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Queen Dana of Highwinds the Elf Kingdom inside the Empire has a problem. One that she cannot fix personally. The is with a small minority of her population. A problem that has been brought to her attention by the half elf son of a problematic Duke. What is a Queen to do? She calls on help from a friend. The question now is does she realize what she is letting loose on her kingdom?

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Chapter 5
Observation Outpost 141, The Corkscrew Nebula

In an age where starships can across the universe in days thanks to the power of jump engines at speeds fast than light. There are still areas where ships most drop out of hyper-space to travel through. One of those areas is the Corkscrew Nebula. The nebula was the birthplace of suns and blackholes. Because of the fluctuating gravity wells there was only one safe corridor through the nebula. It was because of those fluctuating gravity wells that the nebula was a natural defensive barrier for the Kingdom of Highwinds. To give the Kingdom an early warning of an invading fleet the Highwinds Kingdom placed 150 strategic observation outposts long the corridor. The corridor was officially called nebula trans-route 266.

To the crews manning the observation outposts, navigators and ship captains that piloted the corridor it was simply known as The Gates to the Abyss. To traverse the corridor safely it took a modern ship with the newest engines at least twelve months. Because of this most dropship captains would avoid the corridor by taking a more circumspect route. Even though those routes would add months to their trip.

Each one of these outposts was manned by a four-man crew. Most of these outpost crews were there because they were being punished under the UCMJ. They came from every branch of the Highwinds military. The average tour for one of these outposts was 24 to 36 months. Most of the men and women stationed at these outposts weren’t hardcore screwups. In fact, most of them had done something that wouldn’t even get them an overnight stay in jail in the civilian world. Yet in the military their offences were bad enough to get them a Bad Conduct Discharge. So, serving at one of the Corkscrew Nebula outposts was a second chance they weren’t going to pass up.

Each outpost was fitted with the best early warning sensor suits available. It didn’t matter what passed within range of their sensors they were able to track it. From the smallest micro meteor to planet killing rogue comets. To help with this important task the outposts were also fitted with some of the most powerful AIs known to mankind. Though tracking what passed through the Gates was only half of the mission for the outposts.

The other half of the mission was to defend the corridor to the last man against invading enemy fleets. To this end each outpost was armed with Naval Class PPCs, PPLs, Railguns, and 1000mtn thermo nuclear ballistic missiles. Each one of these massive weapons were control by the AI. The human crews were there as a safety feature. The AIs controlled everything aboard the outposts.

To achieve their goal of perfect security the outposts were linked by an FTL communicator. When the first outpost went silent the rest of them raised their threat warning DEFCON 2. By the time the nineth outpost went silent all outposts were at DEFCON 5 on a war footing. All crews were manning their battle stations around the clock. It was at Outpost 1941 that the enemy was first identified.

“Jackmen do you see this shit?” The radar operator called out to the current outpost commander. “What the hell kind of ship is that thing?”

“Damned if I know. Run the ship id through the database. Someone must know what kind of ship we’re looking at.” Jackmen ordered.

“The AI is already chewing on the ID Jackmen. So far it has gone through every known nation’s configuration. Everything has come back as a blank. I’ve got it going over what pre-FTL ship records we have now.” The database operator told him honestly as he read over the data on his screen.

“You have got to be shitting me? That thing can’t be pre-FTL. All those ships have been accounted for.” Jackmen snapped. The sounds of a collision warning sounded just as the AI raised the outpost’s shields. “WHAT THE HELL? Computer what’s going on? Is someone attacking the station?”

“Hyper sonic projectile on incoming course. Estimated impact in t-minus twenty seconds. Initiating point defense weapons. Point defense weapons ineffective. Initiating primary ship to ship weapons. Weapons ineffective. Impact in t-minus ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, impact.” The outpost rocked with the impact from the hyper sonic projectile. Jackmen was thrown to the floor with one other crewman. “Second impact imminent.”

“Everyone get to the ejection pods.” Jackmen ordered just microseconds before the second impact. This time the shields failed. The outpost was now defenseless. The third impact destroyed the outpost before the crew could ever reach their escape pods. Just as the other ten outposts before it 141 died without sending a warning or description of the ship that destroyed it.

Out in the corridor the massive pre-FTL cryogenic colony ship moved silently through the Gates of the Abyss. The ship’s automated defense systems targeting anything that scanned it. Its primary weapon was unknown to the modern spacefaring nations. It was a weapon that could be replenished as the ship traveled through space. The munitions it fired was compressed hydrogen gas until it froze. When launched at hypersonic speeds the hydrogen ‘ice bullets’ would deliver both a kinetic and explosive shock upon impact.

