Chapter 11

Shinigami Battle Platform Ryuk, Hades System.

“Empress Maiha! Empress Maiha!” The note of panic in the voice of her maid Kina pulled both Maiha and Alice from their well-deserved slumber. “Empress Maiha! Princess Allison! Please wake up!”

Alice rolled over and nudged Maiha in the ribs. “Maiha, Kina is at the door. Something’s up love.”

Maiha rolled away from the elbow to the ribs and sat up. “Might as well get up Alice. I have a feeling that the shit hit the fan somewhere in the Empire.”

As the royal couple pulled on the matching robes to their nightgowns Maiha hit the release to their bedroom door. “Come!” was all she called out.

Kina and Gin both entered the room at the same time. They were not alone as a very familiar face followed close on their heels. Both women smiled at their long time friend and one time bodyguard, Lisa Stills. Alice was the first to welcome the woman. “Lisa it’s so nice to see you again. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Thankyou, Princess Allison. It’s good to see you as well.” Lisa replied. After being hugged by her old friends Lisa sighed. “I too wish I was here under better circumstances, my Empress.”

“What do you have for me Lady Lisa?” Maiha asked her with the worry of an Empress.

“Thanks to my network I can verify that the Amazon Collective will no longer wait for the Hall of Judges to rule in their favor. The people of the New Southern Confederacy have armed themselves and are taking the fight to the mercenary units that are employed by the Amazon High Families. Empress Maiha, those people are not going to go down easy. More than half of them trace their family heritage back to the Confederate States of America from the American Civil War. For the past twenty-one monthly cycles there has been between ten to fifteen shipments of arms and munitions into that system. Not all of them were small arms either. According to one of my sources more than one of those shipments were Fast Attack Vehicles, heavy artillery, medium to heavy tanks, and Infantry Fighting Vehicles. I’m still trying to get a firm number on how many of those shipments there were. The only good news I can give you is there were no shipments of Armored Power Suits.” Lisa had spent her time in traveling to Hades and the Death Gates system building the report that Maiha would need. Thanks to her dropship captains and crews Lisa had built a massive spy network within the Empire.

Maiha sighed. This was not the good news she wanted to hear. “Lady Lisa do you have any more good news to report?”

“Only that Prince James will have his hands full the moment this shit bomb blows up in our faces.” Lisa knew what she was about say would really piss of the Empress. “The Amazons have more than eighteen divisions of crack troops ready to drop on that system to squash any opposition to their forceful take over.”

“Damn. You’re just full of good news Lisa.” Maiha turned and walked towards the view port of the bedroom. Looking out at the Clipper Class dropship just off the portside of Ryuk Maiha smiled. “I understand that you got your hands on a few of the new Clippers Lisa. How hard is it to pick them up on radar and lidar?”

“They’re fitted with full transponders because they’re hard as hell to spot without them. You want to slip in a covert force, they’ll do the job better than most.” Lisa answered without hesitation. “To be honest my Empress, they’re almost the perfect smuggling platform. I should know. My shipping frim has made a few off the book runs for our friends in the Yakuza.”

Alice and Maiha both chuckled at Lisa’s admission to make the runs for a certain maid in their employ. Nia had been one of Maiha’s maids from the very start and had ties to the Yakuza. Maiha went out of her way to use those ties from time to time. Usually to get supplies into systems under control of certain High Families trying to push for more concessions in the Hall of Lords.

“What kind of tonnage can those ships haul Lisa?” Maiha asked not letting her feelings show on her face or in her voice.

“Depends, your Majesty. It’s not so much a matter of weight but mass.” At Maiha and Alice’s confused looks Lisa sighed. She had had this conversation more than once with clients. As before she used a question to explain the problem. “What weighs more Empress a ton of led or a ton of feathers?”

Maiha just smirked. “Neither, they’re both one ton. It just takes a whole lot more feathers covering a massively large area to equal a ton.”

It finally dawned on Maiha what Lisa was saying. “So, its not so much the weight but the mass that restricts the cargo for the Clipper class dropship.”

