over.”

“Negative, Gunner. I lost contact with the rest of your team members. Did you see what happened to the Mustangs, Over?”

“They bought the farm halfway down in the drop, Blackjack. They dropped right into the sights for a battery of a Requiem Gatling Cannons. They never stood a chance, Over.” I could still see their deaths at the firepower of those massive ADA guns.

“Damn. Did the Mary Edwards Walker clear the area, Over?”

“No idea, Blackjack. Until I blew the inner shells, I didn’t even know that we were over the wrong drop zone. Over” I bitched.

“Gunner did the other teams make their assigned drop zones. Over”

“Negative, Blackjack. According to my scans both teams will miss their LZs by a good distance. How far they’ll be off is anyone’s guess. Thanks to those mountains on each side of the Sheet. We’re totally cut off from them. Over.” I quickly explained just before I rolled after hitting the icy sheet of the glacier. I quickly pulled the release to my raisers collapsing the canopy.

I quickly ran over to my drop bag 20ft away from me. I opened the lid and pulled out the entrenching tool. I began to break up the ice. I knew that I had to burry my chute fast. Blackjack came up on the radio once more. “Gunner did you get a fix on those Requiem Gatling Cannons. Over.”

“That’s a roger Blackjack. You in the mood for payback. Over” I asked chuckling.

“With interest, Gunner. Rally at grid seven-two-nine-four-six by seven-six-seven-five-seven. We’ll make our plans there. Out.”

“Copy that Blackjack. Out.” I went back to the job at hand. Once I had the hole dug, I broke out the rest of my gear. I quickly stripped off the drop armor. Once I was dressed in my BDUs and had secured my gear from the drop bag I put in the hole on top of the chute and rigging. Once I the hole was covered with snow and ice, I headed towards the rally point with Blackjack.

Bridge of the Mary Edwards Walker

Captain Sparrow looked over at his Helmsmen. “Talk to me Spencer. Are we going to clear the blockade in one piece?”

“I’m doing my best here, Captain.” Spencer called out over the roar of the engines. “As it stands, we got a one-in-one-thousand chance.”

“Spencer how many times do I have to tell you.” Sparrow yelled. Only to be interrupted by the rest of the bridge crew.

“NEVER TELL US THE ODDS!”

The two heavy destroyers cutting across their flightpath opened fire with their main guns. The ship’s Weapons Officer was already returning fire. Sparrow watched as four extreme-highspeed Mark-58n torpedoes left their catapults. He turned to his Weapons Officer. “GUNS! Those fracking monsters better hit the god damned target. If they miss, I’m taking their cost out of your paycheck.”

“Don’t worry Captain. They’ll hit. I won’t use them if there was any chance at missing.” The Weapons Officer laughed. “Besides, we can always charge the Crown for their use and get reimbursed.”

“Dammit Guns that is not the point. Those beauties cost half a million per unit.” Sparrow bitched. “And we only had twelve of them in stores.”

“Eight now, Captain. Don’t worry I’ll make them all count.” The Weapons Officer promised as he input the next target on his console.

“Captain we’ll clear the southern artic zone in five minutes. Once we’re over the southern pole we can make a run for the stars. The blockade has more holes in it than a sieve.” Spencer called back as cranked the wheel hard over to port. The Corsair Class dropship rolled hard to port as twelve beams of highly charged particles burned through the air where the ship would have passed.

“CAPTAIN! There’s a battleship three points of the starboard stern and closing.” The Sensor Operations officer called out. “WE need to take evasive action.”

“Coming hard to starboard.” Spencer called out.

“Belay that! All stations! Full power to the engines! Emergency assent! Tactical give me a full spread of missiles and torpedoes! Target that battleship! We go for the stars now! We’ll take our chances in deep space.” Sparrow yelled just before the ship was struck serval times in the stern. “Oh shit! Damage report!”

Before the Engineering Officer could give the report, the ship was hit again. This time Sparrow didn’t need a report to know they were in deep trouble. The bow of the ship started to nose over. They had just lost at least one of their engines. “Helm use the gravity well and slingshot us out of here.”

“I’ll try Captain. It’s going to be hard with only one engine.” Spencer yelled. Even as he was trying to carry out his new orders. The bridge crew knew this plan was a last-ditch effort to escape the planet and blockade. They all knew that there was no escaping the battleship and its escort. When the fighters started their attack, Sparrow knew it was all over.

