"Ye sure took yer sweet time," Gelly gripes loudly. His face is pale from exertion under its mask of dust. He rounds on the crew. "Do ye know what manner o' folk as ye just made homeless?"

"Sorry, Gel," says Marta in a subdued voice. "We couldn't steer those things if we'd wanted to, though."

He takes a deep breath, about to continue his tirade. The look on Marta's face stops him cold.

"Yer right, lass. It's no right to yell at ye o'er that blasted rock's aim," he says, his voice laden with anger and regret. "But we've a job a work left so 'eave yer asses on yonder."

With that pronouncement he turns and starts jogging back the way he came, trailed by a bewildered group of spacers.

"There's no way he's real," complains one of the crewmates to another. "He's covered in blood, most of it the wrong color to be his, burnt, scraped and cut up. His uniform's shredded and he looks like he hasn't slept in days!"

"Aye lad, and only eaten twice since landin' 'ere. Just like me boyhood," he shouts back over his shoulder. "Now shut yer yap. Ye got wind fer gabbin' ye should be usin' to run."

Operative Gelly Drop signals for a rest around midday. They've all been awake since yesterday and are starting to stumble through the fields and rutted dirt roads. He's led the weary assault group to an empty farmhouse located just outside the captured city.

The property is surrounded by a tall fence festooned with climbing vines that sparkle in the sun. The old manor itself is easily large enough to accommodate all of ten them. Storage barns and other buildings within the fence point to the prosperity of the owners.

After ordering defenses put in place and sending the crew inside to search for supplies or refugees, Gelly disappears into a large outbuilding. In one hand he holds a small notepad, formerly the farmer's grocery list.

"Why's he taking notes? Or is he writing to his aunt again?" Kali asks as she drags another heavy block of dried feed moss to join the others in a makeshift barricade around the front door. Might not stop a slug, but cutting through the bales will surely reduce the lethality of any hits they take. Another pair are busy dragging bales of the stuff around to the back door.

Marta looks over at the Operative in question as he walks slowly around the inside of a spacious machine shop. Through its many windows he can be seen inside, between a thresher and a combine harvester. He's writing something, glancing from it to the thresher and back.

She laughs and shakes her head, her long crest of hair swaying freely. "Knowing him, he's got plans for some battle wagon or something."

Kali drops the heavy bale in place and brushes some of the dried moss from her uniform. "Did he just learn about the wheel?"

The smell of stew drifts out of the manor, tantalizing the hungry officers. One of the crewmembers is keeping a running tally of what their unit takes, to be reimbursed later.

"That's not nice. He can't help where he grew up," admonishes Marta as she lifts another bale on top of the growing barricade.

They drag enough more to finish setting up the gun emplacement. Enough room for three of them to shoot out, with cover they can hide behind. The temporary defenses all in place, the two go inside to grab something to eat.

Gelly joins the rest of his weary team inside the spacious dining room after he takes down the model numbers of all the large farming equipment. They're sitting around a long wooden table. Portraits of the homeowners and their large family hang from every wall. Embroidered blue cloths drape every available surface. The sounds of eating and quiet conversation make the large room feel cozy.

He takes the empty seat next to Tulson. Marta hands him a steaming bowl of fragrant stew which he accepts with gratitude. He digs in enthusiastically and she nods in satisfaction before she heads upstairs to get some rest.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

The farmer's family has much nicer beds than the tiny bunks back aboard the Selberclaw. She falls asleep as soon as her head hits the well-stuffed pillow. Brightly colored plush animals share the bed with her.

"Soon as the sun's down," Gelly says around a mouthful of spiced root vegetable, "we'll be headin' out. Make sure yer guns have plenty o' ammo in 'em and be sure to grab all the sleep ye can for'n it's time to run."

The crew around him groan in mock anguish.

---

Split into three teams, they make their way into the city from different angles. The hope is that at least some of them will reach the center of the city to attempt infiltration of the Capital Building.

