"I can't wait to blow up some Amarr, man, I'm telling you. I just want to get training over with so I can get out there and do some damage!"
Another voice said, "You know, I have something in common with those Amarr - I like to pray, too. Only, I pray for war." Laughter.
"That's nothing," said the first voice, "Every morning when I wake up, I do pushups on my knuckles until they bleed. Then I sharpen my kri'tak and use it to shave." More laughter.
Allund smiled to himself. These jokers have no idea what they're in for, he thought.
"Think something's funny, vat baby?"
Allund opened his eyes to find a huge Brutor looking over the back of his seat at him. All the other capsuleers turned in their seats to watch.
"Hey guys, the vat baby here thinks we're funny." He glanced around at the blank stares before looking back into Allund's face. "You guys don't know? This is Allund Renn. He's a real celebrity, I'm tellin' ya, I overheard one of the recruiters talkin' about it. He was made in a test tube out of the cloned cells of one of the original Sebiestor rebel commandos." He smiled. "So, are you already like a hundred years old or what?"
Allund smiled back and replied, not missing a beat, "Technically, the cells and the DNA they're made of were already a hundred and seven years old when I was cloned eighteen years ago. So, that makes me a hundred and twenty-five now. But for practical reasons, I consider myself to be eighteen. Does that answer your question?"
Bettik's grin disappeared, replaced by a mask of derision. He leaned forward on the back of his seat, his bulk pushing it back against Allund's knees. "You listen to me, hero. You think you're better than us? You're not. And I'm gonna make it my mission in life to keep you in your place. So don't go getting any funny ideas or I'll make you suffer. You hear me? Suffer."
"Hey, man, lay off the guy, will ya?" A huge hand came to rest on Bettik's shoulder as another Brutor stepped up beside him. "What's the big deal, anyway? So what if he's cloned? We all have clones as capsuleers, so what's the problem? I mean being cloned out of cells is almost the same as being reanimated into a new clone, right?"
"So what?" Bettik stood up, facing the other massive Brutor. "So what? The problem is that I don't want this weirdo thinkin' he can come in here and be the man just 'cause he's cloned from some revolutionary war hero. He's nothing special, and I'm gonna make sure he remembers that. You got a problem with that, Gantari?"
"Just chill out, that's all. Like it or not, we're gonna have to work together in training. The Republic Fleet/Tribal Liberation Force Joint Combat Training Program is one of the harshest - if not the harshest - in New Eden," Gantari glanced at Allund. That's a cool customer, just sittin' there watching everything like he doesn't have a care in the world, he thought.
He looked back at Bettik. "None of us needs any enemies right now, not even you, man. Just relax, alright?"
"Whatever." Bettik turned around and sat in his seat. "What's a guy gotta do to get some chow around here, anyway? I'm starvin'."
"Aw, you're always starvin', man," another capsuleer said. They all laughed, trying to ease the tension.
"Don't mind him, Renn", Gantari sat next to Allund. "He's a true Brutor, with an ego as big as he is. Believe it or not, he's actually a pretty good guy. I'm Otis. Otis Gantari." He put out his hand.
"Well, thanks, Gantari, I appreciate that," Allund said as he shook Gantari's hand. "It takes all kinds, I guess."
Gantari laughed, "That it does, brother. That it does." He gave Allund a cautious look. "So, is all that stuff about you being cloned from a rebel true?"
"Yes." Allund took a deep breath. I'm gonna have to explain all this sooner or later, so I might as well do it now. He could practically feel the closest capsuleers listening to him.
"He was killed during the rebellion while on a ground operation to liberate some slaves. At that time, there weren't any clones for Matari pilots because the Republic hadn't really gotten off the ground yet and since all of their already limited resources went into the war effort, they didn't have any left for the facilities until the Gallente started chipping in. So, if you died, that was it. Game over."
"What?" Gantari asked. "I can't believe that, just dead and gone. No clones." He shook his head. "Those guys were crazy."
"Maybe," Allund said, "and maybe they just wanted to be free so bad they didn't care about life or death. Luckily, though, someone had the presence of mind to bring back a frozen piece of his body, which was stored in cryo. They cloned me from those cells and once I reached the developmental stage of a newborn, I was given to Sebiestor parents and raised by the tribe like any other child."
"So, you didn't get his downloaded memories or anything like that?" Gantari asked.
Allund shook his head. I dream about people and places I've never known and I know how to do things I've never learned to do, but nobody needs to know that, he thought. "I only remember this life, like anybody else."