“It’s been a pleasure serving with you all. Transfer all controls to my station. Give the order Comms. Abandon ship!” Sparrow called out just before both reactors went into overdrive and exploded. The death of the Mary Edwards Walker would be witnessed only by the crews of the Gorgonzola ships and one lone pirate ship coming to her aid in high orbit. As the Gorgonzola battleship and its escort ships headed for the stars pieces of the Mary Edwards Walker fell into the empty sea below.

Drop Zone 1

Sergeant First Class Adam ‘Ace’ Wilder looked around at the rest of the Black Saints. “Any word on the others Skipjack?”

“Sorry Ace. Nothing. We lost contact with Gunner, Blackjack, and the LTs ten seconds into the drop. I can only speculate but it’s a good bet that they all bought the farm.” Skipjack sighed then gave the really shitty part of his report. “Thanks to that fracked up deployment none of us hit our assigned drop points. None of us are we’re were supposed to be, Ace.”

“How far-off target are we Skipjack?” Asked one of the other team members.

“Anywhere between one to two-hundred miles, Redman. To honest I have no real way of knowing. Until we can get a secure satellite uplink to contact the other team, we’re on our own. The real kick in the ass is we’re going to have to rely on our AI’s internal navigation GPS. That and the map download. We also have one other problem. Without Blackjack and Gunner, we have no intel on the local population.” Skipjack the man honestly. “As for the Fallen Angles let’s just hope like hell, they made it down as a whole team.”

“Any idea of where we are Skipjack?” Asked the only elf on their team.

“That is the only good news in this frack up, Splinter. We may have missed our drop zone but we’re still inside the Deerfield Forest.” Pointing towards the southeast Skipjack continued. “If we head in that direction. We’ll hit Sario in two days.”

“Then that’s where we’ll head.” Ace grunted then turned to the teams sniper. “Specter move out and scout our path.”

The tallest member of the Black Saints just nodded his head as he unslung his rifle and disappeared into the surrounding woods. Ace just shook his head as the man seemed to vanish among the trees and undergrowth. In seconds, the team’s sniper was living up to his reputation and call sign. Ace turned to the others. “Time to move out Saints. We still got a mission to carry out.”

Drop Zone 2

“Jukebox you got anything on that damned radio yet?” Tigger asked hopefully.

“Nothing Tigger. Either we’re out of range for the others or they’re dead. With the Black Saints I’m sure that most of them made it down. As for those that went out the center line tube. I’m pretty sure they all bough the farm.” Jukebox told her sadly. “I caught their flight path on my HUD, Tigger. There was no way anyone could have known the position of those Requiem Gatling Cannons.”

“We all knew going into this that Gunner’s chances were next to nothing Tigger. When was the last time a One actually made landfall in a combat drop?” Iceman asked her coldly. “Come on Tigger think about it? You’re our Medic. Of us all you know the odds better than any of us.”

“Damn. At least he got to see his home world before buying the farm.” Tigger sighed as she thought about the massive firepower of those ADA guns.

“Alright people we still have mission. Let’s get it done. This time it’s personal for us all. This is payback for Gunner.” Iceman told them all as he stepped up as the team’s new CO. “Snow where were we supposed to rendezvous with the locals?”

“If we had hit our original DZ we would rendezvous with the local resistance twenty-one klicks to the south of the DZ.” Snow took a few minutes to access his AI internal navigation GPS. When it took longer than he expected to access the planetary GPS system Snow swore up a blue streak. “God damned, mother humping, shit fracking, no good, cock sucking, lousy dumb ass, son-of-bitching, pilot. He couldn’t even hold his flight path long enough to put us down near our original DZ.”

“Where exactly are we Snow?” Iceman asked with really worry in his voice of the team’s Intelligence and Surveillance Specialist.

“Not where we were supposed to be that’s for damned sure. We’re more than a thousand miles off target, Iceman. We were supposed to land on the southeastern edge of the Dertrie Tundra. We were smack dab in the middle of the Northern Rat Steppes.” Snow spat out through clenched teeth. “The nearest population center is Lineberry two-hundred miles to the east of where we are now.”