“Depends on what you want my captains to smuggle in, Empress. If you’re talking small, med, and heavy arms then around sixty to one-hundred tons in shipping crates. The bigger a firearm the more area it takes up. When it comes to vehicles it all depends on the make and model. Each Clipper can carry a full company of FAVs or IFVs with no problem, the same can be said for tanks and artillery. The only exception to that is MLRS’s. Their size is the biggest limiting factor there. The biggest concern when it comes to transporting vehicles is their drop containers. You want to put a few APSs somewhere the most we can carry is a three full lance. Their weight classes won’t matter as even the new Empress class don’t exceed a hundred tons.” The more Lisa explained things for Maiha the more Maiha knew that she would be using her friend’s dropships.

“Thankyou, Lisa. You have given me a great deal to think about.” Maiha walked over to the coffee table in the room. After pouring three cups of tea she offers one to Lisa and Alice. “I will be getting back to you on what we’ll need to do later. For now, you can get me caught up on your sisters. What have Danila, Cassidy, and Susan been up to since retiring? How has life been treating you now that you’re a mother?”

Lisa chuckled at her old-time friend and employer. One minute she would be this deadly serious and imposing Empress of the Human Empire, the next, she was a normal everyday housewife wanting to gossip about her old schoolmate friends.

Super Carrier Lady Dai Etsu, Outer edge of New Confederate System.

Admiral Danial Cosby couldn’t believe the reports coming in from New Texas. More than half of the 101st Division had been destroyed in a matter of hours. The whole division had been forced to abandon all but two of their planet side bases. The White Sands R-n-D Center, and their Divisional Command Post. Even those two posts would have been lost if not for the efforts of one pilot and an experimental fighter craft. Whoever they were, they were death on the stick.

“Admiral, we’re receiving more reports from New Texas.” The yeoman at the communications center turned to face Cosby. “None of them are particularly good sir. Most are downright shitty.”

“No need for commentary Yeoman Sanders.” Cosby snapped as he held out his hand. After Sanders handed the reports over Cosby spent the next ten minutes just reading. The more he read the worse his mood became. The most depressing report was the final evacuation of the 101st Command Post. After retaking the base Divisional Command was forced to retreat to the WSRDC. All because they didn’t have adequate air support. That was his fault and he knew it. He knew that he should have seen the attack on the jump point for what it was, a diversion to draw him off. Two Amazon heavy Carriers had been destroyed in that battle, but at what cost? More than half of his fighters had been destroyed along with a full third of his torpedo bombers and three quarters of his ground attack craft.

That didn’t even take into account the damage his Carrier had suffered. With one flight deck damaged and two engine exhausts out of commission his Carrier’s combat capabilities have been greatly decreased. By more than half. If it had not been for the timely intervention of the Battleship Colorado coming through the jump point he would have lost the battle. Even that formidable battleship had taken severe damage from Kamikaze bombers. Of the battleship’s ten main-gun turrets three had been damaged to a point that the Colorado would need four months in dry dock for repairs. Also, the secondary gun batteries had their targeting computer destroyed and the crews were operating them manually.

The next report truly pissed Cosby off. Of the eighteen ships in his battlefleet only six had not taken damage in the surprise attack. They were also the ones to cause the enemy dropships the most damage. Cosby silently whispered his thoughts about those ships and the men that manned them. “They maybe the lightest and smallest ships in my fleet but those Corsairs always fight way above their weight class. And they usually win. Thank the Gods and Goddesses for them.”

“What was that sir?” The ships XO asked him from his station.

“Nothing XO. Just talking to myself. Any news on our request for additional forces?”

“Nothing yet sir.” The XO walked over to stand close to Cosby. In a low barely above a whisper tone. “We’re on our own out here Admiral. Fleet Command is spread far too thin right now. Between the resurgence of the pirates and keeping a Force Deterrence on the borders we just don’t have the ships.”

“Tell me something I don’t fracking know already Number One.” Cosby hissed out. “The Empress has been doing her damnedest to get us the needed ships but those ass hats in the Parliament and Hall of Lords keep trying to cut the budget.”

“I understand that sir, as does every other officer and enlisted that serves.” The XO gave the Admiral a small smile. “Like the old saying goes. ‘For us uncommon valor is always common.’ Sir we do the impossible so often that those shit sticks think that we can continue to do it with less.”

