Reapers: The Shadow Soldiers (11 page)

“Thanks,” she murmured. “That sauce is about the only thing that can make these rations even remotely edible,” she joked with a smile. Burns chuckled back at her as he poked his fork around in the mush. It was very true. The rations served at the Fort were horrendous.
 

She continued to smile for a bit after that, which in turn made Burns smile. He hadn’t done that much in his life, but he couldn’t help it when he saw her. Even if she wasn’t around, just thinking about her made him smile. He’d spent nearly every hour of every day for two months with her, and nearly all of it he had been happy. He always felt warm, and it wasn’t just because Mardius was closer to its sun than other planets.
 

He’d kept his feelings hidden for some time, not wanting to alarm her, but the freedom they were allowed today made it difficult to keep such passions down.
 

“Stay with me,” he blurted out, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. She squinted her eyes as she swallowed another bite of the meal.
 

“I’m not leaving until you’re better,” she ensured, somewhat confused. He probably should have left it at that, but his adrenaline had started pumping, and he felt confident he could get her to see his side.

“No, I mean after,” he clarified. “Talk to the Major, get your sentence reduced,” Burns urged her. She understood this time, and the idea caused her to shift around uncomfortably.
 

“I can’t do that Ben. I disobeyed orders,” she maintained, staying true to herself. Burns looked at the sunbaked gravel and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, but—” he paused, finding it difficult to express what was on his mind.
 

“What?” she asked.
 

“It’s just...after what happened, ” he stammered, trying to find the right words, “I guess...I’ve realized that things change fast. One moment, I’m thinking this planet is too hot, and the next I’m bleeding out with three holes in my chest. Nothing is for sure, and nothing lasts. So, why hold back?” he asked, pausing to see how she’d taken it. Her continued squinting didn’t give him much confidence. He meant what he said though—no holding back now. “Eve, you’re the only one who’s ever cared. The army won’t take me back; I’m never going to be able to fight again. Stay with me,” he begged with an unsure smile. This seemed to break her squint, and she slightly smiled at him.

“Ben, I can’t,” she asserted, coming back to reality. “Your injury,” she began again, “it’s not just a physical one. That was a traumatic experience. You’ll recover, but it’ll take time. Just relax and try not to make any big decisions, okay?” she urged.

“No,” he exclaimed, “this is how I truly feel. I know because I haven’t felt it before. You think this is a self-preservation thing? It’s not. I know what self-preservation looks like. I know what it feels like. I have lived my whole life trying to survive. This is not that. This is a genuine connection. I’ve never felt it before, and if you met my father, you’d know why. Trust me, Eve, this is the real deal. I know you feel the same,” he told her. She looked at the rough ground, sorting through her thoughts. This was uncharted territory for her, and she clearly wanted to make the right decision.
 

“Maybe,” she murmured softly, and for a vague moment Burns thought he might have actually won her over. Then, suddenly, she became her normal self again. “But it’s complicated. I just...I can’t. People got hurt because I chose to pull you out. It looks bad, a romance between us. We have a connection, but it isn’t a reason to shirk my responsibilities. When it comes, I’m going to go to that military tribunal, and I’m not going to fight it. The moment we start making exceptions is the moment we stop doing what is right. I’m sorry, Ben, I know you understand.” She gave him a soft smile, then stood up and walked away, refusing to discuss it any further.

He wanted desperately to follow, but he did not. She had saved him out of the goodness of her heart, and it was selfish to ask her to do any more than that. He was just glad she knew how he felt. He truly did love her. That was all that mattered.
 

WESTERN DUCHESS

If there was one thing Burns had forgotten about the military, it was that sub-space travel was a real treat.
 

Entering a generated black hole, time became irrelevant until you exited. Sometimes it felt like you were stuck in a never-ending loop of painful strings, continuing on and on without any purpose or direction until you were suddenly, violently, sucked out and thrown back together. It was disorienting and nauseating.
 