He's hiding something, Gantari thought. "Well, at any rate nobody cares, 'sept for Bettik, and he only cares 'cause he's worried you might be better than him. I grew up with the guy and if there's anything he hates, it's the idea of someone being better than him - at anything." He leaned closer to Allund and said, "So don't take it personal, okay?"
"Duly noted," Allund smiled. "Thanks for the pep talk."
"Anytime, man. You need anything, you find me."
"Will do."
Gantari went back to his seat. Man, Renn is too damn calm and I don't think he's being completely straight with me.
With that, he dozed off.
-----
"Wake your asses up, sleeping beauties, it's time to go!"
Gantari woke up to see two training agents, one of them pacing up and down the aisle and screaming at the top of his lungs. He looked across the aisle at Allund, who was already fully alert and giving the agents an appraising look. Probably didn't even sleep, he thought.
"Are you deaf or stupid? I said MOVE!" shouted the agent, prompting the capsuleers to jump up and gather their things as fast as they could.
"Hey, wingman, maybe they didn't get enough beauty sleep," the other agent said with a smirk.
"I'm Senior Training Agent Erbi and this highstrung pilot is my wingman, Training Agent Shaket. You can call us 'sir'. We're here to take you pathetic losers through the gates of hell. If you make it out the other side, and I emphasize the 'if', you'll earn the right to call yourselves warriors. But as of right now, you're scum sucking, worthless egg jockeys who would've been better off just running cargo or mining for some unknown corp. And although you're all pitiful by your very nature, I can assure you that neither my wingman nor I will have any pity for you whatsoever." He slowly walked down the aisle, his head turning side to side as he regarded the capsuleers. Gantari noticed a long, nasty scar that ran down his face from his forehead to his jawline, right over his left eye.
"Our job is simple - to make you fail. We do not want you to succeed because the warriors of the Minmatar Republic are an elite brotherhood. You are outsiders. You are all unwelcome here, plain and simple. And before we're through, the majority of you will decide that you do not want to be here, either." He stopped and looked for a moment at Allund, who was already standing, ready to leave and meeting Erbi's gaze with his own.
Everybody else is freakin' out and this guy looks like he's just hangin' out in a Quafe bar, Gantari thought, watching Allund's face. He hadn't even noticed Allund stand up and get his bag.
"It behooves you all to pull yourselves together and get off this craft. Now." Agent Erbi turned and walked back up the aisle and out of view, followed by Agent Shaket.
The disoriented capsuleers rushed off of the ship, trying to get out as fast as they could despite being confused and half asleep.
Outside, Agent Shaket was pacing up and down the line, screaming at the capsuleers. "Toes on the line! Drop your bags in front of you and place your toes on the yellow line!"
Man, Gantari thought, this guy loves to pace and scream.
Once all of the capsuleers had been accounted for, they were processed through Reception, where their personal items were stored and they were issued dog tags, ID chips, uniforms, linens, and a hygiene kit. They were split up into twelve five-pilot squadrons with six squadrons in each wing. Agent Erbi, who Gantari thought of as 'the calm one', explained the system to the capsuleers.
"You will be living in a bay with the four other pilots in your squadron. Each side of the hall is one wing, consisting of six squadrons designated by the letters A through F, so you won't get lost. You will have a wing commander for each wing and a squadron commander for each squadron. These will be assigned and re-assigned by the training cadre as we see fit. Any questions? Good."
Training began immediately. Within the first three days, twice as many capsuleers had either dropped out or been dropped. There was endless physical training, often at random times, such as when the capsuleers were waiting in line for mealtime. There was classroom training, where the pilots tried to memorize tactics, techniques, and procedures through a haze of fatigue. When a pilot dozed off, he was 'smoked' - made to do various calisthenics until the training agents were satisfied that he was fully awake. Sometimes, the pilots would return to their bays to find their bunks overturned and their lockers emptied out all over the floor. This happened whenever one of them failed morning room inspection. When someone failed personal inspection by having some small thing wrong with his uniform or not having shaved properly, everyone was smoked until the pilot had fixed his error.
They trained in everything from hand-to-hand combat in both regular gravity and zero-G to marksmanship with small arms to tactical formations to spacecraft identification and memorization of their attributes and capabilities. Everything was drilled and practiced in simulations. It was tiring and endless. The only break they got was at mealtime, when the training agents went off to eat in their own dining area and left the pilots alone for a blissful twenty minutes.
