“Sir, transmission from Admiral Neerson!” Ridgewater called when Martin got onto the bridge.

“I’ll get it in a moment.

“Sir!” She called, getting in front of him and pointing to the office. “He’s on the net right now. Not a recording.”

Turning, swearing, and sprinting to the office, Martin punched the receiving sequence and Neerson’s bust wavered into existence over the desk. The two officers were silent for a moment, Martin breathing heavily and Neerson looking down on him imperiously.

“Sir, I--”

“Uncontrolled emotions are not becoming of naval officers, Commander.” Neerson said.

“Valentine contacted you?”

“The sergeant received his orders yesterday and I have not felt the need to contact him since. Are you fit for this command, Commander Ziggenbor, or should I have you relieved?”

Martin inhaled and exhaled. “I am fit, sir.”

“Good. You are to deviate course to the provided coordinantes and prepare for the insertion of Sergeant Valentine and his squad.”

“Yes sir.”

“You are to hold position there until their mission is completed, or otherwise ordered by myself or a member of the Nine orders you otherwise.”

Martin froze, his eyes widening. “I… sir, is that likely.”

“No.” Neerson said flatly. “It is almost as likely as one of the Triumvirate contacting you personally. But even if one of those three politicians contacts you, you are hereby forbidden under the UDMP to heed any order given by anyone other than the aforementioned ten individuals.”

“Hereby rejecting all orders from all save you and the Nine aye.” Martin replied, coming to attention.

Neerson leaned into the hologram. “I accounted for your actions in this case, Commander Ziggenbor. I have not accounted for further deviation of orders in regards to you. Should I adjust my expectations?”

“No sir.”

“Execute your objective.”

“Yes sir.”

“Neerson out.” And the Admiral’s form shimmered away.

Martin counted to three, and strode from the office. “Attention on the bridge! Navigation, you have received coordinates provided by the Ascendancy, prepare my ship to move at combat speeds accordingly. All stations report with a ready status to Captain Ferris.”

“Adjusting course aye, sir.” Captain Ferris, lead navigation officer, called.

For thirty seconds that stretched on and on nothing was heard, and no one moved save the navigation officers at their stations. Then,

“Commander, all personnel present and at ready status. This ship is rigged for combat maneuvers with the exception of inter-atmospheric penetration, at a meteoric rating of seven-six-eight-zero-zero. Checks in regards to the chartered approach, forward maneuver are readiness status: green.”

“Navigation, execute forward maneuver.”

“Execute forward maneuver aye, sir, navigation controllers execute forward maneuver.”

“Executing forward maneuver aye.” Said another voice. “Chief of the watch, sound three blasts of the combat maneuvering alarm, ship wide.”

The blasts rang through the ship, and they were off.

Long since past were the days when a ship would lurch to life, but even still Martin could feel the energy of the Vindicator thrumming as it broke out of its position in formation Detachment Echo and began rushing along towards its destination. When Martin had looked over the coordinates, he knew where they were going. Directly over Ascraeus Mons.

Once they were inbound, Martin called one of the enlisted personnel assigned to the communications terminal to him. “Why did they call in the 3-95th as eliminated?”

“I’ll get the raw data for you, sir.”

Martin waited until the first class returned, handing him a tablet and standing by. Lifting it, the footage began playing at once. There were four Stripehopper UTVs zipping along at a fair pace, two Rapier Class Marauder fights alongside them. The image went out of focus, transferred, and tracked with…

Martin felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. There was a full wing squadron of Saber Class Marauders bearing down on the Stripehoppers. And it wasn’t a fair fight. They were flying in a four-port assault formation, and the second starboard fighter was the first and only to unleash its payload. It might have well as been shooting cloned ducked at point-blank range. One by one, the Stripehoppers were destroyed, starting at the back until the lead vehicle exploded into a flare of red and orange fire.

--

Neil looked around wildly, the beauty of the Tharsis Montes lost on him as he tried to identify the direction of the engine sounds. Then he saw the three marauder class fighters to the west. Bringing the binoculars up, he looked for what Vane had told him, the three finds, one free rotating, two retractable, on the underside of each wing. Then he pulled himself up to shout into Morgon’s ear. “Rapier class, hold course!”

“Roger sergeant!”

Leaning over the side of his stripe, Neil gave the signal to carry on, and ignored Darrow’s inquisitive look. Morgon, for his own, threw a look over his shoulder, but it was Troy that Neil threw himself down next to. “Reconnaissance only.” he said.

“Your gut tell you that, sergeant?”