Before the last Great World War several nations had experimented with the idea of mass-drive weapons. One of those ancient nations perfected the technology for space born weapon platforms. When the first of the great colony ships left orbit following the last Great World War these ships were the first to be outfitted with those massive weapons of terror.

On board the massive colony ship the navigation AI calculated its newest course. Down below on the cryogenic decks thousands of cryogenic chambers held the ship’s 40,000 passengers. Passengers that were a people from a time of violence and corruption long forgotten to the modern era. It was a time of extreme Nationalism and hate for outsiders. It was a time the likes of which had never been seen before or since in the record of Human History.

This was not a ship born for peaceful exploration but colonial conquest. Men, women, and children breed only for war. Each one a member of a failed Government experiment in genetic manipulation. The goal of which was to breed a true MASTER race.

Camp Resistance, Highwinds

Robert looked out from the observation tower for the training ranges. Down below on the firing line the 1st platoon was zeroing in their M-48 assault rifles range 4. The 2nd platoon was on range 3 going through basic bayonet drills. The 3rd and 4th platoons were both running the obstacle course on ranges 1 and 2. On range 5 the 5th platoon was working their way through the grenade course. Range 6 had the 6th Platoon training with light antitank weapons. Range 7 was being used by 7th Platoon to train with heavy machine guns. It was range 8 that worried Robert. The 8th Platoon was training on the new JTR-7 shoulder mounted antiair missiles. The Jitters missiles they were using were first generation and bugging as all hell.

Over the last seventeen weeks Robert had learned there was three other camps spread around the Highwinds Kingdom. He had team members at each of these camps. Each of the other three camps had 615 candidates in training. They were broken down into 41-man platoons. With 5 platoons to a company. Only the two Officer candidate companies with 4 platoons a piece here at Camp Resistance were any different. Each platoon consisted of 31 men and women a piece. They were also the half elf leaders from every gang in the Highwinds Kingdom.

Robert was running them ragged. “Sergeant Taggert contact Drill Sergeant Tippman and inform him that if he doesn’t pay more attention to the firing line. I will personally shove his head up his ass in front of the whole camp.”

“Yes sir. On it now.” The Sergeant called out from his position overlooking the range. Once he had passed on the message Taggert turned back to Robert. “Sir you’re needed back at the camp’s HQ, ASAP.”

“Damn. What dog pissed in the road this time?” Robert sighed as he lower his field glasses. When Taggert chuckled Robert held up his hand. “Don’t even think of going there Taggert. I swear that I had an easier time during the war.”

“Sorry sir, but the only deference between then and now is the paperwork.” Taggert snarked bring up his CO’s main gripe. Only to get the traditional one finger salute as an answer. “Why thank you sir. I didn’t know you cared.”

“You know something Taggert. One of these days. I’m going to throw your ass from the observation deck.” Robert grumbled. “Then again maybe not. Those DD-one-ninety-five in triplicate are too big of a pain in the ass to fill out.”

“Sir, I think you might want to shift to full combat and double time.” Taggert said as he turned to face Robert. “Sir it’s Lady Imra Ventris of Clan Ravenswood.”

“What the hell is she doing here?” Robert asked as he deployed his bio-armor. When Taggert didn’t answer him right away Robert just snarled. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question. I want to know why Lady Imra is here.”

“Yes sir. One moment.” Taggert swung back around to his command radio while keying the mike. Everyone at Camp Resistance had already learn that when CW2 Robert Wolff started snarling to move heavy and hell to get shit done. The last person who to pissed off the Camp CO was still walking around on crutches. “Sir according to the HQ Lady Imra just showed up at the main gate with her royal guard escort.”

“Thanks, Taggert. That explains everything.” Robert snarled before he dropped over the observation railing to the ground sixty feet below. The second his feet touch the ground he was off and running. Within seconds he was pushing the top end of performance profile. Which for him was 128mph. It was 3.9 miles to the HQ from the observation tower of the training grounds. Not a great distance for most Death Dealers to run at cursing speed but still a challenge under Burst.

As their CO tore ass through the gate to the training grounds. The Death Dealers and trainees on duty there all had the same thought. ‘Feel sorry for whoever’s pissed off the old man this time. Just hope like hell it’s not me.’

As Robert turned onto Command Lane heading for the HQ he was brought up short. Skidding to a stop Robert couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There before him was 10, T-98-M Goliath Heavy transport medical units. One thought ran through his head. What the frack are these monsters doing here. Knowing that he won’t get any answers standing around outside Robert headed for the HQ Building.