"I don't know why we even train in some of this stuff," Gantari said around a mouthful of food. "I mean, hand-to-hand? Survival? Small arms? We'll probably never leave our pods. What's the point?"
Allund glanced across the table at him and kept eating.
"Two words, my friend - warrior ethos."
"What," Gantari asked, "are you talking about?"
"They train us in hand-to-hand, small arms, and survival to instill in us a warrior mentality. Being a warrior is a culture. The most basic aspect of that culture is survival. Everything else is essentially an extrapolation of the will to survive. Hand-to-hand is the next logical progression for survival skills, followed by small arms. We won't win any battles due to our prowess in survival skills, hand-to-hand, or small arms usage, but we will win battles due to the mental and physical qualities that training these skills brings out in us."
"Oh, enlightened one, thank you for your wisdom," Bettik bowed his torso, extending his arms toward Allund. "Please teach us your ways," he laughed and rolled his eyes.
Allund laughed, "I'm no wiser than anyone."
Bettik shook his head, "Oh, brother. The humble warrior monk angle, eh?"
Gantari ignored him. "Makes sense to me. I guess I didn't see it that way, it just seems like they're trying to get us to break down."
"Oh, they definitely are," Allund said. "They have to make sure that they don't pass anyone who can't handle the stress of combat and the best way to do that is to put us under as much stress as possible. That's the purpose behind yelling at us, smoking us, trashing our rooms, the sleep deprivation, and so on - to put us under as much physical and mental stress as they can in order to weed out the ones who can't make the cut and make the ones who do make the cut mentally and physically tougher."
"Oh, don't worry," Bettik chimed in, "we all know you'll make the cut, hero. That's why you're a squadron commander after only three weeks. 'Cause you got such a big brain."
"If that's true, Bettik, then why are you also a squadron commander?" Allund asked.
Bettik's face contorted in anger. "You tryin' to say somethin' smartass? You want to go 'round with me, hero?"
"No thanks, bro," Allund replied. "No offense, but you're not my type." The other capsuleers at the table laughed.
Bettik looked around, dumbfounded, then looked back at Allund. Suddenly, he roared and dove, his arms outstretched, across the table at Allund.
Allund tipped his chair back until he hit the floor and rolled backwards to his feet and into a strange fighting position Gantari had never seen before. Gantari's jaw dropped. How the hell could he react that fast? He doesn't even have any implants! And what's with that stance? He didn't learn that here, that's for sure.
Gantari spotted the training agents coming out of their dining room just as Bettik was sliding across the table, landing on Allund's tipped over chair. Agent Shaket started walking toward their table when Agent Erbi put a hand on his arm and shook his head.
Bettik got to his feet and assumed the standard fighting position. "I'm gonna hurt you so bad, hero," he said, and launched himself at Allund with a roar.
Allund took one step toward Bettik at an angle, causing Bettik's punch to hit empty air. At the same time, he pivoted, grabbed Bettik's outstretched arm at the elbow, and wrapped his arm around Bettik's head, turning it towards him and leaning back to place Bettik's weight on his forward leg. Then, Allund kicked the outside of Bettik's leg at the knee, placing all of his weight into the kick. Bettik's massive leg gave in with a wet crunch. Allund held him against his leg for a moment as though he was deciding something and then let go. The huge Brutor fell to the floor, clutching his thigh above the injured knee and howling through gritted teeth.
The training agents walked up, facing Allund.
"What the hell's going on here, Renn?" asked Erbi.
"I reacted without thinking, sir," Allund replied. "I am to blame for what happened here and await disciplinary action, sir."
Erbi laughed and cocked his head, looking at Allund as though wondering something.
"AIDMEDs, get this pilot to medical and fix his leg," he said without looking away from Allund. "That was an old style of combat. One that isn't taught anymore and hasn't been for a very long time. I read about it and recognize the movements you did as a part of a sequence. If you would have completed that sequence, Bettik would have died." A murmer went up among the capsuleers.
"Shut up!" he shouted.
Silence.
"Where did you learn that, Renn?" he asked.
"I have never learned it, sir. I've never learned any personal combat techniques except for the same basic personal defense every young Matari is taught as a child and the combatives taught here," Allund replied. "When Bettik attacked me, it just...flowed. I'm not sure why I reacted in that particular way."
Erbi looked at Allund thoughtfully for a moment, turned, and had a whispered conversation with Agent Shaket. He turned back toward Allund and addressed the capsuleers.
