“ATTENTION ON DECK!”

Mike stood in the cold rain. He remained still on the gangway to the FCS Cold Winter. Ahead of him stood Rear-Admiral Martian, the aged intelligence officer silently saluted the Petty Officer of the Deck and mouthed for him to carry on. Letting out a silent breath, the staff sergeant looked down the distant bay, the smell of salt coated his nose, and the harsh wind made him shiver and hug his brown leather jacket around him tighter.

Forty hours had passed since the disappearance and subsequent discovery of flight two-sixteen. The burning image of the mangled corpses of the military’s top admiral and other critical senior officials to the government were forever stained in his mind. It was by miracle they had found a single survivor in the wreckage, one that had passed by the time they had corpsmen arrive. NDCC Yuki Price. Her lower torso was burnt to a crisp, and the deep gash within her face revealed her skull. “Save her.” Those were the only two words she spoke before falling to the reaper. He clenched his right hand. He was the last person that comforted her as she slipped away. Her body turned warm, and that was it. There was nothing he could’ve done to save anyone there. It took a long day, but the corpsmen and investigators on site confirmed all the casualties apart from Princess Leccamaradel and President Harding. It would’ve been beyond a miracle that they escaped with their lives, yet he held no expectations. He had done that too many times within the last year.

“Agent! Welcome aboard, we don’t have much time left!” Admiral Martian shouted over the wind. “The Senate has officially declared war. It doesn’t matter if President Harding is alive at this point!”

“That’s what’s bothering me, Admiral!” Mike said as he fully crossed the gangway, “We don’t have a clear target for this one, and targeting Yondel is not something I can reccomend.”

“Tell that to the suits!”

“Naval Intelligence Director, arriving.” Six bells followed the sailor’s voice on the 1MC. Mike was familiar with naval tradition, but to see it up close was something he was amazed at. He wondered if in a different reality he would have been a sailor.

No point in thinking about that now…

They didn’t make it far across the weather deck of the ship. Two NOGS armed with handguns and the CMC of the ship stepped out of the nearest hatch. They acted as the first barrier for Martian. He needed to get to the bridge to confront the CO of the vessel, but he would have to deal with the guard dog first. “Master Chief, I didn’t know that your vessel participated in a first-strike scenario!”

The greying Command Master Chief was formerly rated as a Gunners Mate, so he had his fair share of firefights during the civil war. He showed such tenacity through the stars and bars littered on his chest. “Sir, we received word from Hays that you would be here. We’re supposed to depart in less than a day, you are interfering with a Federation Naval deployment.” His word was as cold as steel. He did not hesitate to threaten one of the last remaining admirals within HIGHCOM. Martian knew that this wasn’t going to go down without resistance, but the least he expected was a half-warm welcome from the crew. Either way, he had a capable agent behind him, one that would at least buy him time to get what he needed.

“You’re CO has to answer some questions the Senate has held for some time. They authorized the strike, but an unintended target was hit. Thirteen representatives of our sister nation were killed. And this was all tied in with the obvious disappearance of the President and his escort Princess Leccamaradel.” Martian was blatantly accusing the man and his crew. He had his suspicions on why the Senate was trying to pull this loose thread, but he bit his tongue when he received his orders.

“If you’re here to take anyone into custody, it would’ve been wise to bring the military police with you.” The Master Chief sneered, “We have enough intelligence officers trying to snoop into our operations instead of feeding us the intel we need to complete our missions. I personally have been relying on my OS and ETs sailors to coordinate strike missions.”

“Roving Security Watch, report to armory.” Glancing at his watch, Mike counted the minutes until the next watch turnover would happen. Within two minutes the next tour would be commenced, and the 1MC seemed to be ahead of schedule. Perhaps an early turnover was ordered by the CMC in preparation for the admiral’s arrival. Either way, to err on the side of caution, he wanted to get inside as quickly as possible. His new revolver would do nothing topside.