“Sorry for snapping Number One. I’m just trying to figure out how we’re going to support the ground forces and still keep the jump gate open. We just don’t have the forces to do both I’m afraid.” Cosby told his XO honestly.

“Then don’t try sir. We can only do one thing at a time. Until the rest of the Fleet can spare the ships we support the ground pounders.” The XO told Cosby.

Cosby thought about what his XO was suggesting then shook his head no. “As much as I want too Number One, we can’t. Before you object think about what that gate means. Without the gate it takes specialized com gear to communicate between systems. That damned thing is our only way of instantaneous communication back to Fleet Command and the rest of the Empire. No, we hold the gate for as long as possible.”

“BUT SIR! WE CAN’T JUST ABANDON THE ONE-OH-FIRST!” The XO screamed.

“We don’t have a choice Number One.” Cosby just glared at his XO. “We either leave the one-oh-first to fight on their own or we surrender the gate to the enemy. Cutting off all contact with the Empire. Those are our choices. I don’t like one damned bit but those are the cold hard facts Number One.”

“At least send one of our fighter squadrons to give air support sir.” The XO argued.

“And just which one should I send Number One? The eighty-eighth with their ten F-four-U Corsairs? The two-nineteenth and their seven F-six-F-four Hellcats? Or better yet why don’t we send the VFA forty-fourth and their four SBD-three Dauntless.” As Admiral Cosby listed the few remaining aerospace fighters and bombers off to his XO the man’s face shows his hopes, of changing the Admiral’s mind, dying. “Let us not forget the little matter of how we get them down to the surface of New Texas. In short Number One give me a plan that will work. Not unattainable militaristic goals. This is not the Hall of Lords!”

“Yes sir. I hadn’t thought it through. I know that our forces have been depleted. I just hadn’t thought that we would ever be forced to leave a Division of Death Dealers to die like this. It just doesn’t sit well with me sir.” As the XO explained and apologized to Cosby, he could only sympathize.

“Trust me Number One, I don’t like it either.” Cosby turned and looked out the forward view screen at his heavily damaged Fleet. “If we had the forces I wouldn’t even be thinking this way. That damned surprise attack caught us totally off guard. Now, the Death Dealers will have to pay the price for our arrogance. Those poor bastards are going to pay that price in blood and bodies bags.”

The XO looked out the forward view screen. “Sir, have you ever heard of an entire Death Dealer Division being wiped out?”

Admiral Cosby dropped his head. “Only twice before, Number One. Each time the deaths of those divisions resulted in the Death Dealer High Command issuing total war orders. When those orders reached the combat troops they gave no quarter.”

Cosby never took his eyes off the view screen. Letting his fears fill his voice. “Have you ever heard the story of how the Death Dealers earned their name and battle cry, Number One?”

“I thought those stories were just that stories?”

“No, my old friend they’re not. Those stories are all truths. Just like every other story that surrounds the bravery of the Death Dealers. They never retreat and never surrender. Once they have been given a planet to hold or conquer they live or die trying to do just that.” Cosby never took his eyes off the view screen and the jump gate framed there. “Right now, I truly pity the poor dumb bastards that have pissed them off on that planet. They have been pushed into a corner. It will take them time to reconstitute their forces, but once that happens all hell is going to break lose on that planet. They will come out of that base like the nightmares of the battlefield they are, raining down death and destruction as they move.”

“I doubt that sir. They may leave the base, but they’ll lack the needed air support to do more than secure another quarter mile of territory. That is all.” The XO was positive that he had his Captain now.

“Want to place ten gold Imperials on that Number One?” The smirk that graced Cosby’s face made the XO stop and think about his answer. For the Admiral to be willing to place that kind of bet was unheard of, let alone with a junior officer.

“No thank you, sir. I only gamble with my life. Never my money.”

“Smart thinking Number One. Too bad though, I was looking forward to collecting.” Cosby knew what he was talking about. He had seen Death Dealers do amazing things. The reports of a Claymore providing the 101st Division with air support would be nothing more than another legend in their very long and storied history.

Command Center, White Sands Research and Development Center, New Texas.