Gelly and his two crewmen, Nett Zar and Joa Mell, stalk silently through the abandoned alleys, every muscle tense as they scan for enemy fighters. They're entering the commercial district and expect that by now the looters have nothing more to steal.

There, only a block down the street are a pair of armed Tserri, looking the wrong way. Not wanting to waste the opportunity he signals Joa, the better marksman, and lines up his own shot as they creep steadily forward.

After a silent five count they open fire, killing both targets. Nett darts forward and checks out the area while the others move to safe positions from which to provide him cover fire.

Gunfire in the distance alerts the trio and they head that way by silent mutual agreement. The sound of an explosion causes them to sprint all out, dropping stealth in favor of speed. Their bootsteps ring out on the paved streets.

They arrive at a scene of carnage. Bodies wreathed in smoke are scattered around the paved walkway. Furred chunks of meat lay everywhere, attracting swarms of tiny buzzing scavengers. The stink of blood and spent explosives hits them hard.

Standing in the slowly clearing smoke can be seen the armored forms of two Tserri warriors. Blinded and gasping in the smog filled air, they are easy targets for the three Imperium spacers. Clouds of charged flechettes slice through leather armor as if it wasn't there.

They find the remains of the four-member team behind a food stand. Shot full of holes before their grenade could go off. The shredded corpses of five more Tserri are spread out on the street.

Joa is bent over behind a bush, overcome by the acrid stench of blood and gun smoke. Nett keeps his flechette rifle up, scanning the area for more hostiles.

Gelly curses softly before going over to retrieve their weapons. There's still a lot of fighting left to do. He hands a spare SAm20 each to Joa and Nett, and keeps one for himself. He also takes the bandolier of grenades the dead bombardier will no longer be needing. A shame to lose her, as well as the medic.

He hopes the other team is still doing alright. Dismissing his worries, Gelly leads the two others deeper into Centra City.

"When we're through with all this, ye two'll've earned yerselves some commendations," he remarks casually to the two crewmembers. "Might be as we'll be callin' ye Operative, Jim takes a shine. Joa, get up top that store yonder and take a looky. Keep her covered, Nett. I'm thinkin' Tully's group'll be through here soon, but the furballs might come have a looky as well."

He then takes a position behind the waist high remnants of a collapsed wall where he can keep the area in view. Nett gives Joa a boost and she scrambles up the wall. She surveys the area through the scope of her rifle.

"Visual on Tulson's team," Joa says tersely from above. "Contact with an enemy squad four blocks west."

"Get down here, quick like! Nett, keep her covered," hisses Gelly as he runs towards the faint sound of gunshots.

Booted feet thumping loudly against the pavement, he runs yelling into the rear of the enemy unit, cursing their ancestry and choices in grooming tools.

Recognizing the gruff voice shouting insults, Engineer Tulson and her squad find the will to move that much faster, recover slightly quicker from the recoil of their weapons. Half the enemy squad turns in the direction of the distraction.

Taking advantage, Tulson shoots one of them in the back, one of her thirty-threes booming and kicking hard, the other falling into aim as the force of the first shot twists her body. The other falls, back shredding under the impact of Marta's flechette rifle.

Tulson quickly shifts her aim to one of the survivors but Kali Povril fires first. Huffing, she hip fires at the last survivor.

He collapses, tackled by Gelly, and her shot grazes the operative's right shoulder as he tumbles. Gelly stands, and clutches his shoulder, grimacing.

Once it's clear Kali runs over and wraps her arms around Gelly's weakly protesting form. She kisses him soundly on the top of his head with a happy laugh. "I've never been so happy to see your ugly face!"

Joa and Nett shoulder past the brush and into the clearing moments later. They panic when they spot Gelly. His face is dark with embarrassment as he staggers dazedly in the small park.

"Oh no! They shot Gelly," shouts Nett and runs over, grabbing the Operative and pulling him tightly into an embrace. "Don't die, Gel! I never got to tell you I loved you," he cries out in anguish.

"I like ye, too," sputters a mortified Gelly. "But could we do this later? Back on the ship, perhaps?"