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27

Why, why, why had he listened?

Darien stood outside the infirmary's intensive care unit on the Karpa Luna base, leaning against the wall with his eyes boring through the reinforced glass as he ran over the engagement in his head over, and over, and over. His first plan should have been the one they'd followed. It would have been safer, avoiding full frontal conflict all together.

But no. He'd allowed Vass and the others to get into his head, make him doubt himself; make him believe that in that moment perhaps he didn't know best. In that brief window of foolish concession he'd allowed Vass's desperation for combat and recognition to guide their decisions rather than tactical good sense.

Now he could do nothing but watch helplessly as the results of that choice unfolded before him. They'd at least retaken the asteroid cracker when Merlynn's dragoons had thundered through the main entrance held by the Blink operatives, smashing the rebel resistance in a lightning assault. In cold numbers, the plan had worked, avoiding a protracted siege and an all out assault into the teeth of the installation's defences.

But the casualties there had been cut Darien to the bone.

Two operatives had been killed outright: Chayze from Tunda – a girl who'd braved the depths of Marianas with them what felt like an age ago – and a male operative named Armak from Panther Squad. Numerous others had been badly injured in the shoot out at the cannon's entrance. Within the infirmary he could see Idas sitting at the bedside of the straw-haired girl – an operative named Lilja – with any pretence of secrecy now abandoned as he held her hand. He could see their lips moving, the girl speaking through obvious pain, her torso swathed in thick bandages. A chuckle; a wince.

He sighed, pressing a clenched fist against his mouth, cupping his elbow with the other hand as he let his gaze wander. Other operatives from Tundra and Panther sported a range of injuries after engaging in an all out firefight with the bulk of the cannon's defensive force. Most of them would be out of action for days or more.

One of the wounded was missing, however.

Concealed within the emergency trauma wing of the Karpa Luna military base, the best medics Merlynn had were fighting to save Vass Juntaar's life. Tundra's leader had been caught in the blast of a home-made shrapnel grenade at close range, and the Blink issue body armour could only stop so much. Without it he would have been killed instantly. With it he was clinging to life, his body torn up by the metal shards with internal bleeding and catastrophic organ damage.

Darien wasn't a doctor, but he didn't need to be to know the prognosis was grim.

At the sound of footsteps he looked to his left and saw Bandle limping towards him, Panther's squad leader having escaped the mayhem relatively unscathed. The dark skin of the boy's face was taut, his muscles clenched with pain as he laboured his way down the passage. A bulky brace encircled his left leg and Darien could see the remnant of a series blood scrapes on his cheek. He trudged to a halt at the window, looking in. Bandle's shoulders tensed.

"Are you alright?" Darien asked quietly.

"Do I look alright?" The other operative shook his head bitterly. "I've never lost an operative before."

"I have. I know how it hurts."

Bandle snorted. "That supposed to make me feel better?"

"Only time does that."

"Terrific."

"I'm sorry for what happened."

"Yeah." Bandle leaned his forehead against the glass for a moment. "So am I."

Without looking Darien in the eye he straightened up and stepped around him, swiping his ID across the infirmary's door sensor. An electronic bleep; the door slid open letting a trickle of voices out for a moment before it closed again.

The frustration of impotence gnawed at Darien's gut as he watched Bandle limp his way around the members of Panther Squad.

Seeing Bandle coming, Idas knew when it was time to make himself scarce and leaned in to kiss Lilja with a gentleness of motion that he rarely associated with his friend. The pair drew apart exchanging words that he couldn't hear. Then their hands parted and Idas was trudging towards the exit, his face pale as Bandle approached the girl's bed. The door hissed as it slid aside again, and the other operative stepped out into the corridor. Catching sight of Darien, he moved over to join him at the infirmary window.

"How's she doing?" Darien asked quietly.

"She'll be okay," Idas replied, folding his arms. "What a mess, eh?"

"No kidding."

"Any word on Vass?"

A fatalistic shrug. "Nothing yet."

"Shit."

Darien's shoulders tensed and he shook his head. "I knew what I wanted to do, Idas. I knew how I wanted to tackle that operation but I let Vass get into my head. He made me doubt my gut and I compromised. And now...this is the result."

"Hey, this isn't on you," Idas answered instantly. "Taking back that cannon was going to be a mess no matter how we tried to do it. Vass knew what he was walking into as well as any of us. It's just...bad luck."