Major General Carol Davenport looked around the assembled officers. Out of the original sixteen division level command officers only three remained. The rest were all Lieutenant Colonels or Majors. Lieutenant General Joseph Mansfield, the former Divisional Command, lay dead on the grounds of the old Division Command Post. Mansfield had personally led the charge that broke the lines of the attacking enemy force. He and most of the Command Staff had fought to the end re-securing the old Divisional TOC with just a handful of Fire Support APSs and three companies of Jump Infantry Troops. Carol had been left with the unenviable task of regrouping the division at the last secure Death Dealer Base on New Texas. A task made all the harder due to the lack of experienced Regimental and Divisional Commanders.

There were only two rays of hope in this whole mess. The first of these hopes was Colonel McManus and his twenty-nine fighter pilots. They may not have their aerospace fighters but those could be replaced thanks to the manufacturing center of the R-n-D center. Not only just replaced but upgraded to the new F-15 Strike Eagles. A few would get the new fighter that Lieutenant Terresa Cole had designed. The final review of the combat footage from her gun cameras had shown just how vastly superior the FB-11 was to anything else flying.

The fact that the airframe was a failed design that was over 700 years old was not lost on the research teams. Nor was the fact the engines were also a discarded design that was as over 200 years old. Everything about the FB-11 was from designs that had been either monumental failures or designs that were discarded for being too costly at the time. Somehow, someway, Terresa Cole had managed to combine all these failed technologies into a powerful and deadly fighter. The likes of which had never been seen before in all of the Empire. The firepower of the fighter was damned near ungodly, and its maneuverability was unparalleled, while the speed of the fighter could only be described as quicksilver lightning. The only problem was finding pilots that could handle flying the Claymore without suffering AI-burnout.

The other ray of hope was the growing resistance among the local land owners. More than fifty different groups had already been identified by her Intelligence Officers. If she could get these resistance cells organized, then they would be a real game changer in the war. Since their very beginning, this was the Death Dealers true calling. Two or three-man teams working deep behind enemy lines turning the local population against the occupying military forces. The reports coming out of the backcountry were encouraging that this type of warfare will succeed. The fact that the locals had more than just light and small arms was even better. They may not have tanks, IFVs, or APSs but they did have light fast attack vehicles. Mostly those FAVs were quarter and half ton ground trucks that had been retro fitted to carry either a heavy machinegun, mortar, antitank missile, or heavy lasers and PPCs. They were small fast and deadly. Then there were the modified sand rail dune buggies. Most of these started out as cattle herding vehicles, now they carried machineguns, pulse plasma lasers, and antitank missiles.

Then there were the ‘snipers’. Carol had to laugh when the Coles just smiled at hearing about the reports of Amazon and mercenary officers being shot and killed by high powered hunting rifles. When Colonel Nakatoma questioned them about their smiles Sylvester just shrugged his shoulders and smirked saying. “Hillbillies and rednecks, never try to take their land. They believe in three things. God, guns, and clan, they got all three. You just don’t show up on their front porch saying that you’re going to take their land. They’re more than likely to bury your ass out back behind their barns than talk or listen to you.”

The most encouraging reports were coming out of the town of Nowhere. The populace of the town had already crippled five of the local merc units. The cities of Long Horn, Six Shooter, and Well Cap were in total unrest. The Amazon divisions may hold the upper hand, but they didn’t hold the cities or the countryside. Everywhere they went they faced boobytraps, IEDs, and every other nasty trick known to man when it comes to warfare. The civilian population of New Texas were coming out of the woodwork in a true gorilla warrior fashion.

Taking the latest reports from her Intelligence Officer Carol just sighed. “Well, people, it looks like we’re on our own for a while.”

“What the hell does that mean General?” Lieutenant Colonel Huasman head of logistics and supply. “We’ve been on our fracking own for the past two damned days.”

“Huasman if you don’t shut your fracking hole I’ll personally shoot you myself.” Prince James snapped before General Davenport could reprimand the man. “I don’t know about the rest of us, but I’ve had enough of your bellyaching.”

“I’ll have your ass up on charges of insubordination, you upstart little shit. The only reason you even have that silver leaf is because of your mothers. This is not the time or the place for little boy royals who want to play soldier. Just sit back, keep your mouth shut, and let the professionals do their jobs.” Lieutenant Colonel Huasman had on more than one occasion made his feelings about royals in the military to those around him and within earshot.

