Juiwa grunted in reply. Mor-oik could not quite figure him out. The Guen was clearly the best fighter here, and seemed to be the leader, yet Vyena seemed to assume equal amounts of leadership. And he rarely spoke, resorting to silent gestures and grunts to convey his thoughts. Except when speaking with Vyena or when he was instructing the other Rebels in various tasks. Mor-oik had decided it would be best to wait and gather more information on Juiwa before making any judgments. Juiwa seemed to be a being with many layers, some buried so deep even he didn’t know they were there.
His physical appearance was also interesting. Well muscled and fit for a Guen, Juiwa wore a strange form fitting suit made of a material that seemed to change appearance on a whim. Underneath, Mor-oik could see he wore the same white suit as the rest of the Rebels, but it would seem that Juiwa cared for the strange suit more. On his wrists Mor-oik could see thick scars, the kind left by chains.
That could explain Juiwa’s deep hatred for the Swrun, having been a slave, but Mor-oik could tell it went deeper. How deep, he did not know. And the tattoo on his cheek was a singularly interesting design, swirling fire surrounding a twisting sword. A strange design, but one Mor-oik thought he knew. It was just buried at the far edges of his mind, hiding just beyond-
“Are you done?” Juiwa’s clicking voice shocked Mor-oik out of his trance and alerting him to the fact that he had been staring at Juiwa for the last minute.
“Uhh…” stammered Mor-oik. What should he say? The problem was solved for him by Vyena, her bright voice filling the air.
“He is just curious, Juiwa. He has told us about himself, but he knows next to nothing about us. If we are going to be fighting on the same side, perhaps it is best we get to know each other.”
She glanced around the circle. Pooi, Wees, and Kryl’s intrigued faces, illuminated by the burning padding, all glanced at Juiwa. His stony face stared back at them in return. So Juiwa was as much of a mystery to them as he was to Mor-oik. That was interesting.
“I’ll start,” Vyena continued. Shifting her body so she was fully facing Mor-oik, she said, “My name is Vyena Oeras, once a citizen of Thyrha Minor, now a member of the Rebellion Against the Swrun Empire. I joined the Rebellion after an….incident with the Swrun Army.” Mor-oik could detect a slight catch in her voice as she said that, and assumed she had lost someone close to her to the Swrun. A story all too common amongst the people of the galaxy. “I’ve been with the Rebellion for three years now, and I became a Bandit so I could finally make a difference.”
Pooi, Kryl, and Wees all shared their stories. Every one of them had been hurt by the Empire in some way, resulting in their decision to join the Rebellion. As it turned out, Pooi, Wees, and Kryl had all been members of the same unit for the last two years, and they had just recently joined the Bandits, of whom Juiwa and Vyena were original members.
Mor-oik could see the rest of the Rebels interested in the stories, and each contributed to them, asking questions to each other about things they hadn’t known. This continued for a good while with Mor-oik learning a great deal about the people he had rescued and who he hoped would rescue him. Except for Juiwa, of course. He rarely showed emotion or did more than was necessary. Mor-oik was confused on one thing, though. “Who are the Bandits? I thought you were Rebels.”
Vyena opened her mouth to say something, but then glanced at Juiwa, seemingly asking if she could answer. Juiwa remained motionless for a moment before nodding. “The Bandits are our unit,” Vyena explained. “We’re kind of like the Special Forces of the Rebellion.”
“One of,” Wees interjected. Juiwa hissed, glaring at him. Evidently Mor-oik was not supposed to hear that.
“Relax, Juiwa,” Vyena said. “It’s not as if the Swrun don’t know we exist. And we can trust Mor-oik.”
Juiwa sighed, a clear expression of his disagreement. Mor-oik knew Juiwa didn’t trust him, and he accepted that. He was just going to have to prove he was worthy of trust.
“So what is your plan for getting off this planet?” Mor-oik asked.
Without glancing at Juiwa this time, Vyena answered, “We need your help for that. We need you to return to the Swrun base and then find a way to get us in. Leave a door unlocked or something. After that, we’ll all steal a ship and fly out of here.”