He sighed heavily. "Maybe. You going to hang around here?"

Idas nodded. "Where are the others?"

"Taking some R&R, like you should be."

"I'll be okay."

He clapped his friend on the shoulder as he turned to leave. "Stay as long as you need to. I need to report in to Merlynn. And let me know if there's a report on Vass."

"Will do." Idas gave him a nod. "Don't beat yourself up on this one, Darien."

Darien managed a smile, but as he turned away the hollowness of the gesture made his stomach turn.

*

He passed back through the barracks, looking to collect Niamh on his way to make an after-action report to Merlynn. When he stepped into their private sanctum on the base he found a lot of uneasy bodies waiting for him. The four other operatives from Hammerhead were clustered around a table at the back corner of the room, conversing in low tones. On the side of the table facing the main door, Amber raised a hand in greeting when she saw him. He nodded.

The uninjured operatives from the other squads were scattered around the room, with an uneasy pall hanging over them. Just like him they all felt the gut-churning impotence of being unable to do anything to help their stricken comrades in the medical centre. All they could do was cross their fingers, pray, and trust the Beltock medics to pull everyone through.

Those were not options that appealed to most Blink operatives.

He caught Vanna's eye off to the left as he entered and her hand flickered to her forehead in a quick salute. The other operatives from Rigel followed suite, showing the respect and deference that a commanding officer could expect. Two unhurt members of Panther Squad sat with them, their faces stony; they barely registered him entering the room.

Not everyone was so indifferent, however, and a figure in the centre of the room shot upright. Darien looked sharply to the movement to see a sinewy blonde haired girl, her jacket emblazoned with the mountain insignia of Tundra Squad, her eyes beating with hate. Cath – Tundra's medic. She sat next to another boy from Tundra, gathered around a table with Taggs and most of Vandal Squad.

"You son of a bitch," she spat.

"Cath, don't-" the thickset lad beside her reached for her arm but she shook him off with a snarl.

"Get off me, Gale." Her attention blazed back to Darien. "Vass told you we couldn't hold that position but what did you do? You ordered us to stay."

"Cath, it's not his..." the other Tundra operative said pleadingly but she wasn't listening.

"It's alright for you now isn't it, Flint? Life's going to be a whole lot easier with no-one calling out this shitshow for what it is. Now that Vass is gone you can do whatever you like."

The accusation set Darien's temper boiling, grief be damned, and the other operatives in the room looked on in horror. He saw Niamh half out of her seat already, but Uther caught her with a restraining grip on the wrist before she could launch across the room. He tried to swallow down the anger, reminding himself that Cath had already lost one fellow operative today; she might well lose her squad leader too. She was lashing out.

"We stuck to the plan," he said carefully. "We all agreed on it. Vass as well."

"If you'd had the spine or the sense to go with Vass's plan in the first place we wouldn't be packing corpses right now-,"

"A'right, wrap that shit up right now!"

Before anyone else could move Taggs was out of his seat and with two loping steps he was between them, bringing his face close to Cath's as he spoke, his voice low and firm.

"That is your superior officer," Taggs continued, one hand extending to rest firmly on the girl's shoulder. "And he didn't kill anybody. I think ye might be losin' track of who the real enemy is." He pointed back at the door. "The bastards that put Vass in the infirmary are out there, not in here."

Cath trembled, standing her ground but apparently silenced for the moment. Her gaze flicked from Darien and back again.

"I know how ye feel," he continued. "But this... this isnae gonna solve it. Now, sit down."

It took a few seconds, but eventually she relented, cheeks flushed red and tears welling in her eyes. She stepped back; allowed the other Tundra operative to guide her back down into her chair. Her gaze dropped to the floor and she slumped where she sat.

Suddenly Darien really didn't want to be in this room any more. He caught Taggs' eye and gave him a minute nod of thanks before clearing his throat.

"Niamh, we need to make our report to Merlynn. Everyone else, you're off the clock until I say otherwise. We've been through enough today."

He waited at the head of the room as Niamh rose from her table and strode across the room, casting a dangerous sidelong glance at Tundra's medic as she passed. It was an insult he knew his fiery second officer would never have swallowed – he could almost feel the anger rolling off her as she joined him. Letting out a weary breath, he turned and led her from the Blink billet and out into the passage.

Niamh had the sense to hold her tongue until the door closed behind them.