It took all of Sylvester’s control and more than a little more on the part on General Davenport to keep from killing the man. It was a cold hard unforgiving voice that none of them expected to hear that ended all conversation on the matter. Not even General Davenport expected to hear this legendary voice. “Open your yap again Lieutenant Colonel Huasman, and I’ll personally rip your fracking head off and shit down your neck.”

The thick heavy accent let them all know where the man came from without doubt. All eyes had turned to fall on the seven-foot-tall walking mountain in human form. “All I want to know is when are you going to retake New Texas General Davenport. I’ve got four companies of fully trained Jump Infantry ready to go at your command ma’am. You just give the word and my boys will raise mortal hell for our Amazon friends.”

“Command Sergeant Major Southerland it has been a long time. When did you retire?” Davenport asked giving the man a sly smile.

“Five years ago, General. Until a short two years ago, I was happily enjoying that retirement raising cattle.” CSM Southerland was a long-time snuff user and the wad in his lower lip showed he hadn’t given up his one bad habit. This was confirmed by the juice he spit out on the ground. “I saw the writing on the wall and started training my ranch hands as Jump Infantry. They’ve been out training the hands on other ranches in the area. We may be a bunch of militia but we’re well trained.”

“General Davenport I must protest this man’s presence here. He and his men are nothing more than amateurs at best. All they’ll do is drain our already dangerously low supplies. Send him away and let him take the princeling with him. As it is now they are both nothing more than dangerous distractions.” Huasman knew that his argument against Southerland and the Prince would allow him to finally step out from the world of Supply and Quartermaster to prove his worth as a battlefield commander. Something that had been lacking in his personnel jacket.

Finally, Sylvester had had enough. The blow to the back of Huasman’s head was fast and potentially deadly. Had it not been for the Lieutenant Colonel’s training he would have been dead and not just incapacitated. Looking over at General Davenport Sylvester let his anger out with a sigh. “Sorry about that ma’am. I don’t know what you have heard about the man, but he has been a huge pain in the ass for our troop commanders. I’ve had to fight with him to just get the standard combat loadout for my men. I won’t bring up his attitude towards officers that are not High Families.”

“You don’t have to Major Cole. I’ve got more than one report on the man from other Field Commanders. What I want to know is what the hell is the reason for the man’s obsession with sending out partially armed men?” Carol asked of her staff.

“I’ll answer that ma’am.” Prince James said as he stood up. “Just look at his personnel jacket. Thirty-six years and not one Combat Command. He’s been passed over five times for promotion during his career. Once for Captain, then twice for Major, once for LTC and finally the last time for full bird. The only thing that has kept him in is his connects in Parliament.”

Every officer around the room looked over at Prince James, but it was Davenport that put their thoughts into words. “How many others were you sent here to EVAL Lieutenant Colonel Nakatoma? Just the Death Dealer or ALL Imperial military?”

James was on the spot and knew it. “All General Davenport. I had already sent in my report before getting slapped with the reassignment to here. I was supposed to ship out ten-days after sending in my report. We all know how that went.”

The other officers chuckled at James’s joke. More than one of them had heard through the grapevine about his being assigned to the R-n-D Center. More than one of them had sent him sympathy cards for having to put up with scientists that don’t understand the rules of the real world. One had even gone so far to tell him about the scientist that lost control of one experiment that almost destroyed the base. Not all of the officers’ present were laughing though.

“Just how many of us were on the chopping block Lieutenant Colonel? Just those like Huasman? Or are there others that were slated for forced retirement?” One of the few officers who were not laughing asked.

James gave the man a hard look and noticed that his collar tabs marked him as being in the Engineers. He also noticed that the officer was a full Colonel. One of the few in the Center. James put on his most diplomatic smile before answering the Colonel. He was now in full ‘Crown Prince’ mode as he liked to call it. “Sir, that information is no longer of concern. As it stands right now, we all have a much bigger concern. How do we keep this planetary war from becoming a full-blown rebellion across the Empire?”