Leaning over the CMC’s shoulder, the senior NOGS repeated a message passed to him through the radio attached to his hip. Letting out a frustrated sigh as he stepped to the side silently signaling that Martian had won without firing a single shot. “Come aboard, admiral.” He growled turning around and leaving a clear path for the senior officer to move to the interior of the ship and out of the bitter cold air. Mike himself held no complaints as he trailed at the rear of the group. Martian noticed it and was annoyed that the OMFS agent had left him vulnerable. Then again, he couldn’t blame the staff sergeant for wanting nothing to do with the internal politics of the military. The record he had read on the man showed that he already shown that he dealt with the frenzy happening within the Kingdom of Yondel. That type of patience was something commonly unbefitting of soldiers of his type, but he could give Mike credit for at least being able to gain an inside source through swooning the silver-haired princess.

Through the hatch and down the enclosed, metallic bulkheads, the internal heaters of the ship quickly were appreciated by all as they moved deeper into the ship. Up three ladder wells. Crossing above the machinery room. And across the sprawling operations center, the four G-Men arrived at the CO’s state room; the placard on the wooden door silently read “Commander Simon Geert, FZN”. Raising his clenched hand, the CMC knocked thrice on the door and stepped aside. “Enter.” A deep voice emerged from the other side of the door. Clenching the handle and moving the door open, the CMC stepped inside alone and sharply saluted in a covered state. With a flick of two fingers, Commander Greet let his 3rd stand at ease as he shuffled through an absurd amount of paperwork on his desk. “Sir, Admiral Martian is here to see you about the Senate’s inquiries.” Instantly freezing, the O-5 raised his head from the leave-chit he was staring at and clamped his mouth shut. The Master Chief tried not to groan at the younger officer as he turned a ghostly pale. Snapping to his feet and rushing to the doorway, the commander tried to put a bright smile on his face, however Martian was not impressed by how drained and sleep-deprived the man looked. “Admiral! Pardon me for not welcoming you aboard.”

Martian raised an eyebrow, “Easy commander. If you fear for your career, don’t sweat it. You’ve done enough to earn your place in the navy.”

“Sir, the Senate ordered a standdown—”

“The VCNO has overridden that with the orders you were previously provided. You still have a strike mission in the Dimond Gulf for Operation Shattered Sky.”

Finding enough space to enter the stateroom, Mike silently walked to the southern bulkhead and leaned against it folding his arms over his chest. He brushed his growing deep-brown hair and ran a hand over his scruff on his face. He needed to clean up his appearance, but Lecca told him she liked the rugged look he currently had. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the two officers in the room. There was no need to be thinking about the princess when he was supposed to be escorting the admiral and ensuring his safety. The weapon sticking clearly out from his three o’clock was a firm warning for the two NOGS who waited outside of the door.

“Admiral, I can’t understand what the Senate wants from my ship. They already ordered the strike, and now they want answers?” He coughed out, “It makes no sense.”

Martian new his words to be true; he was only here to gain information related to the response he had prepared for the press. It was convenient that a senator wanted to probe about the attack. “Commander, we all new that the civilian casualties would have been collateral. The kingdom makes extensive use of slaves and other horrid methods to turn the gears of war: all you did was respond to a threat and followed orders. Those lives are not on your name, neither any sailor on this ship.”

“Ten targets were successfully destroyed. Three managed to escape, but they were all secondary to the main shipyards and troop carriers.” Commander Geert said in a composed voice, “My detachment of NOGS confirmed the destruction of all HVTs. The MPs we had aboard help take in key POWs that we transferred to Whitehall yesterday.” The CMC turned his head with a curious gaze. He wondered how the admiral would react to his CO’s words.

Martian barked, “We are aware of what happened during the combat operation. I want to know what happened right after your ship made a hasty exit to Rakasha Port!”

“Sir—”

“What was it that made you evacuate the President from Yondel!? How did he get there!?”

His fist clenched pure white. Mike drilled a hole through Admiral Martian’s head. Drawing up more than 50 scenarios in his head to beat the flag officer into nothing more than a bloody pulp, the staff sergeant restrained himself from lunging from the wall he was against. There was a reason why the head intelligence officer had yet to reveal to him the status of the president, let alone that he had survived the plane crash no more than twenty miles away. It wasn’t as if he was concerned for President Harding, but as it stood wherever he was, there was a high chance that Lecca was with him.