“Frack! If we’re that far off target is there anything, we can do to effect the outcome of this war?” Rimfire asked of Snow.

“It doesn’t matter.” Snapped Iceman. “We were given a mission. We’re Death Dealers. We either win or die by our own actions.”

The other five members of the Fallen Angles stood straight calling out for the very Heavens to hear. “Death is dealt by our hands!”

“Let’s move out people.” Icemen told them all. “Time to raise a little hell.”

Grid 72946 by 76757, Stamburg Ice Sheet

I wanted to smile as Blackjack walked up to me from across the glacier icefield. She may be a cyborg but behind that metal face lies the mind and soul a human. Thank the gods for this fact. Because I doubt that I could deal with an inhuman machine. “Nice to see you made it Blackjack.”

“Same.” Was all she said as she slung her M-93 Savage assault rifle over her shoulder. “You got a heading for those Gatlings?”

“Two points off magnetic east. Thirty-seven klicks from here. Just off the glacier. In the north end of the next valley over. If we want to get our payback. We need to get a move on. Those ADA batteries will be moving soon.” I told her honestly. “That’s if they follow SOP.”

“How sure are you of that Gunner?”

“Enough to bet my life on it, Blackjack. As for how long we have till they’re ready to move. We’re got a window of about nine hours. Give or take a half hour.” I answered her honestly. “It’ll all depend on how fast those gun crews can get their weapons broken down and ready for travel.”

“Wait. I thought that all ADA weapons were mobile.”

“Most are Blackjack. The KT-105 Requiem Gatling Cannon is the exception. Those monsters have to be hard mounted in some kind of fixed emplacement to fire with any accuracy. The recoil of those monsters would flip a standard mobile platform. It takes a good team nine hours to setup or break down their gun system. A true fast gun crew can get the job done in seven hours. A piss poor crew will take close to twelve hours.” I explained as we started walking in the direction of the guns. “Once they’re up though. They can target anything within their firing arch with damned near perfect accuracy. No matter how much chaff or how many flares get thrown out over their positions. If you’re dropping anywhere near just one of them, you end up with a fifty-fifty chance of making it down.”

“That explains why the two LTs didn’t make it down.”

“Like the saying goes. ‘When your time is up, your time is up. And there’s nothing you can do to change the outcome.’ The Lieutenants had the bad luck of getting targeted by those Requiems. We got lucky being the last two out the centerline tube. Those guns were already in target acquisition over our drop zone. They locked onto the first two drop capsules. That’s where we got lucky. We were both deep in the decoy chaff and flair coverage. If we had been further down, then it is a sure bet that we won’t be having this little conversation.” I grunted.

“I must say Gunner. You have an extremely fatalistic point of view about the deaths of your fellow Death Dealers. Not at all like that of your ancestor.”

“Got news for you Blackjack. Death’s own Daughter grew up with the same attitude that I still have. She just learned to hide it better. This is Apollo six. Of all the worlds in the Empire. There are only a very few where life is cheaper. More than once I barely escape with my life as a kid growing up on this planet. There is a very harsh saying about life on Apollo six. ‘For thirty credits you can get a woman for the night. For twenty credits you can get a bottle of liquor. For ten credits you can get your throat slit.’ I know that you didn’t play cards much during your time here on Apollo six. So, I’ll give you a fast lesson. Never try to bluff your way out of a shitty hand. Because nine times out of ten. The other guy will cut your hand off for cheating.” I rubbed my left hand out of habit as I told her that little piece of advice. I can still feel the scare that was once there.

“I take it that one of your fellow Apollo six citizen tried to teach that lesson?”

“He did more than teach me the lesson. I was fourteen at the time. If it hadn’t been for my upgrade, I’d show you the scare.” I chuckled as I waved my left hand.

“Is it true that Lord James Owens is some kind of legend here on Apollo?”

“More than just a legend. He represents hope for the common people of Apollo. The street punk raised to the highest rank among the finest soldiers in the Emperor.” For some reason I felt that I could open up to this woman of steel. “When I was a kid running the streets of my home. I hated the fact that I was related to the man called Death. It got me into more than a few fights before my parents were killed during the last Cheesehead raid.”

“Tell me something Gunner. What are the chances of those KT-105 Requiem Gatling Cannons being in just the right location to shoot down the LTs?”