“Excuse me Colonel, but what do you mean by that? We already have a full-blown insurrection on our hands. Or have you failed to notice the eleven divisions of Amazon forces on New Texas?” Asked a man stand behind CSM Southerland.

Davenport took charge at this point. “Who might you be sir?”

“J.E. Ferguson, Esquire, duly elected Governor for New Texas. Now, who you care to answer my question General?” Everyone in the Command Center just gave the Governor a sideways look then turned back to General Davenport waiting for her to answer.

“No Governor Ferguson, we have not failed to notice the size of our enemy. The only reason we haven’t already started operations to retake the planet is because of their damned size. Let me break the situation down for you in terms that even a dumbass politician like you can understand.” Major General Carol Davenport was pissed and her officers all knew it. “So far, the Amazon Grand Council and Collective has been able to land eleven full divisions with fighter and bomber support. There are another six of their Ogre Class dropships inbound. Each able to carry a full division on their own. With the exception of a small part of the eastern continent they own the skies over New Texas.”

“Damn it, General! I already know this! What I want to know is when is the Empyreal Military going to send in your relief! I don’t need a recap of the situation on my own damned planet!” Ferguson wasn’t going to let these military types stonewall him. He wanted answers and was going to get them now.

“Governor Ferguson, there is no relief force on the way. At least not right now. Over a full third of my division has either been killed, wounded, or captured by the Op-For. I have one, I repeat one, regiment of Armored Power Suits. A regiment that has been cobbled together from the remains of three other regiments. Two tank battalions that are a mix of light and medium tanks with no heavies. A single artillery battalion out of the three I did have. And six Infantry battalions. Two of which are Jump Infantry with no way of delivering them behind enemy lines. Of the other four, only one has IFVs for support, and the last is a pure light Infantry relying solely on FAVs. I have thirty-one fighter pilots and only eighteen aerospace fighters for them to fly. Are you starting to get the drift here Governor?” Davenport finally asked the man in a voice that dripped with sarcasm.

“I see. I did not expect the situation to be so bleak. Is there anything that the citizens of my planet can do to help?” For the first time in his tenure as Governor, James Edward Ferguson, a man named after his ancestor, felt the full weight of his office. Looking over at CSM Southerland. “Skull get the rest of the troops rounded up and rolling. I have a feeling the General will need them.”

“Um… Just how many more militia troops do you have under arms Governor?” Prince James asked from behind him.

“Two battalions of mobile light Infantry, two battalions of armored Infantry, four battalions of medium armor, three battalions of artillery, one squadron of ground attack helos and one squadron transport helos. That is the total of our forces, General Davenport.” As Ferguson listed off the units that made up the New Texas militia the gathered officers were stunned.

“Goddess! How in the world did you get all of that planet side undetected?” Lieutenant Colonel Higgins asked. “You have a full two divisions worth of material.”

Command Sergeant Major Southerland chuckled. “We saw the writing on the walls two years ago Colonel Higgins. We started smuggling in the needed supplies and weapons back then. For the heavier stuff the dropships landed in the Franklin Mountain Range and was moved from there to staging points all across the planet.”

“Sergeant Major, how long for your troops to organize and move into attack positions?” Davenport asked hopefully.

“Too long to do any good with the current situation ma’am.” Southerland let the regret over this fact fill his voice. “Just about our entire Command Staff was rounded up in the ‘antiterrorist’ sweeps by the Amazons. We’re trying to come up with a plan for their extraction as we speak.”

“Where are they being held Sergeant Major?” James asked quickly.

“Camron Maximum Security Prison, outside Chino in El Paso County.” Ferguson answered for the New Texas Contingent. “Unless we can get air lift and cover for any breakout plan they’re all just so much wishing.”

“Why’s that sir?” Sylvester asked for those gathered.

“The prison sits atop a nine-thousand-foot tall rock formation in the middle of a flat desert plain. All approaches are covered by a battery of watchtowers armed with twin-pulse two-twenty-millimeter laser cannons. Each is radar and lidar guided and targeted. Nothing gets past them without the proper clearances. That is just the ground-based defenses. The antiair defenses are just as formidable if not more so. Each prison wall-tower is armed with a two thirty-millimeter Gatlin antiaircraft cannons. Again, with radar/lidar tracking and targeting.” Southerland explained. “Now do you see why our escape plans need air support?”