He grinded his teeth together.

“Admiral—what the hell are you talking about!” Commander Geert with such sudden ferocity that his CMC stepped back in fear. He was not going to give into the pressure.

Taking a step closer to the commander, Martian bore into his soul with wide eyes and a heavy voice, “I will court martial—no I will fucking kill you! Where the hell is the president!” The officer below him shivered yet remained steadfast. Martian already stood at six foot five, and the manner he was holding himself just made him seem larger and threatening. Out of the corner of his eye, the admiral spotted the two NOGS standing in the doorway. Mike was just to the right of the door standing ready to draw his revolver.

He understood what position he was in, but now was the time to get the answers he needed.

“They’re in the XO’s stateroom! They’re there waiting for you!” Geert challenged. He remembered his position as the ships commanding officer, “Get them then get the hell off my ship!”

The duality of the commander’s personality made Mike raise an eyebrow as he gently released the firm grasp he had on his handgun. Presenting an empty hand to the two NOGS, the sailors took a deep breath before doing the same. Conflict and death had been averted. If only the same could be said about the shelling of the Peral Coast. Sometimes the staff sergeant didn’t even recognize what he was fighting so hard for anymore. Was it for the Federation? For the Kingdom? At this point he was just glad enough to be alive. The question remained if he would survive this imminent war with Yondel, but he left that to the suits in the Senate and Royal Court.

Admiral Martian took three paces back from the commander. Just in the span of five minutes did he get the information he wanted. It was almost scary on how he perfectly manipulated the conversation with nothing but pure emotions. Mike was beyond impressed, yet he still wanted to but a hollow point through his skull. He himself was played by the admiral to make today’s mission successful. Letting out a short grunt, the staff sergeant forced his way past the NOGS and sped walk down the passageway towards the nearest ladder well on the forward side of the ship. He only had one mission, and that was to know the truth of the president’s survival.

“Agent!” Admiral Martian said as he noticed his escort disappearing around the corner.

“Fuck off, sir!” Was all the Staff Sergeant had to say. He had no fear of court martial while in the OMFS.

Just managing to keep pace in his old age, Martian watched as the agent slammed into the door separating the P-Way and the XO’s stateroom. It took a solid kick to throw the door open slamming it into the metal bulkhead. He kept his right hand firmly on his holster as he entered the room. A bead of sweat fell down the side of his face as he turned the corner and faced the east side of the stateroom.

“Lecca?”

His eyes widened as he looked at a deep shade of crimson covering silver. The princess rested her stained hair against the small porthole window. Her brown eyes were clamped shut and uneasy breaths escaped her mouth. The suit she wore was torn and beyond repair, beneath her blouse the staff sergeant was just able to see a bloodied bandage wrapped around her torso. The pistol she inherited lay next to her on a small cart, and she held a materialized dagger in her palms. She held the elegance of royalty, with the tenacity of a soldier.

“She’s refused not to be on watch.” President Harding too looked at the princess. His eyes betrayed the father revere he held for the silver-haired maiden, “Lecca reminds me too much of my daughter, Julia.”

Easing the tension in his body, Mike let out a heavy sigh as his shoulders slumped forward. He walked ahead to the princess, his boots pressing into the deck stirred Lecca and she gently clenched her dagger as she scanned the room slowly and with tired eyes. Upon recognizing who was approaching her, the princess let go of her dagger letting it fall to the floor. As it touched the ground, it exploded into millions of sparkles as she threw herself into Mike. She once more felt his comforting hold as his hands pressed into her lower back and shoulders. A salty drop of water just managed to escape her eyes and a gentle cough forced its way from her abdomen.

“Easy, Lecca.” Mike said in a low voice. He began to pat her blood-stained hair, “You’re, okay?”

He received a weak hum in response.

