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  “Watch out, sir! Coming through.” He turned around to see a munitions cart stacked with seven large missiles coming directly at him. The sergeant driving the cart had a very annoyed look on his face. Mark quickly stepped aside to let the cart pass, returning the salute of the driver as he whizzed by, barely missing Mark’s feet.

  Mark continued looking around, and his eyes came to rest on rows of one- and two-man tactical, single-wing fighters lining the walls of the bay. Nicknamed TAC-WINGs by the crew, these ships were agile and vicious fighter spacecraft built specifically for close quarters combat. Each had a particle beam cannon mounted in the nose, along with wing mounts for dozens of different kinds of missiles and armament that could be quickly changed depending on the mission. Each TAC-WING was sitting next to a set of rails that faced an iris-shaped port. When the ships were ready to be launched, they would be hoisted onto the rail system. Exhaust diverters were mounted on the rails behind each ship to channel hot exhaust gas down and away from the bay. This configuration would allow flight crews to scramble and launch in the minimum amount of time possible.

  The two-man version of the fighter was also capable of near-light speed interstellar flight in a pinch, thanks to the newly developed particle drive engine. Originally developed to send microscopic nanoprobes into the far reaches of the universe, these engines would only have been useful for that purpose. The technology had taken an unexpected colossal leap forward when researchers at a university back on Earth had stumbled onto a unifying principle that allowed them to force billions of the nanoengines to work together in a synchronized fashion, effectively creating a single engine that could be scaled up to propel any size spacecraft. This revelation had allowed them to adapt the new technology for use in manned spacecraft that would give those ships the ability to approach light speed for the first time in human history. The engines functioned like small particle accelerators, shooting a conductive stream of nanoparticles from their exhaust ports, driving the ships forward to incredible velocities. The technology was experimental and had just been released to the military for field-testing. However, the current state of affairs had forced the military to push the engine through the normal testing process quickly in order to get it into production as fast as possible. There were still potential issues with its use, and Mark was in no hurry to be one of the first to use the technology in a live mission, although it was comforting to know it was available if required.

  Each TAC-WING fighter was being swarmed over and serviced by a team of technicians and mechanics who were fueling it and loading as many munitions as the bird could carry. Final checks were being performed on each craft, making sure each one was flight ready.

  Mark oriented himself and began to make his way toward the main briefing room where General Matheson was waiting to receive Mark’s information. He was amazed at the buzz of activity and the focus and determination on every face. Everywhere he glanced, he observed crew members running back and forth, intent expressions on their faces and a definite purpose in their strides. He understood their determination and felt the same way. Mark was tempted to lend a hand in the activity he saw going on around him but realized he didn’t have time; his destination was just around the next corner.

  Approaching the briefing room, Mark noticed that the security panels were active and that the room was locked down. This most certainly meant that something bad had happened to require such tight security. Smoothing his uniform, Mark pressed the access button.

  “Come,” a deep voice said from inside.

  The retina scanner on the wall began to glow, waiting to confirm his identity. Mark placed his eye in the scanner; the brief flash of light caused it to water. When the scan was complete, a synthesized voice said, “Mark Hunter, Agent ID 3761-1.” A green light came on, accompanied by a loud click. Mark placed his hand on the door and pushed. The door swung open to reveal a smoke-filled room containing arguably the most powerful men on Earth. Every military commander of any consequence was present and seated around the conference table. Mark digested the scene without comment, still wondering what was going on. General Roy Matheson sat at the head, a commanding presence, obviously in charge.

  The general was an imposing figure, hair cropped close to his head in a style reminiscent of the US Marines in the late twentieth century. His trademark chewed cigar was in his mouth at all times. This and his usual demeanor had earned him the nickname Bulldog. It was a name not only descriptive of his personality but also a fairly accurate description of his looks. No one ever used this nickname to his face, as to do so might have been the last thing the offender remembered before waking up in the brig. Even though he was feared, he was respected and loved by his men. They always knew that Matheson would have their backs, and his men would fight for him to the death if necessary. General Matheson had been Mark’s commanding officer many times throughout his active duty career, and Mark had grown very fond of the general, viewing him as a second father.

  Usually in a foul mood even at the best of times, Matheson was angrier than Mark had ever seen him, his face flushed as he chewed nervously on an unlit stogie.

  “Get in here and shut the door!” said the general.

  Mark shut the door and secured it.

  “What did you bring us?” the general asked without preamble.

  Mark reached into his backpack and pulled out the camera, passing it to the ensign on duty.

  “Project these on the main wall, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” the ensign said. He took a position next to the projection screen as he waited.

  As the pictures appeared, Mark heard gasps of surprise from his audience.

  “How did you get this much detail?” asked a commander.

  “Honestly, I was a bit lucky. I was able to get into the alien command staff briefing room without being detected. The fleet positions were laid out in detail on planning tables, so I photographed them.”

  Several nods of approval and whispered remarks came from around the table.