As he approached the building two members of the royal guard pointed their HM-51 assault rifles in his direction. Celest automatically gave him their threat level. ‘Robert I know that those popguns will only piss you off, but I suggest you show some restraint when dealing with them. They are after all only doing their duty.’

‘Screw that shit Celest. These frack nuts are on a Death Dealer installation. They made the colossal mistake of pointing their weapons at the CO. Target those Rapiers and cut them in half.’ Robert snarled as the HM-51 rifles were painted with red crosshairs. The flash of Robert’s antipersonnel lasers from his left sliced through the weapons in seconds. Leaving the two royal guards both shocked and stunned.

“Next time you point a weapon at a Death Dealer on this base. Expect to lose your life. This is your only fracking warning.” Robert snarled as he marched passed the two men. “Now get the frack off my base assholes.”

When they didn’t move Robert snarled. “That wasn’t a suggestion. You now have ten seconds to clear the main gate. If you’re still on base. You will be shoot.”

With that the two royal guards took off at a dead run for the main gate. They knew that whoever this Death Dealer was he was the one in charge. “Imagine that. They’re not as stupid as they look.”

“Robert will you please not treat my escorts like a personal insult?” Imra asked him as she stepped outside the quasit hut smiling. “They really are only trying to carry out their duty to protect me.”

“Lady Imra I don’t care one way or the other. They come onto MY base and point a weapon at ME. They’re lucky I don’t cut their balls off.” James snarled. Then softened his tone of voice. “Remember love that this Camp is not part of the Highwinds Kingdom. Everything on this side of the fence line is Empyreal territory.”

“Death Dealers defend their territory to their last and do not suffer fools lightly my Lady.” One of her guards said as they stepped outside behind her. “Colonel please forgive the ignorance of my men.”

“They’re still alive Captain. There’s nothing to forgive.” Robert told the man honestly then look back down Command Lane. “Though someone needs to explain why there are ten T-ninety-eight Goliaths blocking the road to my HQ.”

“Those belong to the medical conversion unit, sir.” The captain told him quickly. He could really tell that this Death Dealer wasn’t like any Elven commander.

“Are you telling me that after seventeen weeks of raising hell with the Highwinds Command. They finally decide to release the immersion tanks. I hope that the other three camps are receiving their allotted equipment.” Robert snorted. “As it is my cadets are five weeks behind schedule in their training. By the time we get done running them through the tanks it will push them back another full week.”

“That’s a negative sir. Each camp has been allotted enough Goliath transports to process their whole complement at one time. Each Goliath has outfitted with twenty-five immersion tanks a piece.” The Captain explained for Robert.

“How long do we have them for?” Robert asked.

“They’re yours until these training bases shutdown sir. Once your cadets have been processed. The immersion tanks will be offloaded and setup in the base medical facility.” The Captain told him then chuckled. “The Queen expects this project of hers to succeed Colonel. She won’t accept anything less.”

“Don’t really give a shit what your Queen wants Captain. I’m here to do one job and one job only. That is to turn a ragtag bunch of street rats into Quiet Professionals of Warfare. You and anyone else that gets in the way of that goal better have their fracking wills made out.” Richard the Captain before turning to Imra with a smile. “Now what exactly are you here for love?”

“Something that would best discussed somewhere private.” Imra told him then dropped her voice to barely above a whisper. “I have news from her Majesty.”

“Let me take of those Goliaths first.” Taking the hint Robert led her into the Headquarters building. “XO get those fracking Goliaths off Command Lane. Use the auxiliary parade field. Once they’re set up. Start running our cadets through the tanks. You got thirty minutes Waltz. Get it done!”

“SIR! YES SIR!” Lieutenant Wittman called out before turning to the CQ and her Runner. “Breaker! Pass the word to the drivers. Boomer haul your ass over to the number two parade grounds and open the gates. If they’re not wide enough. Burn down the fence. I want those T-ninety-eights setup in twenty minutes. Thumper! Get your ass over to the training ranges. Around up our cad-idiots and get their asses over to the auxiliary parade grounds. You got thirty minutes.”

As 2nd Lt Wittman was giving out her orders. Robert took Imra straight to the one place on all of Camp Resistance that was totally secure. Once inside the room and the door was closed. Robert activated all the countersurveillance equipment.

“Welcome to the sensitive compartmented information facility or SCIF Imra. What gets said in here stays in here. Now why has the Queen sent you with Top Secret Intel? Why didn’t she send one of her watchdogs?”