“Perimeter sweep condition green. Times one Reclaimer and Admiral Martian at safe house.” A faint voice echoed in Mike’s ear. His jaw clenched as one of the NOGS entered the room behind the intelligence admiral.

“Execute.”

“Execute, aye.”

Blinking away his apparent confusion, Mike stroked the princess’s head slowly. He took the time to enjoy the embrace they were in, and his heart slowed as he felt her cold skin against his own. Letting a slow breath escape his lips, the staff sergeant placed a gentle kiss on Lecca’s head before looking over to Admiral Martian. The suited man watched with a small smile on his face. For what Mike had done to him, leaving him to the mercy of the ship’s CO, he enjoyed the display before him of the two lovers.

The NOGS were more surprised by what they saw. One of the sailors wanted to make a snarky remark, but he held his tongue out of fear of an international incident. Everyone knew of the princess-turned-agent, but she was still technically a commissioned officer within the royal army. “Princess Lecca, I wasn’t aware that you survived with President Harding.” With a growing smile the admiral slowly walked forward. He slapped a hand on Mike’s back. The staff sergeant let out a huff as he tugged the princess tighter, keeping her away from the intelligence admiral.

“Yes admiral,” The silver-haired maiden let out with a small yawn. “Fortunately, all intelligence relate to Plan 5-55 Alpha was destroyed. The 2nd Fleet stands ready.” Clamping her eyes shut, she stayed leaning on the staff sergeant’s shoulder, refusing to move.

“I know. The Commandant Committee just received the order from the Senate. This very ship will be participating in the assault.” He calmly said, a frown replacing his previous smile. War was beyond inevitable; they were less than a day till midnight.

The snowstorm outside intensified. The room grew colder by the second as the heaters fought to keep the room habitable.

“Admiral?”

Harding spoke up in a harsh voice.

“Yes, Mr. President?”

Flashing his eyes to the porthole on the bulkhead, he grinded his teeth and let out a heavy sigh. “Take two steps to the right.” He said seemingly listening to a foreign voice. His gaze was distant, but it eventually settled on two shifting figures behind the admiral.

“David?”

Punching through the reinforced glass like paper mâché, a small hole sent small shards of glass on the deck as it rapidly accelerated through the next target. The decompression effect of the puncture sent pure body matter onto the nearest bulkhead, and the most senior NOGS present was thrown against the wall. His body fell and smeared blood to whatever it touched; the target was dead upon impact. In the same second a second bullet pierced the porthole, shattering the glass completely. Making its mark on the second and more junior NOGS directly through the head.

Mike by this time had slammed the princess to the ground and was covering her with his own body, Admiral Martian doing much the same with the president. “Oh shit!” He yelled as gunfire began to scream across the scattered decks. Sparing a glance towards Harding, Mike pursed his lips in frustration; his mind raced in confusion he began to formulate a plan of action to get everyone still breathing in the stateroom out alive.

“What the fuck is this, David!” Martian screeched as he slowly low-crawled on the floor to retrieve one of the NOGS’s pistol.

“Just a little welcoming party.” Harding said cooly as he got out of the bed with a small limp. His entire upper body was covered in bandages, and he smartly removed his pistol from his waist holster. “Watch each other’s backs out there. Better believe your mind that we’re taking this nation back!”

“What type of cliché bullshit is that?” Mike groaned as he stood up with his revolver firmly in his right hand, he held Lecca’s hand with his left and guided her against the metal bulkhead across from the stateroom’s entrance. “I’m tired of this shit! I no longer want to live in a Clancy novel!” The princess’s grip tightened around his hand as he aimed his revolver at the door. A pair of heavy boots thundered on the deck, and it would only be a matter of seconds until a sailor turned the corner and met his untimely end. Even Harding remained steadfast as he remained deathly silent, his hands firmly holding the pistol he had acquisitioned from the dead NOGS.

“President—” An older man wearing green coveralls turned the corner and immediately collapsed against the bulkhead. Five bullets cut through his chest and tore through his heart and lungs. Blood splattered on the deck and his body now rested in an abnormal, rigid position. Mike did not hesitate to fire his remaining bullets in his revolver. He speedily removed the empty cartridges and loaded a fresh set as two more men stormed down the hall.