"As I'm sure you're well aware, you have all been monitored constantly since signing up. We know about Bettik's personality profile. Capsuleer Renn has shown his warrior spirit. For that, he will now be assigned as the Wing Commander for Alpha Wing. Capsuleer Bettik has shown that he is petty, foolhardy, and hot headed," he looked at Allund, "and he has already received his punishment for that. It's over. Everyone to your bays, doubletime!" Erbi turned and walked away, turning the capsuleers over to Shaket.
"You heard the man, MOVE, you dogs!"
Gantari woke up to see two training agents, one of them pacing up and down the aisle and screaming at the top of his lungs. He looked across the aisle at Allund, who was already fully alert and giving the agents an appraising look. Probably didn't even sleep, he thought.
"Are you deaf or stupid? I said MOVE!" shouted the agent, prompting the capsuleers to jump up and gather their things as fast as they could.
"Hey, wingman, maybe they didn't get enough beauty sleep," the other agent said with a smirk.
"I'm Senior Training Agent Erbi and this highstrung pilot is my wingman, Training Agent Shaket. You can call us 'sir'. We're here to take you pathetic losers through the gates of hell. If you make it out the other side, and I emphasize the 'if', you'll earn the right to call yourselves warriors. But as of right now, you're scum sucking, worthless egg jockeys who would've been better off just running cargo or mining for some unknown corp. And although you're all pitiful by your very nature, I can assure you that neither my wingman nor I will have any pity for you whatsoever." He slowly walked down the aisle, his head turning side to side as he regarded the capsuleers. Gantari noticed a long, nasty scar that ran down his face from his forehead to his jawline, right over his left eye.
"Our job is simple - to make you fail. We do not want you to succeed because the warriors of the Minmatar Republic are an elite brotherhood. You are outsiders. You are all unwelcome here, plain and simple. And before we're through, the majority of you will decide that you do not want to be here, either." He stopped and looked for a moment at Allund, who was already standing, ready to leave and meeting Erbi's gaze with his own.
Everybody else is freakin' out and this guy looks like he's just hangin' out in a Quafe bar, Gantari thought, watching Allund's face. He hadn't even noticed Allund stand up and get his bag.
"It behooves you all to pull yourselves together and get off this craft. Now." Agent Erbi turned and walked back up the aisle and out of view, followed by Agent Shaket.
The disoriented capsuleers rushed off of the ship, trying to get out as fast as they could despite being confused and half asleep.
Outside, Agent Shaket was pacing up and down the line, screaming at the capsuleers. "Toes on the line! Drop your bags in front of you and place your toes on the yellow line!"
Man, Gantari thought, this guy loves to pace and scream.
-----
Once all of the capsuleers had been accounted for, they were processed through Reception, where their personal items were stored and they were issued dog tags, ID chips, uniforms, linens, and a hygiene kit. They were split up into twelve five-pilot squadrons with six squadrons in each wing. Agent Erbi, who Gantari thought of as 'the calm one', explained the system to the capsuleers.
"You will be living in a bay with the four other pilots in your squadron. Each side of the hall is one wing, consisting of six squadrons designated by the letters A through F, so you won't get lost. You will have a wing commander for each wing and a squadron commander for each squadron. These will be assigned and re-assigned by the training cadre as we see fit. Any questions? Good."
Training began immediately. Within the first three days, twice as many capsuleers had either dropped out or been dropped. There was endless physical training, often at random times, such as when the capsuleers were waiting in line for mealtime. There was classroom training, where the pilots tried to memorize tactics, techniques, and procedures through a haze of fatigue. When a pilot dozed off, he was 'smoked' - made to do various calisthenics until the training agents were satisfied that he was fully awake. Sometimes, the pilots would return to their bays to find their bunks overturned and their lockers emptied out all over the floor. This happened whenever one of them failed morning room inspection. When someone failed personal inspection by having some small thing wrong with his uniform or not having shaved properly, everyone was smoked until the pilot had fixed his error.
They trained in everything from hand-to-hand combat in both regular gravity and zero-G to marksmanship with small arms to tactical formations to spacecraft identification and memorization of their attributes and capabilities. Everything was drilled and practiced in simulations. It was tiring and endless. The only break they got was at mealtime, when the training agents went off to eat in their own dining area and left the pilots alone for a blissful twenty minutes.
"I don't know why we even train in some of this stuff," Gantari said around a mouthful of food. "I mean, hand-to-hand? Survival? Small arms? We'll probably never leave our pods. What's the point?"
Allund glanced across the table at him and kept eating.
"Two words, my friend - warrior ethos."
"What," Gantari asked, "are you talking about?"