Mor-oik blinked. Surely they had a better plan than that. When he noticed they were all staring at him, Mor-oik realized he had said that out loud. “Uhh…”
Juiwa spoke for the first time in an hour. “No. This is simple, therefore having less of a chance of something going wrong. You want to prove your trustworthiness? Get us into the ships and we’ll take you with us. Betray us, and I promise the last thing I do will be to rip out your heart and shove it down your throat.”
He seemed to loom over the fire, a massive hulk made impossible by his smaller frame, but his intensity filled the air, casting a feeling of immensity behind him, hiding just outside of the range of the light cast by the fire. Mor-oik did not doubt Juiwa meant every word he said.
“Alright then,” Mor-oik said, “I’ll help. But there is a condition.”
The air grew cold and brittle, despite the heat of the fire. Juiwa and Kryl had eyes of steel and the rest of the Rebels were not much better. “What might this condition be?” asked Vyena, her voice much cooler than it had been previously.
Mor-oik held up his hands, trying to appease them. He was treading in dangerous territory, judging by their reactions. “Please let me explain,” he said. “It has to do with the reason I am out here. I am not a good fighter. I’m weak, untrained, and, frankly, a bit of a coward. My drill instructor hates me for what I am and he threw me out to the Wastes, expecting it to kill me. I can only come back if I prove myself.
“In order to do that, I need you, real fighters who have seen combat, to train me. If you train me, I can get in without difficulty and then I can get you in. You get in, we get off this planet.”
The Rebels all looked at Juiwa, quietly staring into the fire. No one spoke for several minutes. Then Juiwa looked up. “Very well,” he said. “We will train you.”
The warm, thick air of s-Thpan filled Bor’s lungs as he inhaled deeply. The heavy clouds did not help cool the air any, instead trapping the air under their weight. Stagnant and stale, it wrapped around the world like a smothering blanket. Bor loved it. His race, the Hyrth, had developed on a world much like this one.
Tedix was not having the same experience as Bor. Bor could hear him muttering under his breath, bemoaning the heat and the humidity. But he never said it loud enough to be heard by anyone else, trying to set an example for the rest of the men. Angrily swatting a branch out of his face, Tedix grumbled, “Stupid trees.”
Bor had never seen him so irritable. Heat really did not agree with him. After watching Tedix brush his fur aside for the fourth time, Bor concluded that it was Tedix’s fur causing most of the discomfort. The humidity had caused it to curl in places, and it seemed to retain a good deal of moisture.
The Bandits crept up a hill, a group of fifty stealthily approaching a Swrun training camp. They had landed some twenty miles away, to hide the ships from detection. They had flown in extremely low to avoid the air sensors and then proceeded on foot when they reached the edge of the proximity grid.
Topping the hill, a valley spread out before Bor, filled with trees and other vegetation. Except for the large swath cut around the Swrun base, the view was nothing but green as far as the eye could see. Tedix stepped up beside him.
“I see the Swrun were not kind enough to leave us a path,” he said, nodding to the wide clearing.
Bor shrugged, his suit pulling at his shoulders as he did so. “I’d have done the same. See any good ways in?”
Bor’s eyes were not the best at great distance, and so he left that up to Tedix, who was one of the furthest sighted Bandits. Tedix squinted, cupping his hand around his eye to block out distractions. “It seems to be just a flat plain for five hundred yards around the perimeter.”
“No cover? Nothing?”
Tedix shook his head. “None that I can see.”
“So it’s a sprint to the outskirts?”
“I see no walls, so yes. Dead sprint and hope they don’t notice before we’re on top of them.” Tedix scratched his chin. “I wish we had Juiwa here. He’d just sneak up nice and close, clear a path for us.”
“Or Clint,” Bor mused. “He’d just blast his way across the field and mop up any survivors when he got to the other side.”
“You’re right about that.” Tedix gave a half smile. “Fortunately for us, we’ve got Kra-ort. He amounts to much the same.”