“Chief!”

“God damnit! Flood the room with ice! Kill those motherfuckers!” A sailor boomed itching for revenge.

“Aye!”

Letting go of Lecca’s hand, Mike let the princess step forward and extend both of her hands. A purple light began to circle from her arms and shoot out to fill the room, the light was ethereal and captivating as the mist-like substance flooded the doorway. Not a second later, a shard of ice passed through the mist and shattered instantly. This repeated five more times as the two sailors on the other side of the bulkhead stormed into the room expecting the stateroom to be a winter wasteland. They held nothing but a strongback patch and an adjustable wrench; they were woefully underprepared to take on the two gunmen facing them.

Spent cartridges fell as a hail of lead emerged from the two firearms. The smell of gunpowder filled the room as the smoke clashed against the purple mist Lecca casted.

“Get back! Get back!”

“They’ve got a Class S Mage in there!”

Responding to the gunfire, seven NOGS fired upon the doorway disrupting the spell. Mike grabbed the princess by the shoulder and pulled her behind the bulkhead he was taking cover on. “You’re okay! You’re okay!” He shouted as a sudden explosion erupted from the side of the passageway. Heavy smoke filled the room as a Co2 canister was hit by a stray bullet. The four in the stateroom began to let out heavy coughs as their lungs were slowly drained of oxygen.

“Fuck!” One of the heavily armed NOGS screamed. “Go! Go!”

“Senior!”

Screams and gunfire emerged from the passageway. “C’mon get in!” A deep, boiling voice boomed as Mike hid the princess underneath him. No one in the stateroom knew what was happening outside. All they could do was pray that they would escape the deathtrap they were in alive.

A weak moan emerged from the passageway, “I need a tourniquet.” A young man crawled on the ground with blood spurting from his left arm. He was all but disarmed as he laid in the doorway, his hand dragged across the corpses as he tried to find something that he could use to stop the bleeding. Not being able to remove anything with the lack of his other arm, the young man let out a violent cough as a silent and masked man stood above him. “All stations, unknown hostiles have boarded the—” With smoke escaping the machine pistol in the masked man’s hands, the boy became one with the corpses around him.

Mike held his revolver square at the man. He felt his hands sway side-to-side as it became hard to breath. The masked man slowly turned his head to the right and set his concealed gaze upon the four disoriented VIPs. “Jackpot, 3-162-1-Lima. XO’s stateroom.” He said in a low voice. “Jackpot confirmed. Go for checkmate.” A man on the radio responded.

“What the fuck?” Mike croaked out. Hypercapnia was settling in, and there was nothing he could do, less he’d be shot like the NOGS that was executed in cold blood. Mike’s brown eyes shot open as the world around him went blurry; his outstretched arm began to shake violently, and a throbbing pain tore through his mind destroying any control he once had over his body. Just barely looking to his right, the staff sergeant saw that both President Harding and Admiral Martian laid motionless on the deck. Patting the body under him, a small, crazed smile crossed his lips.

“Co2 poisoning. We need to get them on air. EEBDs should be in this compartment.”

The masked shooter moved inside of the stateroom stepping over the corpses in the entrance. He remained silent as he marched over to the uncouncious party. Kneeling beside the president, the man ran his ungloved hand against his neck and felt a faint pulse. It was a small miracle that the old blood had survived this long, especially considering he had just recovered from the assault on Flight 2-16.

He turned his head back to the OMFS agent and princess.

“We’re going to get them out alive.”

She came face to face with a junior sailor, one that looked frightened.

Publicly Available Information: Special Tactics and Pararescue Commandos (STPC):

As a sub-branch under the MSF, the men and women that make up the STPC are the Federation’s premier civilian pararescue organization. No one knows their names, no one knows where they are stationed, however their legacy has grown over the past 20 years as countless lives have been saved by the secretive and classified missions, they undertake to save those that remain.

Their motto is, “Through the Gates of Hell”.