One month before D-Day

"Third of Sixteen, Quad JONSANI, not JULIET!" Arketta slams the stun prod into Semo's back as the Samoan fumbles his reporting codes. You wince in sympathy and the normally stoic Arketta is in your face, screaming "Vidas FUCKING Lam, you look like I just slammed your balls in the airlock! YOU do not SHOW fear! You do not show PAIN! The enemies of the Imperium look upon you and know their time has come! The enemies of the Imperium may rip you limb from limb and you will STILL come for them! Your Quad will heal you! Your Quad will look after you!" Her voice is amplified thrice over - the earpiece in the helmet is tinny with distortion, your skull rumbles with the helmet-to-helmet contact, and her own speakers are on full blast. The second week of Onas and Arketta's crash course in Imperial basic training could be going smoother...

18 days before D-Day

*In response to increased pirate activity, a Navy task force has been diverted from the Gulf to patrol the waters off the coast of Africa...*

You wonder what the brass is feeding the new arrivals, the hundreds of soldiers tasked with the occupation of an alien planet. Most of your time is spent in isolation. You speak Imperial all the time and rarely see anyone besides your Quad. The briefings are ad-hoc but constant.

Boranai has two Needleships. One at the outsystem Gate and one patrolling just outside the planet's gravity well.

1 week before D-Day

The worldship Atea is cold as always, its denizens guarded and wary. Brinai smiles as you cross over from Dunamis Kon's Gateship halfway point. You have crates of food, water, and silenced SMGs. They have chimeras - reverse-engineered armor-piercing rounds, disposable ECM drones meant to be fired from 40mm grenade launchers, the precious killdrone tank shells. You're not there for the gadgets. The other team will handle those. You cross the always-shifting decks of the massive hodgepodge vessel until you reach the killhouse - a dingy but accurate recreation of a Needleship's CIC and engineering levels. You rub life back into sore shoulders, check your weapons, and wait for the go-code. This time Brinai's turned the gravity off...

Angel meets Arketta's gaze with an even firmness, even while his ears ring. She's good at her job - he'll give her that. And burning them into working like a Quad will keep them looking native longer than they could otherwise manage.

But Angel has embarked on a private project to work on emulating some of the aspects of the hunters he's run into, and there's just something about being hunkered down in a muddy riverbank while the world comes down around your head that undermines the authority of an extra-terrestrial drill sergeant.

Luis winces in sympathy as Semo's slipup in jargon brings down the consequences he's come to expect from his own mistakes, then tries to control his flinch as his wince earns him a rebuke. To supress the thought, he tries to fall back within his own head and play along, like he did throughout Basic. In the back of his mind, he starts a mental comparison between Imperium training and US Army and Delta training, distracting himself from the brute force of the training by trying to dissect its cultural signifigance.

The stun prod brings a soft grunt from the big Samoan. He briefly considers showing her a little pain in return, but he's in too good a mood from his date with Livea the previous evening. Instead, he puts on his Delta face and stares placidly at Arketta as she screeches at him.

===

The time has come and they move out, Semo fulfilling his role exactly as he's been taught. They play out the mission, over and over, until every facet is etched on their brains. Nevertheless, the lack of gravity is a new wrinkle, but Semo is determined to work through it.

Napai Team

Thoughts of Arketta's crash course in Turai protocol trickle down during the interminable half hour before the final briefing. They didn't teach you anything you didn't already know and they weren't tough, not like the basic you went through what seems like a lifetime ago, but considering the mix of rebels, CIA operatives, soldiers, and bounty hunters, Arketta did an admirable job of shaping the strike teams into a cohesive unit.

Eventually Agent Sturgis enters the neutral green room and flicks on the projector. He lays out some slides, assets you've already been briefed on. Possible Repository storage units. Patrol routes inside the Imperial City. Suggested flightplans in-system and current fleet reports.

Without further ado, Sturgis nods to the room and begins his briefing. He's been working on his Imperial - the square-headed spook almost sounds native.

"Napai team, you'll Gate to Atea in six hours. From there, you'll Gate to Hedion. This jump will act as a litmus test for your Turai IFFs. Jonnoperest and Arketta are familiar with the area you're transferring to. From Hedion, you'll Gate to the space elevator above the Imperial Palace on Napai and begin phase two of the operation. Swims-the-Black has the most experience in the city, so look to him to get you into the palace. Keep to your role, however. He'll be a warrior-slave, an uncommon but apparently not terribly unconventional alternative to your sept's usual attack drone..." Sturgis looks at Arketta, who nods.