Bor glanced across the clearing to where Kra-ort would be gathering with his men, too far to actually see. All together, there were a hundred Bandits here, split into squads of about sixteen lead by Tedix, Kra-ort, Louth, Heras, Kor’keq, or Bor.
Bor could hear the rest of the Bandits gathering behind him and Tedix, some panting from the excursion. They would adjust. “I want you to lead your squad through the mess hall, there.” Tedix pointed to a long, low building. “Clear that and get to the airfield to support me.”
Turning to Heras, who had quietly joined them at the summit, Tedix motioned to the communications tower. “I want you to silence this place. No one learns about this until we let them know.”
“This I can do.” Heras’ scaled face split in a savage smile.
“Good,” Tedix nodded. “Your squad will lead the charge, and we,” he gestured to Bor and himself, “will provide cover fire. Once we hit the boundary, get to your objective.”
Glancing over the collected troops, Tedix nodded. “Good luck.”
Bor and Heras echoed him and then lead their squads on their separate ways. Gathering at the edge of the forest, opposite the mess hall, Bor and his men paused before the assault. Glancing around him, Bor noted the names and faces one more time. Not a single one would fall. He would make sure of it.
A single shot flashed across the clearing, signaling the beginning of the assault. Heras and his squad burst from cover and began the long sprint to cover. Lifting his gun, Bor followed suit, sprinted across the clearing as fast as he could.
Five hundred yards of open, coverless grass. There were no guard towers or walls, but covering five hundred yards still presented the enemy with ample time to kill you. Provided they knew you were coming. The Bandits had gone to great lengths to ensure the Swrun did not.
Four hundred.
He spotted movement at the edge of the mess hall and opened fire, dropping a Swrun recruit. The noise seemed to alert more, and they spilled out of the surrounding buildings like ants from an upturned hill. The cries of alarm reached him.
Three hundred.
Plasma filled the air around him as his squad opened fire on the Swrun. They dropped like flies. They were recruits, fresh from their home planets, unprepared for combat.
Two hundred.
Some feeble, solitary plasma shots responded, but those Swrun with weapons were cut down quickly. The odd shot that did manage to hit Bor’s team was absorbed by the IPDM suits. Of all the things Clint Stone had done, creating the IPDM was perhaps the greatest. It certainly had the most impact. Now, one soldier could face twenty and survive. A point blank shot to the chest left nothing more than a warm touch.
One hundred.
He could see the Swrun scurrying around, in orderly chaos. They were disciplined, Bor had to admit. Still, disciplined or not, they were undertrained and had yet to give an adequate response to the Bandits’ attack.
Fifty.
He could begin to see the faces of the Swrun as they grew closer, see their eyes widen with surprise and fear as white clothed fighters closed in on them, unleashing fire from their weapons. He could see the Swrun recruits, fresh from whatever planet they called home, realizing what it felt to be under attack from superior forces, what it felt like to live in a galaxy where an Empire decided who lived and who died.
Zero.
He crushed that fear from their eyes, left them dead with that last thought on their minds. Within minutes, the mess hall was cleared and Bor was on his way to the airfield. A distant explosion signaled the destruction of the communications tower. Heras may be a little crazy, but he got the job done. Bor moved on.
Any Swrun seen were cut down. The recruits offered no resistance, other than a few shots that missed or were deflected by the IPMD suits. Most weren’t even armed, the weapons apparently stored in the Armory until training. No one had expected an attack here, and so there were no defenses in place.
The trained soldiers gave admirable resistance when they could, yet they were as grain before the scythe. Bor personally killed four. When his team arrived at the airfield, Tedix and his squad had already cleared it and were in the process of warming up the engines.
Gesturing to half of his men, Bor said, “You eight watch for attackers from the north. You”, the other half, “watch from the east.”
Approaching Tedix, Bor lifted his hand in an informal salute. “I think we did well, Lieutenant. Not a casualty on our side, and from the sounds of it, Kra-ort is mopping up the other side quite nicely.”
