“Well, for it to piss off the FMN, it could be some new cloning research, biological weapons, arms research…Hell, that group would hate anything that could benefit soldiers; they’d start a war if a brewery was making a brand just for the army.”

Everyone in the group joined together for a good laugh at the idea.

“Seriously, though, when are we arming the shuttle?”

“I got Johansson working on it right now,” the leader replied.

“Yeah, good idea! We don’t want him to get his share of the profits just ‘cause he’s a glorified chauffeur.”

All of the men chortled as the leader hailed the bartender for another round.

---

“Alright, so the shuttle is fully stocked, Johansson?” the captain asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Go through the list…”

Picking up a clip board, the buzz cut youth ran a finger along side of it, announcing the item as he went along. “For the ship: fuel tanks filled, engines inspected, weapons armed, hull inspected, landing gear functional, docking hatch inspected. Medicine: infirmary area fully supplied with gauze, morphine, stim-packs, antidotes, and cauterizers, along with other standard equipment. Nine med kits are in stock, along with two analyzers. Rations: thirty-eight crates….”

“Very good, and now the expense report.”

“Ship: nineteen thousand, seven hundred. Medicine: eleven hundred. Rations: twelve hundred, sir.”

“Report the status of our arms, private.”

“Pistols: twenty-five with forty boxes of standard bullets and half the amount in AP. Shotguns: fifteen with twenty boxes of slugs, half the amount in AP, and ten boxes of anti-personnel. Automatic rifles: ten with thirty clips. Twenty-two combat knives, fifty smoke grenades, and thirty grenades, sir.”

“Cost of the armaments?”

“Total of forty-one hundred; most was still useable from the previous job, sir. They are cleaned and ready for use.”

“Excellent, you’ve earned your share. Alright, now all that needs to be done is designate the aliases. Come up in order, and I’ll assign one.”

With each person that stepped up, he handed them a dog tag. “Stitch, Farshot, Stock, Surge, Tweak, Focus, Operator, Wall, Six-eight, Ruse, Override, Barrage, Maverick, Eiffel, Lurker, Machine, Sparkster, Basilisk, and Orwell. That leaves me with…” the captain started, looking at the inscription on the piece of metal, “Cold-heart. Alright, everyone on board; we’ll reach destination in approximately two weeks.”

Saluting, the group boarded the ship in single file.

“Make sure you get us there in one piece, Lady,” the captain grinned, getting on board before the pilot.

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that, sir…” Johansson sighed.

---

A buzzer sounded in the captain’s quarters, drawing him to the cockpit. Growling, he looked at the sensors panel and was struck dumb. “What’s the alarm for? There’s not anything out there. Besides, we’ve only been traveling for four days; we’re still in a government sector.”

“Sir, I suggest you use the monitor instead.”

Twisting himself around, he stared at the monitor Johansson directed him towards. “What the hell is that? FMN?”

“I don’t know, sir. It’s not being identified by the IFF, and its stealth is preventing sensor activity. If it does belong to the FMN, they paid a fortune; it’s a high-class fighter normally only accessible to government SDF pilots.”

“So…it’s a government ship, then?”

“No, sir; by law, government ships must identify themselves through IFF.”

The ship in question grew increasingly larger and made a pass beside their transport vessel, setting off a number of lights and alarms on the consoles as it did so.

“What the Hell just happened?” the captain shouted, tired of floating around and strapping himself into a seat.

“A few were alarms warning us of the proximity to another ship, but mostly are reporting damage.”

“Damage? It’s hostile?”

“Yes, sir. It would appear to have been an energy weapon; we have taken light damage atop and along the hull. I am as least relieved that our ships scanners are adequate to alert us at close proximity.”

“Stop chatting, Lady, return fire!”

“Sir, with that class of vessel, pure luck would be required to inflict light to moderate damage. Their maneuverability is superior, as are their weapons, engines, and defenses.”

“Bullshit! We’ve got an AC type ship; shields to prevent debris from damaging the hull and armor plating triple the standard thickness!”

“But sir, this ship is armed with an AP Vulcan.”

“Yes?”

“And that class of ship has shields that can absorb a lot more than debris so out of a thousand rounds, perhaps seven will break through; thirteen if lucky. The best course of action is a retreat, sir.”

Growling, the captain nodded. “Head to the nearest station; we’ll repair then set out again. We’re probably just unfortunate to come across a well-armed bandit.”

“Yes sir, within two hours we’ll be within range of protection. It won’t be able to touch us then.”

“Will we make it?”

“The enemy appears to be cautious in their assaults. We’ve been struck twice thus far, neither causing any more than light hull damage. With maneuvering and full speed, I ought to be able to avoid a sufficient number of hits, or at least allow a thicker portion of the hull to be struck.”

---

“Target ship has been routed,” a voice buzzed over the speaker of the SDF-class interceptor.

“Understood,” the passenger replied.

“Continuing to harass the target; maximum threshold of damage will be inflicted. One and a half hours to second phase.”

“Proceed. My equipment will be prepared before arrival.”