“What you need is precision high-altitude bombing, Sergeant Major. Which is something that we cannot give you at this time.” Colonel McManus told him and Ferguson hotly. “Hell, we can’t even give you carpet bombing.”

“What about using those Mark eight Air-to-Ground missiles? Wouldn’t they do the job?” Ferguson asked not wanting to give up on their escape plans for the militia commanders. He felt that should be their priority.

“Do you want your people out of there alive or dead?” McManus asked coldly.

“I don’t understand.” Ferguson answered truthfully.

“The Mark eight Hawk air-to-ground missile is a precision weapon true. The downside of using them is the size of their warhead.” McManus began his explanations by pulling up the known layout for the prison. “None of the wall towers are far enough away from the prison itself to prevent collateral damage. Each Hawk carries a six-hundred-pound warhead of high-explosive. The blast from just one of those missiles will bring down whole sections of the prison. Now, do you see why those are off the table? That is unless you want your people dead for some reason.”

“So, what do we do for now?” Ferguson asked in defeat. His dreams of leading the charge to retake his planet dying before his very eyes. “We just can’t sit here and wait for the River-sluts to attack us here.”

“We’re not going to wait for them to come to us.” General Davenport snarled. “We are Death Dealers. We never retreat, we never surrender, and above all, we never quit. We may be on the ropes now, but not for long. We’ll come off the ropes we’ll be swinging the whole damned time. Make no mistake about that, Ferguson.”

“When will that be? Just how long are you going to wait, General? It’s MY people out there right now that are dying.” Ferguson demanded.

“The moment that MY people can get to YOUR people.” The smile that came to Davenport’s lips was pure predatory. “This is OUR type of war NOW.”

Tent for Lieutenant Terresa Cole.

I couldn’t believe the bullshit that has been coming down the line. On second thought, yeah, I could. I’ve flown eight escort sorties in the last two days. The most depressing mission for me was the evac flights from the old division command post. After all I did to help save that base, in the end it had been for nothing. The Amazons were still able to drive us out of our bases. The only one we’ve been able to hold on to is WSRDC. Even with me and the others flying escort we still had casualties among the transports. Oh, they all made it WSRDC but five would never fly again. Of the nine heavy-lift A-400 Atlas’ all but two had not sustained damage during the evacuation operations. Chief Daily and the other Warrant Officers were doing their best to get the ones they can repaired.

I look up from my journal and stretch. “Damn I can’t believe I lost track of the time like that. I can’t believe that it’s almost chow time.”

As I leave my tent I realize that I’m not as jumpy about my appearance any more. Then again, most of the people around here have heard about my missions. That and the fact that I currently have one of the highest victory counts of a serving member of the military. The six new stars and one more gold star for a second ship kill people were starting to look at me in wonder not hate. I look over at the nose of my Claymore at the three rows of ten, one row of six, of solid red stars. Off to one side the two gold stars stood out from the rest. There was the story of my career for the whole world to see.

Reaching into my BDU shirt pocket I pull out a pack of Winchester Blacks. After taking one out and lighting up I head for the mess-hall tent. That was one missile hit that pissed everyone off. The loss of the dining facility was enough to make even the lowliest of soldiers and technicians angry. “At least the cooks got out before the hammer fell.”

“Talking to yourself again Lt?” Terresa no longer jumped at the voice of her Crew Chief. “I keep telling you that is the first sign of going crazy.” Terresa chuckled as the big man walked around the nose of her fighter to look her in the face. “I was getting ready to come see if you had gone to chow yet?”

“On my way there now, Chief Daily.” Terresa had really come to like the much older officer. “Care to join me or does the Witch need her lover more?”

It was already a well-known fact that Chief Warrant Office Lucky Daily had fallen in love with my bird as much as I had. I’ve already had to save one overly curious designer from getting too close to the Witch. The massive Chief Warrant Office had a rather heavy torque wrench in his hands as he explained in explicit detail what he would do to the man if he laid a hand on his baby. I may be the pilot for the Silver Eyed Witch, but she was Chief Daily’s little girl and woe be to any who hurt her. The fact that I brought her back with a few laser and PPC burns, not to mention some AC hits had not endeared me with the big man at times.