"Security: We do not anticipate any problems gaining access to the palace. Stanhill, you will handle defeating the access control to the ROBS' physical location. Jonnoperest will monitor your team's IFF signals and military channels."

The projector focuses on the various consoles, storage units, and schematics that (according to Jonnoperest's best guesses) make up the bulk of the Imperial Cortex's physical presence.

"Each storage unit contains exabytes of information. Your mission is to remove any credentialing or access control systems and disseminate this information through the Imperium's network of Gateways. Stanhill, you're primary on this. Jonnoperest assists, Davis is your backup. Quis, Holoni, Riviera, your job is to get them to the data and ensure they air out the Imperium's dirty laundry."

"We anticipate the security forces will expect you to exfiltrate out of the palace. It should buy you enough time to get out of the ROBS and head into the palace. The main court, the... Court of Heavenly Purity... should have this Black Gate artifact. Punch in the code and return home."

Sturgis folds up his notes for a second, taking the time to catch every one of the team's attention. Even Ngawai seems on edge at the mention of the extraction plan. "People, we are asking you to bet your lives on the roll of the dice. There is no intel that suggests the Black Gate does or does not lead to a survivable environment. However, we do have good intel on what you're facing should you try a normal extraction and I would put my money on that Gate every single time. I do not exaggerate when I say that the fate of our planet rests with you. Questions?"

---

Boranai Team

Hugh scribbles down some notes as Semo sits ramrod-straight in the tiny chair. Mellish sips furtively from a water bottle. You've pulled off perfect marks in the Bashakran kill-house for the last three days and it's finally time to put your training to the test. Haj, the Bashakran who's tech lead on the mission, lays out the flightplan one last time.

"OK, so we transfer straight from here to Atea, where we'll board the captured manta. Slingshot around the local star, roughly half a day to the orbital, then through to Boranai's orbital. We've got the high-orbit Needle. Second team's handling the outsystem cap-ship."

"We know, Haj," Oskell grunts, clearly anxious. "We trust our lives to some codes that may or may not work-"

"They'll work", Swalni interjects. "I ran them against some Expansion codes nicked from that assault ship you tangled with on Jang-xur."

"All right, all right," the bald rebel relinquishes. "It's smooth as a saglapi's back once we're in. Me, Swalni, Ahaz, Tais split off to engineering. Rest of you hit the bridge. Seal both compartments, vent the ship. Dial the outsystem Gateway with the orbital one and then we hold position."

"And we get a radio link or whatever down to our boys and bring the rain," Mellish adds.

Davis rolls his eyes and groans at the suggestion that there won't be any problems gaining access. "How much lead time will we have to scout the target area out, find any unknown problems and make a plan to deal with them? We're only going to get one shot at this, and the last thing we need is to miss something that a few days spent on the ground scouting the target would have found."

"You'll have two days for recon before your strike, but the Needleship teams leave 12 hours before that. So you'll have 36 hours to find a Gate and send the abort codes if you hit a wall."

Semo listens to the instructions once again, this time trying to visualize in his mind each step and his part in it. Go here, go there, wait, go to the next position, kill anything that gets in the way...

Over and over, it becomes like a chant. Semo tries to change the visualizations, with different obstacles arising at different points. Doesn't matter. Go. Kill. Do. That's it. Let the brains do the fancy stuff. My job is to give them the opportunity to do their job.

That opportunity comes soon enough. Semo wakes from dreams of sight pictures, looks at his watch, and realizes it's D-Day. His team leaves for the worldship Atea at noon to take their long trip to the Boranai Needleship.

The Samoan sees a quartet of Rangers in the hallway on his way back from chow. He can't help but overhear some chatter: "Is this thing for real? Six hundred klicks across some fucked-up alien planet, no artillery, air support from helos older than I am, just to get bogged down in some Star Wars city?"

---

Onas tracks down Hugh an hour before departure. The rebel officer's wearing his undersuit and the lower carapace. He lays his "gotcha" - the newly-minted term for the boarding team's weapons, a prop casing and fake accelerator shroud covering up a silenced SCAR - against a row of lockers and approaches the Delta captain.

"Agent Sturgis and I are prepping our team now. I wanted to wish you a successful attack, and to say that I appreciate what your people have done for mine."