"I could have put her teeth through the back of her throat for that," she snarled, brow crunched in anger.

"She's just angry. What if it was me, and Vass was in charge? Would you act any different?"

Her lips twisted for a moment in consideration. "I guess not."

"Cut her some slack. It's been a bad day for everyone."

"Not for the Lieutenant Colonel," Niamh, casting him a knowing look. "We got the cannon back intact with minimal casualties for the dragoons. She's probably going to give you a damned medal." Then a sigh. "Not much comfort to the rest of us I suppose. How's Vass doing?"

"Not good." He shrugged helplessly. "All we can do now is wait and hope."

The pair navigated their way through the continuous bustle of the Karpa Luna base, making their way to Merlynn's command post, and all around them activity never ceased. Death didn't stop the war machine of the Beltock Dragoons who now consolidated the positions across the planet. Whipping local regiments into line, Merlynn's hardened troops fortified the cannon emplacement under their charge and a huge deployment was now being executed to reinforce key strategic positions all along the vaguely defined frontier of rebel territory. Like a shark, Colonel Merlynn had sensed blood in the water.

They swerved around a snake-like column of jogging soldiers on their way out of the complex; waited patiently as a handful of administrative personnel ahead of them had their ID cards checked before the Blink operatives stepped up in the queue.

Cards flashed and they entered the now familiar inner sanctum of colonial operations on Ravine. A wall of voices hit them as orders flew thick and fast through the artificially cooled air of the base. Niamh stepped behind him into single file as they mounted the stairs, making their way up to the third floor and to the nucleus of Merlynn's operation.

He felt a swim of deja vu as his eyes fell on the Lieutenant Colonel standing in the middle of the vast ring of screens, snapping orders in all directions, signing off command orders and directing every footstep of the colonial peacekeeping force.

Darien smiled sadly. If there ever had been a dream of keeping the peace it long since evaporated into the scorched air of Ravine.

"Flint." Merlynn acknowledged him with a nod, waving away a junior officer impatiently. "Just the person I wanted to see."

He raised an eyebrow; exchanged a dubious look with Niamh.

"Just here to make our after action report, ma'am."

She extended a hand. "Good work out there. And I'm sorry you lost some of your people. I understand Operative Juntaar is still being treated."

"Critical condition," Niamh confirmed.

"He'll pull through. My people will make sure of it."

"I hope so." Darien accepted her hand and shook uneasily. "We can debrief whenever you're-,"

"That can wait." Merlynn's head snapped to the left. "Major Khumalo, take the con."

"Ma'am." A towering man with ebony skin snapped a crisp salute and stepped over to the command dais. Bright eyes lingered on the two operatives for a moment, scrutinizing them.

"Come with me," Merlynn ordered, turning and striding towards an adjoining passage without waiting for their reply.

Darien followed quickly, zipping forward to catch up with her as they stepped past a guard through the armoured door. He counted three turns through the metal walls until they reached a small briefing room with an armed dragoon on the door. The woman stepped away to allow them entry, and slammed the door shut behind them.

Within he found three more individuals clustered around a table conversing in conspiratorial tones. He recognised Lieutenant Breznik from the man's thick auburn beard, but the other two didn't bear any identifying insignias on their soot-black uniforms. All of them stopped talking as soon as Merlynn entered.

"I believe you know the lieutenant," she said, before indicating the others. "Specialists Pynazt and Ramsfield from the Colonial Intelligence Cadre, assigned to our command for the duration of this mission. There have been ... significant developments since you helped us retake the asteroid cracker."

"We had to take time to authenticate the transmission," said Pynazt. She was a whip of a woman, her features sharp and severe, black hair tied up into a tight bun. "But it's confirmed. The message was genuine."

"What message?" Niamh asked, folding her arms as she appraised the duo.

"The rebel leader has contacted us directly," Merlynn answered, an uneasy tightness in her voice as she spoke. "There was no fanfare – no broadcast across colonial networks. This was messaged directly to our base on a tight beam transmission."

"And what did he want."

"Retaking the cannon might have done more damage than we thought." She looked at Darien. "He has asked for a meeting."

His eyebrows rose. "Face to face?"

"Yes."

"I ... that's a good thing, isn't it? That means they're ready to negotiate."

"Perhaps, but this was no ordinary invitation."

"Why's that?"

Merlynn's gaze hardened. "Because he asked for you by name."

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