“Truthfully. The only reason I can think of them being there is a live fire exercise. Though that is not the heart of the problem. The KT-105 is an Empyreal weapons system. Either the Cheeseheads killed off all the Death Dealers on Apollo six or one of the local rebellion factions has taken control of the planetary armory. Either way it can only mean trouble for any relief force the Empire tries to land here.” I slowly explained for Blackjack.

“What do you know that I don’t Gunner?”

“Just the full Tactical Operations Equipment listing for Apollo’s planetary arsenal. Not just those belonging to the Death Dealer division but every military unit on Apollo. Those KT-105s are the least of our problems when it comes to Air Defense Artillery units. If we were on the Eastern continent, we would have faced D-K-five-Y Grizzly Self-Propelled Air Defense Lasers. Just one of those monsters is strong enough to bring an Ogre class dropship with no problems. Currently there are twenty-five in the planetary arsenal.” As I laid out the situation for Blackjack, I had a feeling that she was shitting gold bricks.

“What else are we facing if the Cheeseheads have control of the planetary arsenal?”

“Depends on if the Cheeseheads can get the access codes to the underground armories. If we have too we can trigger the self-destruct for those facilities.” I looked over to her. “That is a last resort Blackjack.”

“I understand Gunner, but we may need to look into alternative methods for denying the Cheeseheads access to those armories. Any ideas?”

“Just one. We hack into the planetary AI control and reset all the locks to a dead man switch. Enter the wrong code three times and boom. No more armory.” I told her honestly. “It’s not perfect, but it will buy us time.”

“What about the local resistance? Couldn’t they use those weapons.”

“Sure, they could use them. Only problem is I know how the people of Apollo think. They would snatch up those weapons and go charging head long at the Cheeseheads. They would only end up getting themselves killed. Until they’re trained in the use of those weapons. We do our best to keep those weapons out of the locals’ hands.” I quickly explained for Blackjack. “You may have been here for some time it doesn’t matter. You’re not a local. You would be hard pressed to understand the mindset.”

“Brash, pigheaded, rude, crude, socially unacceptable, and totally distrustful of the government. Does that about sum up the attitude?”

“Yup that about sums it up neatly. I guess you do understand the attitude. It is one of the reasons that the Cheeseheads have always had a hard time on this planet. We don’t take kindly to shithead strangers pushing us around.” I told her with a nasty chuckle. “It may take us a while to get going.”

“But when you do. Nothing stops you except death.” The cyborg chuckled. “We’ve heard that about the people of Apollo six. Though right now we have a more pressing problem. Namely how do you plan on taking out those guns without any explosives?”

“Oh, we don’t have to worry about explosives. That little problem has been taken care of by the guns themselves.” I chuckled harder.

“You’ll have to forgive me Mister Wolff. My field of expertise is espionage and sabotage. Not guerilla warfare.” Blackjack pointed out with a chuckle of her own.

“The KT-105s are nasty pieces of work for sure. They’re one of the few ADA weapons that can kill just how everything in the air with any real certainty. They earn that kill rate because of the ammunition they use. That is both their strength and they weakness. You see the KT-105 use an actual high explosive round. Rounds that if not transported or stored correctly become highly unstable.” I patted my SEM-200 and snarled. “One well-placed shot and those HE rounds will do the rest.”

“Just how large of an explosion are we talking about here?” Blackjack asked.

“One that will set off a chain reaction of sympathetic explosions. The only thing that will be left is a smoking hole in the ground. The other weak point for those guns is the A-4-W-29 Curator Fire Support Vehicle. That is the fire and control AI for the whole battery. Four armor piercing rounds from this in the right spot and the A-4-W-29 is nothing more than a forty-ton useless paperweight.” Blackjack laughed at my comment about an armored vehicle being a useless paperweight.

“My only question is can you make those shoots?”

“Don’t worry about me making the shot. I just need a halfway decent Spotter. Anything in your training to help with that?” I asked her bluntly.

“I can help in that capacity. I won’t even need to use your Vector XVII laser range finder for that.” Blackjack snarked.

“That’s good because the Vector, ABC, and KESTREL are all with Rimfire. He’s my normal spotter and one hell of shoot with a M-ninety-three Savage assault rifle. Not that it will matter in the long run. If I have too, I can make the shots on my own. I do have one of the most advanced AIs known to man stuffed in my head.” I couldn’t help it as I tap the side of my forehead. I smirked.