Hugh smirks.

"Don't mention it. We're all in it together and we'll have plenty of time to pat each other on the back when we've pulled this off."

*Wow. D-Day already,* Semo thinks to himself as he rolls out of his bunk. *Time to put up or shut up. Better not be late for breakfast or Livea will have some unpleasant words for me.*

Showering and dressing quickly, the big Samoan double-times to the mess hall. Not surprisingly, Ms. Colomaya is already there; she gives him a look as he approaches. "Trouble rising this morning, lover-boy?"

"Sorry, gorgeous. Got things on my mind; we ship out in a few hours," Semo replies with a shrug.

"Yeah, I know." Livea turns to join the chow line, a flash of unhappiness on her face. Semo has noticed her getting a bit antsy as D-Day has approached. To some extent, he finds it heart-warming as a sign that she seems to really care about him. Still, he doesn't like seeing her unhappy.


After breakfast, he and Livea are heading toward his bunk to finish packing when they pass some young Rangers chatting and heading the other way. Overhearing their chatter, Semo pauses and steps in front of them.

"You better believe this is for real. This ain't no movie, boys; this is the real deal. The brass have been keeping the lid on, but this is for all the marbles. If we don't pull this off, Earth will be a cinder in less than a year. Make damn sure that every one of you is on their A-game today, 'cause nothin' less is gonna cut it today. The opposition is going to be heavy; they're heavily armed, they know their shit and they don't fuck around.

"You wanna see your families again? You wanna see Earth again? Then you better push yourselves farther and harder than you ever have before. Got it?"

"Got it, sarge," the mouthy Ranger replies. He starts to open his mouth again, but his buddies give him a your brain needs to stop your mouth right now look. The Rangers continue down the corridor.

"Nice ball-busting," Colomaya smiles as they leave. "Listen, I have a briefing to get to so..." She leans in close. "I know you'll do the job. You just be careful up there."

As the Ranger opens his mouth to reply, Semo leans in towards him slightly with one eyebrow raised, waiting to see what kind of crap will spill out of the man's pie-hole. Fortunately for him, his buddies drag him off.

"Thanks," Semo replies with a smirk. "I'm learning from the best."

Semo gives Livea a quick kiss. "You better believe it. You ain't gettin' rid of me that easy." He watches for a moment as she glides off to her briefing, then continues on his way to finish his preparations.


The clock ticks down, and Semo is ready and in place as always when the timer strikes D-Day. As usual, he's all business and his weapons are perfectly cleaned and prepped.

Semo, Mellish, and Hugh join Haj, Swalni, Oskell, Taiz, and Ahaz on the Diego Garcia Gateroom floor. Sturgis, Onas, and their team have already passed through to Atea's cold, dry ducts and corridors. The chatter in the room is all a blur of authorization codes and last-minute review, the only memorable spot being a "Happy hunting" from Hogue and a chorus of "Huuah"s and "Get some"s from the congregated Rangers.

Atea's a blur, too - now that D-Day's here the team feels a high of excitement and anxiety that had largely gone away during their time with Delta. Hogue didn't have to say it, but everyone knows it; Earth's fate rests in your hands.

---

"We're coming up on the Gate," Swalni calls back from the manta's cockpit. Hearing that snaps you back after the mindless fatigue of a twelve-hour trip from the Bashakran Worldship to the Gateway. The team sits back-to-back in the rear of the flying APC, taking up roughly half the available crashers. The gotchas are stowed in the weapon racks in front of them, the slap-on utility packs, spearbombs, breaching charges, and other concealed Earth equipment are tightly bound in underseat webbing. Haj, seated in the copilot's couch, starts remote-dialing the code for Boranai's orbital into the manta's systems and initiates the Imperial IFF codes. A few light-minutes behind you, Sturgis and Onas' manta prepares to dial Boranai's outsystem Gate after you pass through to high orbit.

Hugh checks his gear again. Aside from the gotcha, he has a sidearm hidden under his armor and a knife in his boot. He really, really doesn't like the idea that he could be caught without a weapon.

"You know what to do," he says to the assembled masses. "When I give the signal, it's go time. Strike first, strike fast, strike hard."

