Chapter 2

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"What's going on out there?" Yelled the tall, thin, gray haired, aging admiral, Admiral Reynolds. He was thinking of retirement when the missile hit. An Asian man spoke up. "Sir, they're bringing in Hawker transports, amount unknown, but our weapon system is offline." "Can we scramble the fleet?" Asked the admiral. "We could sir," he replied, "but they have T9-48's escorting them, at least sixteen wings sir." He did the math, three hundred twenty aircraft. "Do we know where the missile came from?" Asked the old man, trying to stay calm, but everyone knew he was beyond furious. A young female turned from her computer console. "No sir. Our radar was taken out." The admiral lost it. "Do we know anything?" He bellowed, "we're supposed to be the best there is, but we know nothing!" "Sir, we need troops ready to defend that door," said Lt. general Tante, a man with two thousand troops under his command. Reynolds was never fond of Tante, but he served his purpose well. "Why aren't they in position already!?" He asked incredulous. He calmed himself. "Everyone, here's what we're going to do. First, we need troops in position," he glared at Tante, "second, we need the fleet to buy us some time, third, we need our shields and thrusters up and running, and lastly, get me an estimate on the number of troops coming in." "Sir," said a young man at a console, "another missile in coming!" Another missile? He thought, what do we do? "Are comms up?" A lady checked a console. "Yes sir." He didn't hesitate. "Get me on the line with the nearest Air Force base." After fifteen seconds, a young mans face appeared on a large wall screen. "Colonel Smith? Can you hear me Colonel Smith?" The young man had long blond hair, very smooth and childish features, and too many freckles to count. "Yes sir. I can hear you just fine. Something tells me this isn't just a social call." He said in a slightly high pitch voice. "Son, at noon, we were hit by a long range missile. Another one is coming in. I need you to send an interceptor to stop it. Can you do that son?" His eyes gleamed. "Yes sir, I'll get on it right now. Is that all?" "Yes Colonel. Reynolds out." Everyone breath a sigh of relief. An elderly man looked panicked. "Sir! The doors are breached!"

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"Everyone open fire when they get through that door!" Lt. Miller ordered his small group of men. "They cannot get through us or the ship may be lost." He looked over the 7th platoon, full of pride and fear. He loved and trained these men, and now they were on a mission they probably wouldn't come back from. He had developed a closeness with his men, and they would die with him today. Unless he had anything to say about it. "We know the drill everyone, and we will make it out of this if we remember our training." They were in the rear, right in front of them was the 15th company, lead by Major Wright. In the front was the 9th battalion, lead by Lt. colonel Jackson. Five hundred thirty men. They were outnumbered, but they would fight till the end. The transports were latched on to the air lock, drilling in. BOOM, the door fell to the ground with a loud clank. Enemy soldiers dropped down on ropes. More and more came, shooting as they dropped. Miller's men and the others fired back, but there were to many of them. As they hit the ground, they deployed portable barriers for protection. "Hold your ground!" Miller yelled screamed over the bullets and grenades. "Rocket incoming!" Someone from the 9th screamed. Miller looked, and sure enough, a tail of smoke shot towards the 9th. KA-blam. "Return fire!" He screamed. Another rocket flew into the 15th. Miller felt a shockwave as the men in front of him were obliterated. "Throw your grenades!" He ordered his men. His men started launching grenades. Screams could heard on the other side. The stench of blood and smoke filled his lungs. Miller never had fantasies that war was glorious, but he never thought it would be this gruesome. "Rocket incoming!" "Fall back!" Miller yelled. They all ran. Then all went black.

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Justin and the others were running down one of many identical halls, when they ran into two Courgens. Justin grabbed the barrel of one gun, pointed it away, and kneed the man in the ribs. Using the gun, he shot the other man twice in the chest. Justin hit the disarmed man across the face. Johan ripped off the bottom of his shirt to use as a gag. They led him to a spacious maintenance closet. They set him in a chair, took off the gag, and used it to tie his hands. After taking their gear they now had: the two KGM-40's (a later model of Justin's) two sleek pistols, two long curved boot knives, two Kevlar vests, two first aid kits, an enemy radio, four MRE's, water, six frag grenades, and ammo for the guns. Justin stared at the man. "Who are you?" He asked in an emotionless voice. The man glared at him, he spit blood out. "I'm Private Louis, serial number 5812049." Justin punched him hard across the jaw. "Let me clarify," he said, "who do you work for?" "I'm Private Louis, serial number 5812049." Justin calmly grabbed a boot knife. As he started lightly tracing the knife on his skin, the man tried not to shake. "You see," began Justin, "if you help us, there's a small chance you might not die, you'll spend your life in prison, but alive. If you don't, that chance gets flushed." Louis was shaking much more now. "I-I can't... I can't do that." Justin chuckled. "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying." He made a slice in his wrist, blood poured out the veins. "If you tell us what we want to know, we can bandage that, preventing you from slowly bleeding out. You don't want that, do you?" Louis shook his head. "I'm a private i-in the Palios army. Now help me!" "We have more questions, but you can have some water." After the drink, they resumed. "So, what was the overall plan?" "We had intel that valuable plans were onboard. Plus we would have a chance to collapse your economy." "How long has this been planned?" "Since the peace treaty." "Last question." Louis grunted. "How does a private know such valuable things?" Louis chuckled. "What are you implying?" Justin stared at him. "Low levels are always kept in the dark." Louis froze. "I don't know what you what you want me to say."

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Reynolds watched the missile explode. It's like a fireworks show. Reynolds found himself smiling. "Sir, the president is trying to call." Said his communications officer. "Patch him through." His mind raced with other thoughts. "Admiral Reynolds, it's the president, can you hear me?" His mind snapped back to reality. "Yes sir, I can hear you." "Good." He said in a gravelly voice. "How are you and everyone else onboard holding up under the circumstances?" How am I doing? He thought to himself, people are dying and I don't know what to do. "We're alive, Mr. President." Most of us. "Very good. Now, to start off our conversation, you are being promoted to fleet admiral. You now have access to anything you need." He didn't care about a promotion, but all the same. "Thank you Mr. President." The president looked uncertain about his next question. "Do you know who attacked you?" Reynolds had that question wrestling in his mind all day. "No sir." The president grunted. "Okay, well let me know when you have something." "Of course Mr. President. Excuse me, but I need to go now." After the call, Reynolds slumped into a chair. The president was a very old man, wrinkles, white hair, and a cane. He was a determined man though. "Everyone without level five clearance, get out." Once they were out, he hesitated. "Everyone, I'm sorry to say that Alpha 19112 is being set into motion.

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Admiral McLore watched everything through a satellite feed. He also saw Reynolds was alive, and he was angry. "Hogan!" He called. An abnormally large man stepped forward. "Yes sir?" He said in a deep voice. "Use the radio to tell your men to get to the command center. I want all but Reynolds dead." Hogan hesitated. "Sir, aren't we not supposed to contact our men?" McLore sighed. "Yes, but this is urgent." His face lost all uncertainty. "Of course sir. How many men?" He thought. "A squad should suffice." He was losing patience. "Of course, one moment."

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