“Robert how much do you know about half elves?” Imra asked him.

“Not a damned thing. What exactly does that have to do with the situation?” Robert asked her. Already not liking where this conversation was going.

“The current heirs to a full third of the clans are members of the training companies on this base. They might be half elves, but they are a true threat to the ruling families in the Hall of Lords. Most of them don’t know who their fathers are. The few that do have spent their lives in exile with their mothers.” Imra explained for him slowly as she removed a data crystal from her pocket. “This information is highly sensitive. Is there a secure reader in here Robert?”

“There is only one reader in the room Imra. For access you need my biometrics. Anyone else’s and this room fills with Aspatanyl acid nerve gas.” Robert told her as he activated the reader. As the reader rose out of the desk Robert gave her one last warning. “Before you insert that crystal Imra. You need to understand that anything played in this reader self-destructs once it has been download.”

“Good. Because what is on this crystal is for your eyes only Robert.” Imra told him as she insert the crystal. “Robert on this data crystal is the reason behind why Markus Aurelius Starfire challenged you to that Trial by Blood. It is also why there are so few Sylvian half elves. This is a State Secret that has been guarded since before the founding of the Highwinds Kingdom. You will be the only human to ever know our greatest secret.”

As Robert read the data displayed before him. He could only sigh in frustration. Then gasp in awe as he realized what the impact of this information would have on the Elven race should it ever get out. “Besides you, me, and the Royal Couple. Who else knows about this Imra?”

“Only the most senior of our genetic scientists have access to this information. Everyone else who has learned of this information has been either imprisoned for life or executed by Royal Decree.” Imra told him honestly.

“If this information is correct. The second that my officer cadets and trainees enter those tanks. Their lives are going to change radically.” Robert snorted. “Is there any chance that these calculations are off?”

“Less than one percent Robert.” Imra told him as she brought up a second file. “Half-elves are extremely rare. Females of that type are even rarer.”

“Because the only way to insure the possibility of a female half-elf being born is for a male human to mate with an elf female. Still don’t understand what the big deal is love.” Robert told her.

“Elves of any race rarely if ever interbreed with humans and seldom outside of our own race. Robert only one out of every ten human and elf couples ever have children. We literally are the most pure blooded races of humans in all of the known universe.” Imra told him as she brought up a third file. “Scientifically speaking by all rights half elves are a genetic abnormality. That abnormality being the human half of their genetic makeup. Scientifically speaking none of them should have ever been conceived let alone born. Elves and humans normally aren’t genetically compatible.”

“Just how many total conversions am I looking at?” Robert asked her.

“If our scientist’s calculations are correct. You’re looking at a one-to-one racial conversion rate. The process will remove all traces of their human heritage. Those cadets of yours will become the purest of elves. Queen Dana is justifiably worry over this information getting out.” Imra told him honestly.

“Why?” Robert asked her.

“Two reasons. First there is a faction within Elf society that would use the Death Dealer Conversion process as a way of purging our race of the ‘unclean’ and ‘devil’s spawn’. These so-called Purists would force our half elf children to undergo the conversion.” Imra explained slowly for Robert. “You have already confronted one of the strongest supporters of the traditionalists, Knight Commander Arun Faenala.”

“That asshole.” Robert snorted. “Why am I not surprised. What’s the other reason? What aren’t you telling me about the conversions?”

“Turn to the next page.” Imra told him quietly with real fear in her voice. “As you can see. There is the reason why our Military High Command and Religious have gone out of their way to keep all half-elf children oppressed.”

“They really believe that the key to the return of these Silver Moon Elves is breeding with humans. So, fracking what. It’s not like a few hundred people can conquer a planet.” Robert snorted with real scorn. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I wish that I were Robert. Their fear is very real and founded in provable science.” Imra told him as she brought the fifth page of the report. In the center of the display was a gray skinned white haired elf standing next to a Claymore Death Dealer. “Robert the elf on the right is what they fear. Do you see the similarities between the two. Our scientists believe that the gene that causes the Claymore mutation actually comes from the mixed breed human descendants of Silver Moon Elves. When the first Claymore Death Dealer appeared the Purists’ greatest fear was realized. The possible return of the Silver Moon Elf race.”

“Why are the Silver Moon Elves the great boogeyman of the Elf race?” Robert asked her. “They don’t appear to be any different than a normal Claymore. Put enough holes in their ass and they die. Just like everyone else.”