"They train us in hand-to-hand, small arms, and survival to instill in us a warrior mentality. Being a warrior is a culture. The most basic aspect of that culture is survival. Everything else is essentially an extrapolation of the will to survive. Hand-to-hand is the next logical progression for survival skills, followed by small arms. We won't win any battles due to our prowess in survival skills, hand-to-hand, or small arms usage, but we will win battles due to the mental and physical qualities that training these skills brings out in us."
"Oh, enlightened one, thank you for your wisdom," Bettik bowed his torso, extending his arms toward Allund. "Please teach us your ways," he laughed and rolled his eyes.
Allund laughed, "I'm no wiser than anyone."
Bettik shook his head, "Oh, brother. The humble warrior monk angle, eh?"
Gantari ignored him. "Makes sense to me. I guess I didn't see it that way, it just seems like they're trying to get us to break down."
"Oh, they definitely are," Allund said. "They have to make sure that they don't pass anyone who can't handle the stress of combat and the best way to do that is to put us under as much stress as possible. That's the purpose behind yelling at us, smoking us, trashing our rooms, the sleep deprivation, and so on - to put us under as much physical and mental stress as they can in order to weed out the ones who can't make the cut and make the ones who do make the cut mentally and physically tougher."
"Oh, don't worry," Bettik chimed in, "we all know you'll make the cut, hero. That's why you're a squadron commander after only three weeks. 'Cause you got such a big brain."
"If that's true, Bettik, then why are you also a squadron commander?" Allund asked.
Bettik's face contorted in anger. "You tryin' to say somethin' smartass? You want to go 'round with me, hero?"
"No thanks, bro," Allund replied. "No offense, but you're not my type." The other capsuleers at the table laughed.
Bettik looked around, dumbfounded, then looked back at Allund. Suddenly, he roared and dove, his arms outstretched, across the table at Allund.
Allund tipped his chair back until he hit the floor and rolled backwards to his feet and into a strange fighting position Gantari had never seen before. Gantari's jaw dropped. How the hell could he react that fast? He doesn't even have any implants! And what's with that stance? He didn't learn that here, that's for sure.
Gantari spotted the training agents coming out of their dining room just as Bettik was sliding across the table, landing on Allund's tipped over chair. Agent Shaket started walking toward their table when Agent Erbi put a hand on his arm and shook his head.
Bettik got to his feet and assumed the standard fighting position. "I'm gonna hurt you so bad, hero," he said, and launched himself at Allund with a roar.
Allund took one step toward Bettik at an angle, causing Bettik's punch to hit empty air. At the same time, he pivoted, grabbed Bettik's outstretched arm at the elbow, and wrapped his arm around Bettik's head, turning it towards him and leaning back to place Bettik's weight on his forward leg. Then, Allund kicked the outside of Bettik's leg at the knee, placing all of his weight into the kick. Bettik's massive leg gave in with a wet crunch. Allund held him against his leg for a moment as though he was deciding something and then let go. The huge Brutor fell to the floor, clutching his thigh above the injured knee and howling through gritted teeth.
The training agents walked up, facing Allund.
"What the hell's going on here, Renn?" asked Erbi.
"I reacted without thinking, sir," Allund replied. "I am to blame for what happened here and await disciplinary action, sir."
Erbi laughed and cocked his head, looking at Allund as though wondering something.
"AIDMEDs, get this pilot to medical and fix his leg," he said without looking away from Allund. "That was an old style of combat. One that isn't taught anymore and hasn't been for a very long time. I read about it and recognize the movements you did as a part of a sequence. If you would have completed that sequence, Bettik would have died." A murmer went up among the capsuleers.
"Shut up!" he shouted.
Silence.
"Where did you learn that, Renn?" he asked.
"I have never learned it, sir. I've never learned any personal combat techniques except for the same basic personal defense every young Matari is taught as a child and the combatives taught here," Allund replied. "When Bettik attacked me, it just...flowed. I'm not sure why I reacted in that particular way."
Erbi looked at Allund thoughtfully for a moment, turned, and had a whispered conversation with Agent Shaket. He turned back toward Allund and addressed the capsuleers.
"As I'm sure you're well aware, you have all been monitored constantly since signing up. We know about Bettik's personality profile. Capsuleer Renn has shown his warrior spirit. For that, he will now be assigned as the Wing Commander for Alpha Wing. Capsuleer Bettik has shown that he is petty, foolhardy, and hot headed," he looked at Allund, "and he has already received his punishment for that. It's over. Everyone to your bays, doubletime!" Erbi turned and walked away, turning the capsuleers over to Shaket.