Luckily, the more you did it, the better you could cope with it. Most military personnel, especially those in the Invasion fleets, became exceptionally prepared for it. Civilians, however, had issues. Sub-space travel was not cleared for any civilian craft, not even interplanetary transports. As such, most were unprepared for its bite. This included Brosi, who had immediately collapsed to the floor the moment they exited the generated portal.
 

“Whoa,” Rhett murmured, leaning forward in his seat to help Brosi, “not in your helmet, kid.” He was, of course, referencing the tendency people had of vomiting their first time through sub-space. In the Invasion Fleets, they used to call it “plug-bombing” due to the fact that every soldier was required to wear a re-breather mask during the jump.
 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Brosi said defensively as he slid back into his seat. He didn’t seem to have vomited. More than likely, he’d talked himself out of it.
 

The interaction had made Burns realize the mistake he’d made in sitting arrangements, though. Brosi was right next to Rhett. A good leader would be wise to remember the conflict the two had not more than an hour ago. He was feeling some of it now. Brosi seemed to be compensating for his weaknesses, and Rhett had realized it.
 

“You don’t have to act tough for me, kid, I know how sub-space goes,” he assured calmly, much to Burns’ surprise. He had expected some sort of a comment on how it didn’t matter how tough you were. He had assumed Rhett cared much more about title than he actually did. So, it would seem it was only Burns who was still struggling to march along with the teamwork fife. Except for, maybe, Carmen.
 

As the generated portal collapsed weakly behind them, the transport headed in view of a large, silver carrier below. The carrier was wide and deep, able to transport thousands of gunships and millions of men. Behind her plump front sat her fourteen propulsion engines. She may have been a portly lady, but she was as nimble and fast as any.
 

The others might not have known it yet, but this carrier was a feared Deep Space Eliminator Cruiser. Her name was the
Western Duchess,
and she was the only ship to have escaped the first assault on Silverset.

Dropping closer to the large cruiser, she opened her large bay doors and welcomed the transport to set down inside.
 

As they descended, crewmen ran about with magnetized boots, guiding the pilot to a safe landing.
 

Once they had touched down, the magnetized techs “locked” down the transport and cooled it off from its flight. Inside the transport, Burns and company waited patiently for the crewmen to do their jobs. Burns heard the ratcheting of the large bay doors closing. They would only have to wait for the artificial gravity to take hold now.
 

It took a few minutes for the gravity to take hold, but soon Index was given a thumbs-up by the pilot, and the team was allowed to exit.
 

Opening the hatch, the four armored soldiers led by Index stepped onto the open tarmac of the
Duchess
. Much like the hanger of the Syncopate, the hustle and bustle was familiar to Burns. He actually felt a little at home here.
 

The group was then greeted by a regal looking man with a mustache. He was dressed in a dark gray officer uniform, which was adorned with plenty of ceremonial ropes and ribbons.
 

“Welcome aboard,” he greeted as Index headed to the front of the group.

“Good to see you again, Fleet Admiral,” she told him as she shook his hand. He bowed his head, silently concurring.
 

Returning to business, Index turned and motioned to Burns. “Colonel Ben Burns,” she introduced as she turned back to the Fleet Admiral, “this is Fleet Admiral James Partinger.” Partinger offered his hand once more, and Burns felt obliged to shake it.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the man greeted.
 

“Pleasure’s mine, sir,” Burns returned quickly, wanting to skip the formalities and get to the job he was tasked.
 

“Right,” Index began promptly, “I assume you’ve received the dropship,” she said. Partinger bowed his head again.

“Ah, yes,” he assured. “My men have been tending to it for days now. It’s in the east launch bay, awaiting deployment.” Index gave him a confirming look as she motioned to the others to follow. The four armored soldiers quickly fell into ranks.

The cruiser halls were an active mass of crewmen running from port to port. Burns couldn’t imagine what they’d been through, having survived the first assault on Silverset and seen the rest of the Eliminator cruisers struck down. It would have been enough to make the most devoted Dominion soldier surrender.
 