“Robert a Silver Moon Elf was no ordinary elf. They were two to three times stronger, faster, and smarter than regular elves. They were a race of elves actually breed for war. Even the females of their kind were unbelievably deadly in combat. They were the ones that guarded our citadels on Earth. They were an extremely violent race of elves. They rarely mixed with other elven races. It was because of their cruel and warlike ways that the ancients left them behind on Earth. They were the elves that gave birth to the human legends of ‘dark or evil’ elves. Not the Drow elves.” Imra explained. “We believe that Silver Moon elves were forced to interbreed with humans to survive. Over the next few generations, the Silver Moon gene became dormant within their descendants. Similar to the Walkatonie berserker gene.”

“Why hasn’t the Highwinds Military shared this information with the Empyreal Military? I mean this could have answered a shit load of questions for our military scientists. They could have screened for the gene.” Robert bitched.

“Robert you have to understand that to us. The Silver Moon Elf race are our dirty secret. Much like the Nazis of the twentieth century are for humans.” Imra explained.

“I get it now. The ancient Silver Moon Elves were a pack of rebidded racist assholes bent on a war of genocide. What stopped them?” Robert asked her.

“Numbers. While they were powerful warriors they never numbered more than a hundred or so at each citadel. Those numbers included women and children. It is also one of the reasons why our scientists believe they were forced to interbreed with humans. Their race was dying out. It was a last ditch attempt to somehow preserve their race and culture.” Imra told him honestly.

“Imra were the Silver Moon Elves ever called Gray Elves?” Robert asked her as he studied the 3-D image of the ancient elf. The pale gray skin, white hair, and yellow within yellow eyes tickled some ancient race memory deep inside him.

“In ancient times when mankind still lived in stone castles and mudwalled huts. The Silver Moon elves were called by many names. Gray Elves, Stone Elves, Steel Elves, Iron Elves, Mountain Elves, throughout Europe. While they earned the name Night Spirits in certain parts of the North American continent.” Imra told him honestly. “Thankfully they were never numerous enough to wage a war of conquest.”

“If your scientists’ calculations are correct. I stand a good chance of dropping close to seven-thousand-one-hundred of these nightmare elves on your people.” Robert grunted as he studied the data in the holographic display. “Let me correct that. I’ll be unleashing seven-thousand-one-hundred Claymores. All with valid reasons for holding onto a grudge against the world.”

“I wouldn’t go that far Robert. What is the normal ratio of Claymores among newly commissioned Second Generation Death Dealers?” Imra asked him kindly.

“That ratio doesn’t apply here Imra. There are additional factors at play with these trainees. The biggest of which is their genetic makeup.” Robert grumbled. “They are all half human, half elf. There is a damned good chance that dormant gene is what makes it possible for them even exist.”

“What are you saying Robert?” Imra asked with real fear in her voice.

“If I’m reading this data correctly. The only reason nine out of ten couplings between elves and humans that produce viable half elf offspring is because of the dormant Gray Elf genome. The other one percent is because of the Sylvian genome carried by either the human or elf.” Robert told her as read over the data for a third time. “At least that’s what I understand from of all this data.”

“Robert how exactly does the Death Dealer conversion work? On the cellular level I mean.” Imra asked of him as she turned thoughtful.

“That information is way above my paygrade love. You want that info you got to talk with our eggheads on Hades. Even then you might not get a damned answer. So much of our tech is classified as BURKTM. It’s crazy.” Robert told her bluntly.

“Robert what does BURKTM mean?” Imra asked with her head cocked to the side.

“It’s short for Burn Upon Reading, Kill The Messenger.” Robert looked the woman he loves in the eye as he told her this. “The type of information you’re wanting can get you killed by Empyreal Decree, love. Leave it alone.”

“I see. If your prediction is correct. What are you going to do?” She asked him.

“Nothing has changed Imra. Queen Dana wouldn’t have sent you here with this intel if she wanted to stop her pet project.” Robert told her as he pointed to the display. “This is to inform me of a possible outcome that can change the way this whole operation plays out. One that will have true political and social impact.”

Robert removed the data crystal from the reader, purged the data, then crushed it under his heel. As an added measure of security Robert disconnected the reader and destroyed it with a blast from his PPC. Imra could only stand by and watched as he destroyed the only evidence concerning the return of the Gray Elves.

“Robert aren’t you taking things a little too far?”

“Not far enough Imra. Does your escort know what was on that crystal?” Robert asked.

“I was handed that by the Queen herself. No one else knew that I was carrying that crystal.” She answered truthfully then asked. “Why?”