"You heard the man, MOVE, you dogs!"
-----
They were ghosts. Shadows. They moved in complete silence, scanning their sectors of fire constantly with their rifles. He signaled them to stop. They obeyed instantly, taking a knee behind him. He moved forward, approaching the bend in the tunnel. He laid down flat on the ground and crawled forward slowly, looking around the bend and down the tunnel.
He signaled: A lone sentry; stand by for removal. He backed up, stood, secured his rifle against his body armor so it wouldn't move and give away his position, and drew his kri'tak. He moved forward, clamped his hand over the sentry's nose and mouth, and held the point of his kri'tak to the sentry's throat. He pulled the guard's body weight to the back and right before kicking his right leg in. The sentry fell, impaling his own throat on the kri'tak.
A door opened. Another guard came out. There was no time. He left the kri'tak in the first sentry and grabbed the second sentry's weapon as he was bringing it to firing position. Going with the motion, he pulled it upwards by the barrel, placing his thumb behind the trigger and stepping behind the guard. He struck the guard with his knee with all of his strength while yanking back on the rifle and twisting it, strangling the sentry with his own weapon sling.
He retrieved his kri'tak, put it away, and signaled his men: clear, advance on me. They were nearly there.
They continued through the door and down a hall. Slaver kennels. They put on their protective masks and pulled the pins on all of their gaseous ketamine grenades. Count to twenty. They continued past the doped slavers and into the slave quarters.
They were emaciated. Shriveled. Broken. The children's faces would haunt him for eternity.
"Get them to the extraction point. I'll place the charges. Move."
Everyone has a role. They work like a well-oiled machine. By the time he was halfway finished placing the charges, they are all gone. He hears running voices and quickens his pace. Attach explosive, insert the blasting caps, set up the receiver. Done, next.
Someone sees him. They open fire. He lays down cover fire, emptying his magazine, and places the last charge. He's hit, running on one good leg. He sees his men.
"Get out, I'm blowing it now. GO!"
He hits the transmitter and knows no more.
Allund woke up with start, sitting straight up in his rack. He was drenched in sweat.
"Hey, bro," Gantari whispered, "you okay? You were mumbling in your sleep, man."
"Fine, fine," Allund answered. "Must've been something I ate. Sorry 'bout that. Get some sleep," he said and laid back, closing his eyes and trying to get back to sleep.
It was only an hour until wake-up.
He signaled: A lone sentry; stand by for removal. He backed up, stood, secured his rifle against his body armor so it wouldn't move and give away his position, and drew his kri'tak. He moved forward, clamped his hand over the sentry's nose and mouth, and held the point of his kri'tak to the sentry's throat. He pulled the guard's body weight to the back and right before kicking his right leg in. The sentry fell, impaling his own throat on the kri'tak.
A door opened. Another guard came out. There was no time. He left the kri'tak in the first sentry and grabbed the second sentry's weapon as he was bringing it to firing position. Going with the motion, he pulled it upwards by the barrel, placing his thumb behind the trigger and stepping behind the guard. He struck the guard with his knee with all of his strength while yanking back on the rifle and twisting it, strangling the sentry with his own weapon sling.
He retrieved his kri'tak, put it away, and signaled his men: clear, advance on me. They were nearly there.
They continued through the door and down a hall. Slaver kennels. They put on their protective masks and pulled the pins on all of their gaseous ketamine grenades. Count to twenty. They continued past the doped slavers and into the slave quarters.
They were emaciated. Shriveled. Broken. The children's faces would haunt him for eternity.
"Get them to the extraction point. I'll place the charges. Move."
Everyone has a role. They work like a well-oiled machine. By the time he was halfway finished placing the charges, they are all gone. He hears running voices and quickens his pace. Attach explosive, insert the blasting caps, set up the receiver. Done, next.
Someone sees him. They open fire. He lays down cover fire, emptying his magazine, and places the last charge. He's hit, running on one good leg. He sees his men.
"Get out, I'm blowing it now. GO!"
He hits the transmitter and knows no more.
Allund woke up with start, sitting straight up in his rack. He was drenched in sweat.
"Hey, bro," Gantari whispered, "you okay? You were mumbling in your sleep, man."
"Fine, fine," Allund answered. "Must've been something I ate. Sorry 'bout that. Get some sleep," he said and laid back, closing his eyes and trying to get back to sleep.
It was only an hour until wake-up.