"No mercy," Mellish finishes the Cobra Kai motto as the manta-ship dives through the almost-forgotten space gate and into the subtly different void above Boranai. The arid planet's gray, tan, and olive expanse looms behind the tiny transport. In the cockpit, Haj and Swalni's scopes burst into activity as queries are sent and sensors paint their search results on projected volumes. The Needleship Righteous Purpose is in high orbit, just where the intel said it'd be. It'll take almost an hour for the manta's sensors to sweep out far enough to pick up the outsystem gate, but once the team has access to the orbital and dials in, their communication will be instantaneous.

Mission Time 00:14:14

"The Cargo Cult's in low orbit and You Dig is lifting off from the Gateport now," Haj informs the back of the bus. The two rebel freighters are carrying strike teams, ready to help contain captured crew or assist in crewing the Needleships themselves. A larger freighter should be coming in the outsystem Gate from an outside star system to assist Onas and Sturgis' team.

Mellish rubs life back into his legs, taking the time during their short impeller cruise to stamp around the cramped manta.

"Imperial Manta NVR12B requesting transit resupply," Swalni vox-broadcasts. "Auth-codes transmitting... now." The laser-pulsed communique darts across the gulf.

A long pause. You can see the look Oskell shoots toward the cockpit.

*Authorization checks out, NVR12B. Clearance granted for bay nine. Transmitting beacon in 3...2...1...mark.*

The deck shifts slightly as the manta's impellers push the craft on its new course.

"Think they know what's coming?" Taiz asks her brother, nodding in what she thinks is the general direction of the Righteous Purpose.

"Not a chance in hell," Ahaz says, grabbing his chrome flared helm and securing it with a hiss.

Grouping on the gateroom floor, Semo feels the old butterflies return. No matter how many battles and firefights he survives, he always gets a bit queasy before each one. However, this time it's different. These alien bastards stand between him and getting back to Livea and his family, and that makes it personal.

They're likely to regret that...

As they approach the last Gate, Semo checks his gear one more time as tunes pulse through his ear-buds. Auto-cannon? Check. Sidearm? Check. Knives 1 and 2? Check. Armor? Check. Ammo? Check. Rations? Check. Emergency gear? Check.

"No mercy," Semo parrots back in stereo with Mellish. It's who they are, what they are.

Swalni and Haj pilot the manta ever closer to their target. As soon as the reach hailing distance, they request authorization, and Semo begins reviewing his orders one last time. Every step, every action, from the moment they board until the ship is theirs passes through his memory like a training video. He's spent so much time reviewing the ship floorplans and running through the sims that it is all nearly second nature to him now.

"Wait until they get a taste of of what {insert appropriate rank here} Colomaya taught me to do with this," Semo says with a wink at Ahaz and his sister, patting the Turai sword attached to his hip.

Mission Time 00:14:27

The Righteous Purpose grows from a glint in the black to a silver line, then to a rapier blade. Haj and Swalni slow the manta-ship and coax it along the projected intercept course, taking care to do it by the book. The Needleship's underbelly is pockmarked with micrometeor impacts. The monolithic armor plating slides out and back to admit the manta into a long, relatively narrow hangar bay. You float by a dozen interceptors in their cradles before settling into an open pad a little more than midway down the cavernous space. A heavy shutter begins rolling down behind the manta's sconce; when it shuts, the gradually increasing roar of atmosphere signals the manta's area is safe to enter.

Hugh and his team gather their gear, snapping weapons into place on lockplates, slinging utility belts and stashing their various backup weapons. Haj keys the hatches and the team touches boot to deck as the atmo equalizes with a loud hiss. Entering the manta's little hangar are three techs wearing the typical white and gray tunics, accompanied by a bevy of small maintenance drones. The lead tech has a walk that's all business and a no-nonsense graying haircut to match. He singles Hugh out as the faux Trin's squad leader and asks, "What are you doing on deck? This is just a resupply; you're in my way!"

Hugh ignores the tech's grumbling and turns to Semo, barking out clipped, official-esque phrases in Imperial.

"Failure to establish identity, demerit. No armed escort, demerit."

He turns to the tech.

"Didn't let us just walk off, that's a plus. Could have done worse, could have done better. You and your men are excused from the rest of the exercise. Stand down until general announcement."

He nods to the team, and they walk out nonchalantly.

Hugh's inquisitorial gambit seems to hit closer to home than he could've hoped for. The techs aren't about to push their luck, and the clever escape clause Hugh added to his orders means they don't even have to attend the mantaship. The techs stand there, shrugging and glancing nervously at each other while the strike team leaves the manta's hangar in double file.