“Good that means I don’t have to worry about your escort.” Robert sighed. Then pulled Imra into a tight hug. “Imra whatever happens. Never mention that crystal again. As far as you are concerned you gave it to me. Then left.”

“I understand Robert.” Imra whispered into his chest.

“Good. Because I have a feeling that I’m about to go head to head with the Highwinds Military High Command and your Religious Leadership. I never want to see you hurt because of something I did for your Queen.” Robert told as he hugged her even tighter. The rumble in his chest let Imra know that his next words were no mere promise or threat. She knew that Robert would care them out if it was the last thing he ever did. “I’ll kill anyone who dares to lay on hand on you.”

1st Platoon, Training Ranges

“High to the left. Adjust four clicks down come right five. Next round.” Markus Starfire sat next to Daimon Windstorm calling out the other trainee’s hits using a M-21 spotters scope. Daimon made the adjustments and fired. “Still high and to the left Daimon. Come down another two clicks and right one more.”

“Damn. I knew I should have come down more.” Daimon grumbled as he made the adjustment. “Sending next round.”

“Dead center. Fire three more to verify.” Markus told him. Once all three rounds impacted Markus looked over at Daimon. “Nice tight grouping Big Man.”

“Nothing compared to yours Silence. I think the only people here who can compare to your skill with a rifle are Magician, Kilo, and Deadeye.” Daimon Windstorm grunted as he sat up straight. “The rest of us are just trying to keep up with you Sylvans. We all know that the ten of you will take the top spots.”

“That’s no reason to just give up, Windstorm.” Markus told him bluntly.

“We haven’t given up Silence. We just know that we’re outclassed. The one dumbasses that haven’t accepted this fact are the Forest elves. They still got chips on their shoulders.” The High Elf half breed told Markus honestly. “They still think they’re going to be used as cannon fodder.”

“What is their damned deal?” Markus snarled. “Can they see that we’re being trained to become Special Operations soldiers?”

“That’s just it Silence. They don’t see it. Oakrod’s half-brother joined the army ten years ago. After six weeks the slug ended up being medically discharged. Because of that Oakrod has gotten the rest of the Forest elves believing that our training is substandard. Until the CO keeps his promise of Death Dealer conversions that isn’t going to change. Even then he and his pack of shitheads might not believe the truth.” Windstorm told him bluntly. “You should also know that they’re gunning for you and the rest of the Sylvain half elves.”

“Typical. God I fracking hate numb nut anti-classists. Always blaming everyone else or the system for their failures.” Markus snarled. Before Markus could say more the loudspeakers crackled drawing his attention.

“ATTENTION ALL TRAINEES! REPORT TO PARADE GROUND TWO! ALL TRAINEES ARE TO REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO PARADE GROUND TWO!”

“Wonder what’s up with that?” Daimon asked Markus as they stood up. “They’ve never canceled training in the middle of the day.”

“I got a feeling that our CO is about to keep his promise, Big Man.” Markus told him bluntly. “Only one way to find out though.”

“Yeah you got a point. We better clear and secure these weapons first. I don’t feel like getting burned down by one of our instructors.” Daimon told him with a chuckle.

“You can say that again. I might be a tough SOB but not even I can take a hit from one of their antipersonnel lasers without armor.” Markus chuckled. “Then again I doubt that armor would do us any good. I think the only Death Dealers not armed to the teeth are their pilots.”

“It would be nice if we get that kind of firepower. As it is we’ll be lucky to get the old first generation Death Dealer AIs.” Daimon grumbled as the headed for the range control tower. “We both know that the Pure Bloods ain’t going to give us a chance. It doesn’t matter what the CO or Queen promised. We’ll be lucky to get the hand-me-downs from the real Death Dealers.”

“Normally I would agree with you Big Man.” Markus told him as he looked toward the mobile armory. “But for some reason. I think we’re about to be used as guinea pigs for a new type of Death Dealer upgrade.”

Daimon just grunted in agreement as they handed in their weapons. The sounds of their Drill Sergeant’s voice drew their attention. “Fall in you sorry excuses for humanity. Double time maggots! Move it! Move it! I ain’t got all day Ladies!”

“Damn! Wonder what crawled up his ass?” Daimon grossed.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Just fall your ass in with everyone else Big Man.” Markus ordered him as he moved to stand in front of the platoon. After a quick headcount Markus turned to Sergeant Tippmann. “Drill Sergeant all present and accounted for.”

“Very good Cadet Starfire. Take charge and move out. Report to parade ground two at the double time. That’s four-point-six miles and forty-five minutes to cover it in. The clock is ticking.” Tippmann ordered as he turned towards the next platoon.

