It took two weeks for Kearce’s team to fully assemble at Camp Renee Christon. The ones that got there earlier took no days off. They studied enemy ships, weaponry systems, tactical maneuvers, high priority targets, tracking systems, and anything else that might help on the hunt.
Some of them were Marines that Kearce had previously commanded, some were new, and some were not Marines at all. He had run joint operations before, but this was a strange assignment indeed.
“Ah, the last of the newcomers arrive!” Kearce said above the group’s chatter at the breakfast table, rising from his seat to shake their hands.
After a quick greeting, the two newly arrived men retrieved their meals and joined in the fray. Kearce turned and surveyed the team. Thirteen in all, including himself. The colonel had found the sector’s most highly trained killing machine he had ever witnessed, comprised of many different components.
He himself was one of a very select few whom had survived combat with the Recei. He was also the team leader in most missions, this one was no exception.
Jannes was a heavy gunner, and a very skilled one at that. He had enough kills to make a recruit soil himself. Jannes had survived a Recei ambush and walked twenty-four kilometers, covered in injuries from an explosion as well as his friends’ blood, to the nearest outpost. Kearce knew his friend had never fully recovered from that day, but no outsider would ever question it.
Rambo had transitioned to building heavy starship artillery with the Navy a few years ago. His real name was Ian, but everyone called him Rambo because he wore a bandana on his head, took his shirt off at every opportunity, always had a cigar in his mouth, and collected antique weapons.
Everybody else was new.
Ivan and Dalk: Two mercenary brothers renowned for their eerie ability to seemingly read each other’s minds and their outstanding affinity for blades. Hughes: A Navy Captain that could hit an enemy ship with an unguided missile from 150 kilometers and had a knack for hacking. Diaz: A special forces sniper from the Army with her kills menacingly tattooed in tallies down her arm – 112. Posco and Fullen: two soldiers from the Army that fended off a Pitari Faction attack for over 75 hours in a cave system before finally being rescued. Mauzan and Fyta: elite soldiers from the Marine Wraiths, a legendary scouting unit known for their tracking and reconnaissance expertise and lethal marksmen. Hollin and Coult: genius engineers from the Air Force who could supposedly fix anything mechanical with the right materials.
The team was beyond compare, thirteen men and women that had skills to put mythical heroes to shame. Kearce, Jannes, Rambo, Ivan and Dalk, Hughes, Diaz, Posco, Fullen, Mauzan, Fyta, Hollin, and Coult.
Kearce made his way back to the breakfast table and rejoined the lively conversation. The colonel had scheduled their launch on the 18th, four days from now. At least they were on schedule – a feat considering the fact that the team was assembled from so many different places.
“You ready to get back on the ground Rambo?”
Rambo chuckled and nodded, lighting up a fresh cigar as he finished off his food. “Never more so, Captain. Been a long time, glad to be under your command again. Maybe now I’ll get to use one of those guns I’m always building.”
Kearce grinned, “I sure hope so, nothing cooler than blowing a starship to scraps with a 400mm.”
“I beg to differ on that point,” Hughes interjected, “One time I was on a destroyer, and I watched the entire front quarter of an enemy battleship crack off after a direct hit with our 6600-caliber energy cannon.”
Rambo raised his brows at that, “That’s a hell of a gun.”
Diaz chimed in, “That’s pretty impressive, but I happen to know that cannon takes forever to charge, and you pretty much only get one shot per battle. Personally, I like rifles better, feels more real, ya know?”
“I agree there,” Kearce responded, “don’t get any dirt on your uniform from a starship bridge.”
“Exactly!” Diaz laughed loudly, “Damn, Cap, I can’t wait to kick some pirate ass. My Celene is getting tired of only killing steel.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of breakfast.
“Well, that’s the end of our leisure. Everyone head to the range, we’re doing sidearm drills until lunch then we’ll have the afternoon intelligence brief.”
It felt strange to decide the training plans by himself rather than following a schedule. Kearce wasn’t sure it was a freedom he enjoyed, all his attention was constantly directed toward this mission.
He took a deep breath before proceeding down the hall.
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The next three days went on in similar fashion, the fourth, however had no training. They had a quick brief – more of a procedure refresher for their departure than anything – and simply rested afterward.
Their ship was outfitted with cold-fusion afterburners, a class three electrotangler, two 150mm autocannons, one 400mm artillery cannon, and a locking Heathen missile unit.
Rambo and the Air Force engineer’s gawked and chattered excitedly about the equipment. As for Kearce, he didn’t care much as long as it did the job. Jannes and Diaz tended to agree with him on that front, they sat at a table with Posco and Fullen playing poker and telling stories. Mauzan dozed on the couch and Fyta claimed an armchair in front of the holoscreen, absently watching motorcycle races. Kearce had elected to make an attempt at sleeping, which proved futile. Instead, he sat reading on his tablet a very, very old science-fiction novel. Little did the author know how close he came to the true future on some points.
Humanity never did invent personal-sized laser guns or plasma swords or planet-obliterating death rays, but a few things did come to fruition that humans had only joked about pre-space age. He often wondered if someday he would venture back to Earth, see his distant heritage. Perhaps hop on a starliner cruise and sightsee the galaxy.
As it turned out, Earth wasn’t the only planet with humanlike organisms, and all the intelligent lifeforms so far had been humanoid. For simplicity, humans of all origins were simply consolidated to a single human race. Perhaps they were all the same because humanoids were the best vessel for intelligence? Who knows, the question was too philosophical for Kearce to care.
A ding announced the activation of the lounge’s PA system.
“Attention, crew of Gyrip signifier 357WM5, report to the launch deck. Your departure time is ten minutes. Again, crew of Gyrip signifier 357WM5, report to the launch deck.”
Everyone grabbed their various luggage and strolled out to the deck as one. Friends and family lined the path to the shuttle, wishing luck and goodbyes. It would be months before they returned.
Kearce’s wife Rebekah and daughter Zophiea were waiting for him. He hugged and kissed them both, drying their tears as he did so.
“I’ll be home for your birthday,” he told Zophiea, “I couldn’t miss that now could I?”
Despite her sobs she managed a small smile, “Promise?”
“Promise.”
One by one they boarded the shuttle. When everyone was aboard, they ran all the checks and procedures then braced for takeoff. Kearce stared out the window as they shot out into space and watched the planet get smaller and smaller, praying he could keep his promise to Zophiea.
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