Neil leaned back into the uncomfortable position he had been riding on and looked up at the shape sliding its way across the sky. He might not know much about spacefaring or naval ships, but Neil knew that he would never forget the awe he had felt the first time he had seen a Republic Dreadnaught Class vessel. It was the Ascendency, flagship of the Tenth Fleet, he knew that. It had come into sight some ninety minutes earlier, filling all of them with a sense of hope and urgency.

“My gut has been screaming for food for the last forty-eight hours, I wouldn’t trust it. Mostly going on what I hope is an educated guess.”

Troy’s eyes tracked the Rapier Class Marauders, and he pawed absentmindedly at his APES. “I hope you got more schooling than me, then, Sergeant.” He said. “Because them being as close as they are is making me nervous.”

“We need to make the extraction point.” Neil said like a prayer. “Got to.”

“You’re really that nervous about getting left behind?” Troy snapped. “You really think that they would just leave the better part of a platoon of soldiers here on this rock?”

“I think I’ve got a brother in the senate.” Neil said. “I think he’s the second youngest to be elected, and he still likes to drink beer with me and my brother. I think he likes to talk about some of the more unsavory things that politicians need to make decisions on.”

At that, Troy let out a chortle. “I’ll give ya that one, Sergeant Z. What do you reckon they’re up to then?” He jerked his chin at the Rapiers.

“Reconnaissance.”

“Yeah, no shit sarge.” Troy drawled. “What are they reconning about us then?”

Neil paused for a moment. “I think they’re making sure we leave. I think they’re trying to run us off this rock.”

Troy threw back his head again. “Well goddamn, they could just say that. Give us a lift, couldn’t they? Would make thise whole affair a fuckload easier, wouldn’t it?”

“Not if they want to make it seem like they chased us off.” Neil bit out. “They want to be the bad guys here.”

Troy frowned, and turned halfway to look at Neil. “You’re serious about this being big then?”

Neil nodded.

“Well shit…” Troy glared. “Gonna be a lot more paperwork under a certain number of hostile protocol engagements then, I’m sure.”

“If they think I’m right.”

Troy shrugged. “I think you’re right.”

Then the noise in the air ramped up, and there was a buzzing, a snap hiss in the air. Neil turned looking off behind them to the seven shapes in formation, but it was the white vapor through the air that he tracked to the stripe. Major Darrow seemed to do the same, though her eyes found Neil’s a moment before impact. The fireball seared Neil’s eyelashes a moment before he was able to throw a hand up to shield his eyes.

Another snap-hiss tore through the air, and the second stripe from the back bloomed in fire.

Then Neil felt the heat coming off the third, the stripe directly behind his own. “Bail out!” he roared, leaping up. “Everyone out!”

Morgon slammed on the breaks, which would have been enough if Neil hadn’t been ready for it. But instead he was half pitched over the side with his vault, seizing Flint’s jacket as he went in an effort to bring her with him. There was an initial crunching impact and a moment of blinding agony before the whole world went black.

Only for a moment.

When Neil’s vision came rushing back in, it was still spinning, still rolling, still a mass of pain and impact until all at once, it was only pain. He sucked in breath, not even bothering trying to take in the various places that pain was rushing in from, and for what seemed like a long, long time, he lay there, eyes wide open staring at the dirt and rocks.

Sand rushed into his throat with every breath, the rocks biting deeper into his forehead. Hands seized the back of his jacket and dragged him unmercifully across the terrain. There wasn’t a measure of time for that one, he might have gone a mile or a foot before he was gently lowered onto the ground. The rifle was wrenched from his grasp, though some instinctive part of his muscle memory tried to grasp at it.

Then there were boots in his ribs and shoulders, and the fast, hyperventilating inhale, exhale of a terrified person.

In, out, in out, it was all he could hear like the breathing of some giant dragon. Still, though he roared at his limbs to move, to respond in any way. They just wouldn’t do it. In fact, despite the agony wracking his body in time and rhythm with his heartbeat, he realized his eyes wouldn’t focus, and past the ringing in his ears there wasn’t anything to be heard. There was no crusty dry feeling in his mouth. All he could smell was blood.

Time didn’t mean anything until the voice came to him. The distant, far away sobbing of the person laying in front of him. “Sergeant, c’mon sergeant wake up. Sergeant Ziggenbor, please, please Sergeant, I’m only coms, I don’t know how to do this. Please, please, please, Sergeant… Sergeant Ziggenbor wake up.”

This his arm responded and he brought it around, grabbing the booted ankle of Flint. She let out a shuddering, relieved sound somewhere between a sob and a croak, but held her position. Still, Neil couldn’t make himself sit up or move his other arm, he just focused on getting his breathing and sight under control. If he could do those two things, he knew that he wasn’t dead yet.