“There is that. Now that I have you alone. Would you care to explain to me exactly HOW you have the same IFF code as the Empress Maiha?” Blackjack demanded.

“Seeing as how we have about three hours to kill. I guess I could tell you the story of the poor dumbass from the planet Apollo six and his Mark Two Second Gen Omega/Assault class Death Dealer AI, Celest.” I told her with a crooked smile and flippant wave of my left hand. For the next hour and half, I explained how I ended up sharing IFF codes with the Empress Maiha Nakatoma and one First High Lord of the Death Dealers; Commander James J Owens. When I reached part where the good doctor had dared to hack the Royal Archives. I thought that Blackjack was going to pop a damned fuse. In her case that could cause problems in a very real way. Problems along the lines of a nuclear reactor overload.

As we walked and talked, I noticed that Blackjack’s mechanical voice had a soft lilting accent to it. It was similar to the accent I heard as a kid around the port area of Goulcrest. The more she talked the more I realized that this cyborg would be perfectly at home aboard any of the small to medium sized freighters. We were about a thousand feet below the summit of the ridgeline when I had to ask. “Tell me something, Blackjack. What are you going to do when you finally retire? Head back out to deep space in your own ship?”

“Why do you think I will retire Gunner? I am a cyborg after all. I have no need to retire. I can operate for another two or three hundred years. If I don’t push matters too far. I can reach easily four to five hundred years.”

“You do realize that it’s against Imperial law for you to work beyond your seventh decade in Imperial Service. If you were a regular civilian, you can work for as long as you want.” I gave the cyborg as hard a look as I could. “But you’re not a normal civilian. You work for the Human Empyreal Government. After seventy years they have to give you your retirement. Doesn’t matter if you like it or not. You’re out. I figure that you’re about halfway to your mandatory retirement age. If not closer.”

“How do you figure that Gunner?”

“Simple. You’re the only person who has tripped to the fact that my IFF code is damned near a perfect copy for Wave Dancer’s. Then you went so far as to challenge my IFF in public. That means you’ve been around for more than thirty years. My guess is you’re one of the original Hands of the Emperor. If not the very first.” I figured that I had nothing to lose by confronting the cyborg. As it stands, I knew that our chances of surviving the attack on those guns were next to nothing.

“Your ability to see what others have not is remarkable, Robert Wolff. You will make a truly remarkable Wallace when the time comes. Though I do wonder at your rather bold declaration. Why do you ask now?”

“You want the truth?” I asked her only to get a nodded of her head. “Fine I’ll tell you. Our odds at surviving this attack are damned near zero.”

“How do you figure that?”

“The moment I fire my first shot we’re sure to be targeted by the troops manning those guns. If they can get those gatling guns pointed in our direction, it’s all over with. Those guns will level this mountainside in microseconds. Nothing can survive a point-blank blast from those guns.” I explained honestly. “Not even a Raider Class dropship can stand up to that kind of firepower.”

“Then we’ll die with honor. Just do me a favor. Make sure your one-shot counts.” Blackjack looked down into the valley as she crossed over the crest of the ridgeline. She held up her hand stopping me. “Robert you said they would be breaking down their guns. Exactly what all does that entail?”

“There is about eight steps in total, but the first step is to actually lower the barrel into the horizontal position level to the ground. This may sound easy, but the truth is it is much harder. Mainly because the barrel comes in two parts. If you lower the barrel without supporting the muzzle end first. The barrel will snap.” As I was explaining the process for transporting the guns something clicked. “Why?”

“Because nothing is going on down there. From what I can tell all of the gun crews have gathered around one of those transports.” Blackjack said as she pointed towards the ADA unit down below in the valley.

I quickly moved into position setting up my rifle. What I saw made me smile. Only the smile never reached my eyes. “That is no transport, Blackjack.”

“What is it then?”

“That is the greatest weak point for KT-105 Requiem Gatling Cannon Air Defense Artillery unit. B1-V7 Shooting Star Artillery Command and Supply Vehicle.” I told her as I lined up for my first and hopefully my last shot. “Unlike the A-4-W-29 that bad boy is actually carries the fuses for the HE rounds.”

“Why?”