“You heard the Drill Sergeant! Right! Face! Forward! March!” After a few steps Markus shouted. “Double Time! March!”

As he led the platoon at a bone jarring run for parade ground two. Seventeen weeks ago, the 31 people in the platoon would have been hard pressed at keeping up with the 7 minute a mile pace. Now they could cover a mile in 5 minutes 50 seconds or hold a 10 minute mile pace from sunup to sundown. “Snapshot give us a beat!”

“When I get to Heaven Saint Peter’s gonna say. How’d you earn your living boy? How’d you earn your pay? I’ll reply with a whole lot of anger. I made my living as an Airborne Ranger! Blood, guts, and a whole lot of danger That’s the life of an Airborne Ranger! When I get to hell Satan’s gonna say. How’d you earn your living boy? How’d you earn your pay? I’ll reply with a boot to his chest. I made my living laying souls to rest! When I get to home Mama’s gonna say. How’d you earn your living boy? How’d you earn your pay? I replied with no such anger. Mama used to beat me with a coat hanger. Mama earned her living as an Airborne Ranger!” Even as cadet Ayre ‘Snapshot’ Norynore called out the ancient running cadence the platoon settled down into an easy running pace.

Markus like the rest of the platoon fell in time with the cadence that Snapshot was setting. With each verse of the ancient running song cadets forged connection reaching back through time when young men sang the same songs while training for the harsh conditions of battle. Young men and women that faced the horrors of combat with nothing more than a rifle, body armor, and helmet.

Even now when monstrous Armored Power Suits were the apex killers the modern battlefield. Tanks were the backbone of any assault. Artillery pounded fortifications into ruble. Infantry Fighting Vehicles carried the fight to the enemy in the trenches. Aerospace fighters ruled the skies. It still took the flesh and blood Infantryman to capture or hold territory. They would always be the heart, blood, and soul of any army.

Yet there has always been those few where Uncommon Valore was common. The Quiet Professionals who moved in the shadows behind enemy lines. The ones who turned the local population against the enemy. Turned average citizens into a resistance bent on hounding the enemy at every turn. The 31 men of 1st platoon were just the newest members of those brave and often forgotten individuals.

Of the eight officer candidate platoons 1st platoon was the first to reach the secondary parade grounds. They could all see the massive T-98 Goliaths and knew that something big was happening. As they passed through the destroyed gate Markus quickly began to call out commands for his platoon.

“Quick Time! March! Column Left! March!” As he led them towards the last Goliath Markus spotted several Death Dealer Officers milling around rear of the massive transports. As the platoon reached the officer standing at the back of the last Goliath Markus called out. “Mark Time! March! Platoon Halt!”

“All right cadet. Which platoon this?” The officer demanded.

“First platoon sir.” Markus told the officer as he saluted.

“Good. Take squads one through four and report to the Goliath behind me. The rest of you report to next Goliath. Once inside you’ll be given further instructions.” The officer told them then walked off to meet the next platoon.

Markus saluted the officer then turn to the platoon. In a clear voice he gave out his orders. “Squads one through four you’re with me. Squad five report to the Goliath in line. Platoon! Fall out and report to your assigned Goliath!”

“Yo! Silence you got any idea what’s going on?” The current acting Squad leader for second squad called out.

“You know as much as I do Spinner. Just shut up and follow orders for once without asking too damned many questions for once.” Markus snapped. When Kolvar ‘Spinner’ Lorara went to argue Markus snarled. “I said shut the frack up Spinner.”

Seeing that they weren’t going to get any answers from Markus the thirty members of his platoon fell out. As they headed for their assigned T-98 Goliath the cadets felt uneasy. Until now their Instructors had always kept them informed of what was on their training schedule. Even Markus who had until now done his best to not question their training was uneasy by the sudden change. As he entered the rear of the T-98 Markus was greeted by a Tech-Sergeant.

“Strip and put your uniform in this basket cadet.” The Tech-Sergeant ordered bluntly then pointed towards the compartment door. “Then head inside to your assigned tank.”

“Sergeant what is going on?” Markus asked the man.

“Second Generation Processing cadet. Now strip. We don’t have all day.” The Sergeant ordered then turned away to pass through the compartment door. “The last one is on board Doc. You can start processing them.”

“Thank you Sergeant. Are the following cadets in this batch. Markus Starfire, Ivan Yates, Brice Nightwind, Tanner Firestar, Hiram Forger, Byron Hoadley, Ezra Sheridan, Tom Pennington, John Whitefeather, Steward Holyfield.” Markus froze as he hear the Doctor naming off the ten Sylvian half elves.