“Flint!” A voice floated in from somewhere in front of him. “Hold fire, Flint, it’s me!” there was the sound of footsteps and what felt like an earthquake under his feet. Then hands were on him tilting his head back. Only then did hot, sweet, sweet air rush into his restricted airways. Neil gasped. “Easy, Sarge.” Troy’s voice said. “Easy, Sarge, breath, in and out, breathe breathe breathe. Vane! I need you over here!”

More boots, and then another set of hands. Four hands total, he noted, all running over him, then lifting, then returning, looking for blood, breaks, in vital areas.

“Sergeant Ziggenbor we need to sit you up.” Vane’s steady voice came. “Shit, but we’ve got to move. Troy,” Then he was sitting, and he screamed as his right shoulder informed him there was something wrong.

“Fucking hell, Troy hold him steady.” Vane moved to his right side. “Sorry about this, Sergeant.”

Neil felt his arm being pulled, and screamed more. But the ball and socket ground once, and his arm popped back into socket, leaving pain, but also relief from the worst.

“Get under him.” Vane said, and Neil felt himself lifted, draped over a pair of shoulders, and then he was away. It felt like he was flying fast as any spacefaring craft though he could feel the limping cadence beneath him. Shadow fell on his face, and then he was dropped to the ground again.

“I’ll be fucked!” Troy’s rusty drawl came through him his anger. “Absolutely fucked, those cocksucking fuckheads!”

Hands underneath Neil’s chin lifted his head. “Sergeant Ziggenbor, blink twice if you can hear me.”

Blink. What? Neil looked up and past the face there. Vane repeated the command, and Neil squeezed his eyes shut, focused very hard on opening them again, and squeezed them shut.

“Motherfucker!” Troy said, and Neil heard the sound of the APES tripod digging into the dirt. “God fucking hell I just wish there was an asshole in the pit of hell, I wish I was there right now because it would mean I wasn’t on FUCKING MARS ANYMORE! FUCK!” Neil’s eyes focused enough to see Troy kick out to the prone, manic rage on his face. “I’ll die with my dick in the fucking dirt because it’ll mean I get to fuck this planet one last time! Fuck you Mars! FUCK YOU!”

Flint was crying and Vane’s hands were under Neil’s chin.

“Ziggenbor, I need you to try and talk.” Vane said in a cadence that said it was the second or third time he had given the instruction.

“Wh--” Neil muttered. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say you’ll buy me three rounds of beer and an expensive steak dinner when we get back.”

“MORGON! Get the fuck over here and fuck Mars with me!”

Neil opened his mouth and popped his jaw. “What steak spot?”

“The most expensive one we can find.”

“Stick your dick in it!” Troy howled hysterically. “Both of you, come on!”

Flint kept crying, but it was all from the reaction Neil could see. Life flooded back into him as he looked from Vane, to Flint, to Troy, to Morgon and Simmons, the ammo bearer running towards him. He tried to push himself up, Vane pushed him back down.

Neil drew a shuddering breath. “Awe hell, I’ll put it on my brother’s payroll.” He gasped. “We’ll get whiskey.”

Vane’s eyebrows went up as he took Neil’s wrist and made a shape with his lips that Neil knew would have been whistling if they hadn’t been chapped and bleeding. “I do like whiskey. Troy, what are they doing?”

“Cocksuckers are pulling off and heading away south, Sergeant. Given us up as dead, by the look of it.”

“Simmons,” Vane barked. “Get behind us and see what’s there.”

“Flint.” Neil rasped. “Flint,”

“Equipment is gone, Sergeant.” She said, her voice steady despite the tears streaking her face.

“Fuck the equipment.” Neil said. “You.”

“We’re all okay, as much as can be.” Vane said. “Because we all followed emergency bail-out protocol and waited for a five count to jump.”

The glare Neil tried to deliver just didn’t land home, and he leaned his head back. Vane righted it, supporting his neck. “Don’t do that. Not gonna have you survive a suicidal bail out only to have you asphyxiate yourself.”

“God fucking damn it.”

“Hey. Zigzag.” Vane said, looking into his eyes. “There’s still five people that need you.”

Through the haze, Neil felt the words. Five of the 3-95th. That was it. Images fluttered in his eyes of the first time he had seen a mustered battalion, and the feeling of smallness he had felt. Now there were six to this battalion.

“Hell…” Neil said, and pushed Vane away. The Sergeant let him rise, unsteady as he was. Leaning against the rock he had been dragged under, Neil looked out at the four smoking piles of flesh and metal. Somewhere in that mess was Major Darrow who would never get a chance to make a choice about her arm. Her words, though, would live as long as Neil was.

However long that was, he would make them worth something.