  “Also,” Mark said, as the buzz of conversation in the room abruptly ceased, “I was able to gain access to their central computer network, and I downloaded as much information as possible. I don’t know if intelligence can get anything useful out of these,” he removed the silver disks from his backpack, holding them up for everyone to see, “but there could be something of value on them.” He tossed the disks onto the table, directly in front of Matheson. The general fingered the disks, raising his eyes to Mark.

  “Outstanding job, son. I’ll send these disks to the lab to be analyzed immediately.” The general scooped the disks off the table and put them in his pocket. He stood and approached Mark, talking in a voice only he could hear. “You are dismissed. Take some time and relax. I’ll contact you soon about your next assignment.”

  “Uh, yes, sir,” Mark said, confused at the abrupt dismissal. He left the briefing room and headed toward his cabin. Once in the hallway, Mark considered what had just occurred. It made him very uneasy to be quickly dismissed and shoved aside like that. The magnitude of the information he had brought in seemed to be lost on Matheson and the others.

  Mark had a reputation as one of the most relentless people in the world when searching for information, and he wasn’t about to let this strange behavior pass unnoticed. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he had a gut feeling that something was wrong.

  CHAPTER 3

  Mark entered his cabin, causing the lights to come on at full intensity. The harsh glare made him squint, so he turned the lighting down to a more tolerable level. He removed his backpack and tossed it across the room, where it landed with a thud in the far corner. He stretched his sore muscles, trying to restore some semblance of flexibility. His back always seemed to be in knots after a mission. Rubbing his hand over a nagging pain at the base of his neck, Mark made his way toward the shower, discarding his uniform as he went. He stepped into the water and let its heat take away the pain he was carrying. As the tension began to ebb,
Mark relaxed, glad that the reconnaissance mission was over. Ever since his old commander had found him, Mark had wondered if he could still perform his duties like he had in the old days. He had retired from the military five years ago but had stayed abreast of developments in his field, trying to keep up his skills as an intelligence officer. Even though retired, he felt he had done pretty well for an old-timer. He shut off the water and toweled himself dry. Getting a cup of coffee from the dispenser in his room, he sat down on his bunk, sipping slowly. As the hot liquid made its way down his throat, a wave of fatigue washed over him, forcing him to lie down. The adrenaline rush of the mission was finally beginning to fade. While his mind was still busy processing the events in the briefing room, his subconscious was telling him there was a reason to worry. General Matheson simply did not act like that except when something was wrong. As he began to fade into sleep, Mark resolved to find out what was going on when he awoke. Finally he allowed sleep to win the fight, drifting off into a deep, dreamless slumber.

  Mark awoke with a start, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear his vision. He got up from his bunk and walked over to the sink, yawning. He glanced at his watch and was startled to see that nine hours had passed since the briefing.

  “Man, guess I was more beat than I thought,” he said. Mark washed his face and put on a new uniform. He figured Johann was probably just about ready for that drink he had promised. Looking himself over again in the mirror, satisfied with what he saw, he made his way toward the door. He was startled when the entry chime sounded.

  “Come.”

  The door slid aside to reveal General Matheson, a look of severe agitation on his face.

  “You need a light for that thing?” Mark asked, gesturing to his ever-present cigar.

  “Hell, no. You think I want to get cancer or something?” Matheson said.

  “Come on in, sir,” Mark said, stepping aside.

  The general entered the room without further preamble. Walking over to the desk, he sat his large frame down and methodically began chewing the end of his cigar. Mark could tell by his expression that he had unwelcome news.

  “What’s wrong, General?” Mark asked, all business.

  “Mark, I’m sorry for the way I sent you out of the briefing this morning, but we had just received a dispatch from Command Central that contained some very distressing news.” Matheson adjusted his position in his chair, leaning forward to bring his face closer to Mark’s.

  Mark could feel the hair on the back of his neck begin to rise. The general looked at Mark, trying to ascertain his reaction before going on.

  “We’ve known each other for a long time, Mark, so I’m not going to pull any punches with you,” he said.

  “I appreciate that, sir. What’s going on?” Mark asked.

  Matheson removed the cigar from his mouth and set it on the desk. Without further delay he removed a folded paper from his pocket and passed it across the desk to Mark. He gingerly picked up the paper, unfolded it, and began to read. The first thing that caught his eye was the designation stamped in bold red letters across the top of the page. Top Secret—Commander’s Eyes Only. The message had come from the Central Earth Military Command on Earth. Mark cleared his throat as he began to read aloud.

  Message Dispatch Origin: Marcell Brighton, Commander

  Urgent Central Earth Military Command

  Time: 0900 CST

  At 0830 CST, the Jerrollite fleet attacked Earth without warning. All major command posts were destroyed within minutes. The disposition of the enemy fleet was such that every military installation on the planet was attacked simultaneously. Within hours the entire planet was under Jerrollite control. All Earth governments were ordered to surrender control or risk annihilation. Resistance proved to be futile, as was demonstrated when the Russian government refused to cooperate and launched all its nuclear missiles against the Jerrollite fleet. Every missile was destroyed before it could get anywhere near even the smallest of the enemy ships. In response to this attack, a small portion of the Jerrollite fleet opened fire on every major population center in Russia. The barrage continued until nothing was left but piles of rubble. No reprieve was given.