“They’re all here expect Whitefeather and Holyfield, Doc. You want me to switch out two for them?” The Tech-Sergeant asked.

“Do it now Segreant. Those ten cadets were preselected for the Mark Two Second Gen Omega/Assault class Death Dealer AIs. Also find me that Lieutenant Colonel. You know the one I’m talking about. Greenwood, Greenstick whatever his name is.” As the doctor rattled off names Markus looked over at the two troublemakers in his platoon.

“Spoons, Snowball, grabbed your shit and trade places with Kilo, and Deadeye. Get a move on guys. I got a feeling that you don’t want that Sergeant picking someone else.” Markus knew that was lie but he could that he was the only one really paying attention to the conversation in the other compartment. The two men nodded their heads, grabbed up the discarded parts of their uniforms and left the T-98.

“It’s Lieutenant Colonel Redfern Doc. I suggest you remember. He does not care if you’re a civilian, he’ll still throw your ass behind bars.” The Tech-Sergeant snorted as he stepped through the door into the rear compartment. “I need two cadets to trade places with Whitefeather and Holyfield.”

“Already taken care of Sergeant.” Markus told him as he sat down to remove his boots. “Kilo, and Deadeye should be here in a few minutes.”

“Eavesdropping can get you court-martialed and imprisoned, cadet.” The Tech-Sergeant warned Markus. “But I’ll overlook it this time.”

“Sergeant you might want to look for your Lieutenant Colonel between the Goliaths two over from this one.” Markus told as Whitefeather and Holyfield entered the rear compartment. “Keep your yaps shut and finish stripping down guys. We’re behind as it is and you standing there asking stupid questions won’t change matters.”

“Copy that Silence. Any word on what’s going on?” John Whitefeather asked as he dropped his basket on the bench beside Markus.

“Just strip and head into the next compartment cadet. You lot have wasted enough time.” The Sergeant ordered as he headed out the rear of the T-98.

“Silence you know what’s going on here. Come on already talk to us boss.” Tanner Firestar said from across the aisle.

“Let’s just say that after today. There’s no going back for any of us.” Markus said as he looked toward the next compartment. “If any of you want out of the Army. This is your last chance to walk away.”

“Starfire none of us have that choice. Never did. Skeeter over in second platoon got word from his mother. The rest of his gang were rounded up, tried, and shipped off world.” Ivan Yates told him as he removed his pants. “According to his mom. This is our last chance before the Obsidian Correctional Center on Lonvoatune.”

“Shit they really are cleaning up the streets. Even if they have to get it done at gunpoint.” Markus snorted as he pulled off his own pants. “I hate to say this guys, but this is all my fault. If I hadn’t pushed things with the Queen.”

“Bullshit Silence. This was a longtime coming. We’ve all seen the writing on the wall. To many of planetary Governors are running for reelection on the Law and Order platform. They have to show they’re doing something to make the streets safer. The easiest way to pull that off is to round up the gangs and ship them off world.” Tanner snorted as he pulled off his underwear.

“Okay I’ll buy that. Still doesn’t make me feel better.” Markus sighed as he put his now full basket on the shelf behind him. He took one last look at his uniform before turning to the half Sylvian elves. “Come on guys. Let’s get this over with.”

“About time you ten arrived. Come on we’ve wasted enough time.” The Doctor harrumphed as they entered the inner compartment of the T-98 trailer. “Where is that damn JAG officer? He’s supposed to be with you.”

“Don’t know sir. The Tech-Sergeant hasn’t returned yet either.” Markus told him.

“Damnation. I can’t begin processing you until you’ve taken your oaths.” The Doctor grumbled before he stormed out the compartment. A few moments later he returned with a Lieutenant Colonel and the Tech-Sergeant. “Come on Colonel. Swear them in already. I’ve waste enough time waiting around on these half-wits.”

“Doctor you insult these cadets one more time. You’ll spent the night as my guest in the Stockade.” The Colonel snarled before turning to the ten naked young men. “Raise your right hands cadets and repeat after me.”

The confused young men did as they were told. Five minutes later they all finished taking the Officer’s Oath of Commission. The Lieutenant Colonel salute them with a smile. “By Royal Command you’re now Officers and Gentlemen. They’re all yours doc.”

“About time.” Was all the doctor said and started placing the young men in their respective immersion tanks. When he got to Markus he sighed. “You have brought great honor to our clan cousin. See you in eight hours.”

-----tbc-----