“Sure, I could go for something to eat right now.” Daily answered with a smile at my joke. “The boys can finish up with the repairs from your last little go around with the Test Tube Sluts.”

“Chief you know how the DCO feels about people using that term.” I reprimanded the man before we leave the area of my tent and bunker.

“Ma’am, I may not be politically correct, but the brass can kiss my ass for it.” Daily snarled as we walked across the bass. “They’re not having to patch up our birds with duct tape, bailing wire, and chewing gum, while trying to squeeze more aircraft out of manufacturing center.”

“I didn’t know it was that bad Chief. Is there anything I can do to help out?” I know that he has been pushing his crew, but I wondered for the first time about the other ground crews. “I know that I’ve been putting a lot of hours on the Witch.”

“Naw, Lt. It’s not your fault. We both know that you do your damnedest to bring her back in one piece every time. There are going to be times that doesn’t happen. We both know that luck plays as big a part in combat as skill does. What was it that ancient French General said about one of his commanders?”

“You mean Napoléon. The quote you’re looking for is ‘I know he is a good tactician but is he lucky?’. That isn’t exactly the truth, but he was credited for saying it.” I answered him off the top of my head. “The closest thing he ever said along those lines was ‘The greatest general is the who makes the fewest mistakes.”

“Damn Lt you really know your ancient history.” Chief Daily really was impressed by my quoting that ancient General. “I take it that you want to do something else when you get out of the service. Maybe teaching?”

“Teaching is not really my thing Chief. What I would love to do is study the ancient battlefields of Earth Prime. I want to go into Battlefield Archaeology. Too many of our historical sites were wiped out just to build a damned high-rise apartment complex or to ease the political tensions of some Political Correctness Movement. I want to try and find those lost battlefields. So that they’re not forgotten.” I let my passion for those forgotten battles fill my voice as we walked.

“Wow, Lt I never thought about doing something like that.” Chief Daily gave me a lopsided smile just as we passed two Regular Infantry Death Dealers. Both men just smirked at the two of us. I as much as I wanted to pound them for their smirking I couldn’t. They were just being typical G.I.s. Now, Chief Daily on the other hand could say something. “AND just what are you two GRUNTS staring at?!”

When they didn’t answer right away Chief Daily got right up in their faces. “If I EVEN get a HINT that you two monkey nuts have been dishing about the Lt and me being a couple. I’ll have your sorry asses scrubbing my Flight Line with toothbrushes. Do you hear me TROOPERS?”

“Sir, yes Sir!” With that the two Infantry men hauled ass to get away from the two of us. I almost laughed at the speed of their departure.

“Come on Chief. I’m hungry and the chow hall closes in twenty minutes. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like having cold or heated C-rats.” Chuckling at the big man’s handling of the two men.

“Coming ma’am.” Daily grumbled. “Sorry about that, I know that you’re trying to blend in and all, but those two knuckle heads were down right disrespectful.”

“Oh, I know Chief. Trust me, I know.” I just sigh as we enter the chow hall. “The problem is I get into trouble if I correct some of the attitudes of our troops around here.”

“Lt there is correcting an attitude and there is correcting an attitude.” Chief Daily chuckled as he remembered the last time I corrected someone’s attitude. “You just have to remember that broken bones don’t always correct an attitude.”

“Shit Chief I only did that once.” I griped. Unfortunately, my gripping looked more like pouting. “Besides, the Base CO gave me permission to pound on that bartender.”

Chief Daily just laughed as we got in line. After about fifteen minutes we were sitting down at one of the tables inside the general purpose large tents that was being use as the chow hall. Like most GP large tent this one was fifty-feet long and thirty-feet wide. It was one of three such tents that had been setup for use by the mess-hall staff and cooks. Even as we took our seats, the food line was thinning out as the last of the officers on base came in to get something to eat.

“Is this seat taken?” The voice caught me off guard. I had not heard the person’s voice in more than two years. The fact that they are here now was not good. I turn in my seat and look up into a face that I know all too well.

“Hi mom. When did you arrive?”

-----tbc-----