  It is currently believed that the entire government of Russia has been wiped out, along with approximately 85 percent of its population. No communications have been possible to verify this estimation.

  Every other Earth government has capitulated to Jerrollite control. This command post is the last operational communications facility left untouched by the attack. Its location will undoubtedly be detected when this message is transmitted. Do not attempt to respond to this message. You are now our only hope. You carry the only remaining torch of freedom and as such serve as our only hope against our oppressors.

  No further communications will be possible. All evidence of your existence is being destroyed to preserve whatever element of surprise you may have.

  May God deliver us all.

  Gen. Marcell Brighton, Commander

  Central Earth Military Command

  End Transmission

  Mark sat down heavily on the edge of his bunk, his mind swirling with the implications of the message. He folded the paper and dropped it on the desk. He sat in silence, stunned, unable to believe what he had just read.

  “Have you confirmed any of this?” Mark asked quietly.

  “Long-range scans have confirmed the destruction in Russia. We’ve also been receiving sporadic reports from different places, but I’m afraid they all paint the same picture as what you just read.”

  A flurry of emotions threatened to overwhelm Mark as he contemplated the degree of death and destruction that had just swept over Earth. His family and friends were either dead already or in grave danger. No help would be coming from Earth.

  Mark turned his emotions inward, refusing to show his true feelings. General Matheson must have seen the look on his face. “I feel the same way, son. Just make sure you control your anger so it can be channeled into something useful. We have some serious planning to do if we want to liberate Earth from the control of the Jerrollites,” he said, placing his hand firmly on Mark’s shoulder. “We’re all in this together.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mark said simply, knowing nothing else to say.

  The general picked up the message, placing it in his pocket. “I’ll be announcing this to the entire ship in a few moments, so there is no need to keep it a secret. I think the crew has a right to know exactly what we’re fighting for,” he said. He turned and left without saying another word.

  Mark decided that dwelling on the subject would accomplish nothing except drive him insane. After a few moments, he decided to go to the officers’ club anyway. He really didn’t feel like being alone.

  CHAPTER 4

  The door to Mark’s cabin slipped shut as he made his way to the officers’ club. The announcement of what had happened on Earth began coming over the ship’s intercom system. Mark continued walking as the grave news was shared with the entire crew. The looks of shock and fear on the faces he passed served only to strengthen his resolve.

  The events had grave implications for the human race. Central Earth Military Command’s fleet had been in space dock undergoing refits to prepare for the coming war. Because the attack was unexpected, the devastation had been complete; only the Hercules was spared.

  Since the attack, the Hercules had been unable to establish contact with any other ships. If any had escaped, they were unable to respond. Mark assumed that they were pretty much alone.

  Deep in thought, he almost didn’t realize what happened as a thunderous crash reverberated through the corridor. The ship rocked violently to one side, slamming Mark’s body against the bulkhead. Muffled explosions were coming from below deck, setting off sirens and klaxons all over the ship. Sprinting down the corridor to the access way that led to the bridge, Mark passed several crew members who had been hurt by the sudden violent shift. He made his way to the nearest intercom and called for emergency medical a
ssistance before going on. Reaching the access way, Mark shimmied up the ladder and hurried onto the bridge. He stumbled as another explosion rocked the ship. Fighting to maintain his footing, Mark shouted, “What’s going on?”

  Matheson, who was standing in the middle of the bridge, turned to face him. “We’re under attack by a Jerrollite patrol ship! If he reports back to his command, we’re going to be in big trouble,” he replied.

  “Understood, General.” Mark was all business. “Are any of the TAC-WING fighters available yet?”

  “One wing is available and ready for launch. The crews are at their ships.” Turning to the tactical officer, Matheson barked a command. “Hold launch clearance until Hunter gets there.” To Mark, he said, “They’re waiting for you, so go!”

  “I’m on my way!” Mark said as he sprinted from the bridge.

  He made his way to the launch area quickly and scrambled into the cockpit of a single-man TAC-WING the flight crew had mounted on its launch rails and prepped for launch. Dropping firmly into the pilot’s seat, Mark reached back and removed the BWI helmet from its storage area in the rear of the cockpit. The helmet was the one feature that really set this fighter apart from earlier models. Using sensors mounted in the shell, human brain waves could control every aspect of flight or combat. If the pilot thought it, the ship did it. That was where the name of the helmet came from: BWI stood for brain wave inference.

  Mark slid the helmet over his head and activated its Heads-up display. The helmet performed a retinal scan and recognized him as an authorized user. The onboard computer acknowledged him. “Welcome, Captain Hunter. You are now in command.” Mark ordered the computer to bring the ship to flight-ready status. As the ship’s systems began to come online, each one reported its status directly to the display. Mark began running down the preflight checklist, verifying that all systems on the fighter were ready and all armament was responding to the ship’s computer. Mark was relieved that, operationally, not much had changed since his retirement, the ships systems still working the same way they did when he was on active duty. Inside the cockpit, he felt secure and comfortable.