“Hmm,” murmured Tedix. He seemed to be distracted, his eyes gazing into the distance. Bor tried to follow his gaze but saw nothing.
“Sir?” Bor asked. It was nothing urgent, otherwise Tedix would have said something, but this was out of character for the jahen.
“What?” asked Tedix, coming back to himself. “No, it’s nothing.”
Tedix turned to the Bandits working on the Swrun scout ships and troop transports. “ Let’s get those ships running and get out of here!”
“Aye sir,” they chorused.
The sound of plasma erupted from the south. Bor spun around, half stepping toward the noise before Tedix caught his arm. “Kra-ort has it under control.”
Within a few moments, the noise faded. Whether that meant Kra-ort had won or not, Bor did not know. A fighter came from behind the buildings. He was wearing the distinctive IPDM suit of the rebellion. The Rebellion had won.
Kra-ort followed shortly after, along with rest of his squad. When he had reached earshot, Tedix called out, “Any difficulties?”
“None!” came the reply. “You wrapped this one up nice and tight. You make a damn fine leader.”
“Not bad for a jahen, huh?”
“Tedix, you are so far from a jahen, it’s like you’re a different species.”
Both Tedix and Kra-ort laughed at that.
“Ships are ready, Lieutenant!” called a merarch, whose bulk strained against his IPDM suit.
“Alright! Let’s get out of here!”
We gained seven ships that day. Five scout ships and two troop transports. Of course, there was still work to be done on them, as they were Swrun vessels, but we now had a sufficient number of ships to move around with comfort. The new recruits adjusted nicely to life in the Bandits, quickly adopting our ways. I had very few problems with them. Kra-ort picked them well.
Four days later, Clint returned. He strode out of Susan, smiling that big wide grin of his. “It seems you’ve done well in my absence.”
I shrugged. “No better than can be expected. I hear you got off penalty free at your trial.”
Clint’s face grew somber. “Not entirely,” he said. “While I’m not in trouble for killing Koruk, there are other matters which are punishment enough.”
His voice was dark and low. Something bad had happened. “What do you mean?” I asked, fearing the response.
“Jaein and I are no longer seeing each other.”
I blinked. Of all the things I thought might have happened, that was not one of them. “You mean you broke it off with her?”
“We’ve separated. It was her idea,” Clint growled. “She said that this was not going to work. She had her duties in the Rebellion and I have mine.”
Shaking my head in confusion, I said, “But that doesn’t make any sense. I thought you two were madly in love? Last time I saw you two together, you couldn’t keep yourselves to yourselves.”
Clint shrugged, a shallow, defeated shrug. “I don’t understand it either.”
“Captain! You’re back!”
The rest of the Bandits surrounded us before Clint and I could talk further. Smiling and clapping shoulders, Clint did not appear to be tormented by his thoughts and was the picture of good cheer. But I knew better. This would grow worse in the future.
“Captain, it is good to see you again,” Louth said, his distinctive voice cutting across the chatter. “There are a number of things of import to discuss.”
Clint waved a hand dismissively. “Of course, of course. But later. For now, I have something to say.”
The hangar grew quiet. It was an odd quiet. The old Bandits knew and respected Clint and so their silence was respectful. The first wave of recruits had been on one mission with Clint, and he had killed their previous commander. Their silence was one of fear and apprehension. The second wave of recruits had never met Clint and only knew of him through stories and rumor. Their silence was one of pure awe.
“I see you have grown since I’ve last been here. That is good. I see you have captured more ships from the Swrun. That is good. You’ve started something. Something that I intend to see grow into a great thing. From this single base, from these few ships, from these few soldiers, I intend to build a fleet, an army! We shall become a scourge, a plague upon the Swrun! With this army, we shall burn the Empire to the ground!”
The passion in his voice filled the air and the ears of the Bandits. A cheer erupted in the back of the hundred and fifty men, sweeping to the front. A wordless shout filled the hangar carved from rock and reverberated through the tunnels. We were going to war with the Swrun, and we damn well intended to win.