“The fuses for the KT-105 are programable. They can be set to explode at certain altitudes. That’s what makes the KT-105 so damned deadly. They don’t have to hit their target directly. They just can kill with a near miss.” I explained as I placed the crosshairs of my sights on the armored command vehicle. “That beast may not control the actual fire of those guns, but it gives those guns their power.”

“Then all you have to do is actually hit one of those fuses? Can you do that?”

“With this rifle.” I chuckled as I locked my sights onto the weakest point of the control module for the B1-V7. I slowly squeeze the trigger until I see the red dot of a hard lock. Celest gives the wind, inclination, and elevation for my target. I make a slight adjustment to compensate for the crosswind on the valley floor. I let my smile grow as I count the number of personnel surrounding the B1-V7. “You were right about the gun crews gathering around that monster. Do you see those uniforms? They’re not regular Gorgonzola military. That my friend is a militia unite.”

“Are you telling me that the people manning those guns are Apollo six citizens?”

“Not exactly. You see over the last few decades there has been a steady increase of dissatisfaction with the local government. Those groups have steadily gained in popularity with the local citizens. I would be willing to bet that the Cheeseheads have promised those militia units all kinds of horseshit to fight on their side. The biggest promise would be total control over their individual regions.” As I explained about how the militia units had come into being on Apollo 6. I made my final calculations for my shot. “I suggest you get down Blackjack.” I warned her just before squeezing the trigger. “God gave his archangels weapons, because even the Almighty knew you don't fight evil with tolerance and understanding.”

My rifle barked and the recoil drove the butt into my shoulder. I released the magnetic charge started the sequence of death and destruction by sending the round down the barrel. Unlike most sniper rifles, the CheyTac Industries M-200 Mark 4 is in truth a man portable Gauss rifle. The sheer power of this weapon can kill an APS pilot in their cockpit with a single round. The round I fired was also unique to the M-200. No other sniper rifle fires a depleted uranium, long-rod, armor-piercing, fin-stabilized, discarding sabot round. The sheer kinetic force that was delivered by the round traveling at over 3,000 meters per second was equal to more than 20tons per square inch slammed into the B1-V7.

The resulting impact crushed the vehicle’s command module as if it was made from wet cardboard. The fuses contained inside exploded in response. The sudden explosion killed the gather gun crews in a blinding flash of light and heat. The blast sent shockwaves through the encampment area. Just as I had expected. The rounds for the KT-105s began to explode in sympathetic reactions. The result was sheer destruction of the surrounding area and ADA unit. Not even I was prepared for the destruction that I witnessed in the valley floor.

“By the gods!” Blackjack whispered. “When you said that you could destroy that gun battery with one round, I doubted you. How did this happen?”

“Remember when I told you about the proper precautions being taken in transporting those rounds.” I asked her as I stood up pointing down at the valley. “That’s what happens. They become unstable and the slightest shock sets them off.”

“What would have happened if you had targeted the rounds directly?”

“Not something you would have want to see.” I waved at the surround area. “None of this would be standing right now. The blast would have been four to five times stronger than what we’ve just witnessed.”

“Why’s that?” Blackjack asked as she scanned the area below.

“Because all of those rounds would have gone off at the same fracking time.” Then I gave her a harsh glare. “We would have been inside the blast radius.”

“Frack! Just how massive of a blast are we talking about here?” She asked.

“Back before humans headed for the stars on Earth there was a nation that had a bomb. It was called the MOAB. The blast from one of those was equal to eleven tons of TNT. If I had hit the rounds for the KT-105s the blast would have been equal to forty MOABs detonating all at once in a quarter mile area.” I answered honestly.

“Are you telling me that the blast would have been equal to four-hundred-forty tons of TNT?” Blackjack asked in shock. I just nodded my head yes. “By the gods of war!”

“The kicker is that blast would been nonnuclear.” I shouldered my rifle. “Come on Blackjack. We got about two to three hundred miles to cover until we reach the nearest sign of civilization.”

“Tell me something Gunner. Do you really believe that we even have a chance at organizing the local population against the Cheeseheads?”

“The people of Apollo six are easy going people. Right up to the point when you piss them off.” I told her with a smirk.

“What happens then?”

“They bomb your ass back to the stone age. Then they go in for the kill.”

-----tbc-----