These cruisers were the pride of the Dominion military, the image of everything they stood for. The ULC didn’t only stop an invasion, they kicked the air out of the entire military. Stopping the ULC now wasn’t just for justice—no, it was personal.
 

The crewmen had the look of veiled disgust. They were trying to keep it under wraps, but Burns knew how they felt. This whole ship wanted nothing more than to land on Silverset and give the Collective everything that was coming to them.
 

Though the Fleet Admiral seemed to be above the resentment. It was probably a good thing; communal hate without clear leadership never ended well.
 

More than just a clear head, Burns assumed that Partinger was a cunning tactician, a steely man full of resolve. Having survived the ambush and remained composed, it seemed fitting that he was second in the navy only to the Grand Admiral. Without having communicated, Brosi seemed to agree with Burns on this point.

“It’s a good thing we have this cruiser left, with such a capable Admiral,” he stated. Index had fallen back from Partinger’s side and joined the group.
 

“Yes, quite,” she answered but not wholeheartedly.

“What is it?” Burns asked. Index seemed to think before speaking.
 

“James Partinger is—” she paused.

“What?” Burns asked.
 

“An idiot,” she answered definitively.
 

“Come again?” Brosi asked.

“He’s an idiot. That’s why we trusted him with this operation. He’s not going to ask any questions because he doesn’t care. Why do you think he survived Silverset instead of pushing on like any other self-respecting navy officer?” she proposed. Rhett seemed to take an interest now.
 

“Well, how did he attain the rank of Fleet Admiral?” he asked. Index rolled her eyes.

“In this post-accord age, how do you think?” No one seemed to have an answer so she answered herself. “He’s charming.” As if on cue, the man spoke up.
 

“Here she is,” he blurted, pointing to the gleaming, long-winged jet, which Burns assumed had begun life at the Syncopate facilities. Intelligence was really playing all of their cards in this game.
 

“We call her the Dusk-Falcon,” Index began as they walked under the glittering black wing. “She’s only a prototype, but her capabilities in supersonic speed should allow you to avoid any entanglements with the cannon and deploy safely,” she explained, turning and facing the team. “Now, let’s load up and prepare for launch,” she ordered as the team made their way to the back of the sleek jet. The bay door had descended and they stepped on, making their way up to the compact red-lit crew quarters.
 

Inside was a myriad of seats lining the walls and straps hanging from above. Burns noticed various boxes placed around the floor with weapons adorning racks at the back of the ship. It was—comfortable. He recognized this world.
 

Out from the open cockpit came a pilot wearing all-black fatigues and a full-faced re-breather helmet.
 

“We have the coordinates charted ma’am. The drop zone has been confirmed,” he said to Index, seemingly without noticing Burns. It appeared to be that everyone answered to Index here, despite the fact that they called Burns “Colonel.” He didn’t mind it though—at this current moment, all he wanted to do was focus on the mission. Index could handle the logistics; that was her job after all. Much like Carmen, Burns tried to stand back into the shadows and let everything figure itself out.
 

Now wasn’t a good time for emotional displays though. Burns was very much in his own head.
 

He looked over at Index as he made his way to his seat. She seemed confident.
 

Burns wished he could say the same about himself. He was feeling restless. He could only imagine the lives lost in the time it’d taken to get situated here. Strangely enough, it was Index’s reassuring nod to him that gave him clarity. It was only a split second, but he felt momentarily connected to the woman. She may be efficient and cold, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care.
 

“Strap in, team,” she called, returning to business. “We’re deploying in five.”
 

The pilot got into position at the helm of the ship. He maneuvered into his tight seat and buckled all of the necessary latches. He then began confirming take off with east launch bay command. Gaining confirmation, he turned around and gave a thumbs-up to Index.
 

“Good luck,” she wished at last as she turned around and exited the craft. The bay door then latched shut, and they got their last look at freedom.