Echoes of the Storm

Chapter 1

Is this how it ends?

Jack Gamble swiped away the dark stray hairs clinging to his forehead. This defeat by Corona—unimaginable. His people—dead, wounded, gone underground. The only thing worse? Fleeing with a small band of resistance fighters when he should have stayed behind to pick up the pieces.

His stomach tightened with guilt. He stared out the viewport from the jump seat as Encompass veered toward clouds tinged red by Torredo's rising sun. Far below, a column of armored vehicles smoldered on the roadside, twisted, blackened scraps of metal. Fires in the capital created an eerie show of shadows and light across the early morning skies. The ship jinked through black, acrid smoke, which splattered the reddish canvas of clouds like brush-strokes, a death mark for Jack and his comrades.

Ship's captain Matthew Chase cursed beneath his breath from the pilot's seat. His modified transport was a cut above most ships in Riga's fleet, covertly outfitted with super-charged engines and ultraebon composite shields.

Chase might get them out of this jam.

The ship shuddered, a blast from a Corona crusader singeing its shields. Jack's head smashed into the seatback. Behind him, circuitry along the corridor sparked and sizzled. He gripped the armrest, stomach churning, his mind on Ari Norse's betrayal.

My fault. I did this...

His stupidity—not their pursuer's strike—sickened him. Ari—his cell leader, his lover. What had he revealed to him?

The transport dodged another blast.

"Just take me to the firing squad," he mumbled.

Cloe Detreson swatted at him from across the narrow aisle. "I didn't hear that." She stood five feet tall in combat boots. Her hair was dirty blond, shorter than Jack's. That, and her round, angelic face always got her stares. Or maybe it was the boots. She wore them even when she wasn't in her gray-brown camo fatigues. That face belonged in the colony choir, but sniping beat out singing any day, especially if it meant overthrowing Corona's harsh rule. "Risked my butt dragging your ugly ass up the ramp of this boat," she said. "Don't think I'll let you off that easy. Besides, we can't help our friends if we're dead."

Blasts from a crusader clipped the hull and rocked the transport, but Cloe's words were the stop-feeling-sorry-for-yourself  kick Jack needed, the jolt like a slap to the face.

He bolted from the jump seat, wrangling into the co-pilot's chair with a nod to Chase. The transport was bigger than anything he'd flown, but the controls weren't much different. Sensors showed the enemy ships at their one-eighty. Weapons? Mother of Colonists! This was a transport. A fast one with extra shielding, but not one laser torpedo or cannon to be had.

Another crusader appeared off the starboard bow at ninety degrees. Gauges on the control panel blinked like a holiday display. "We're in his cone," Jack said, tapping keys to create a barrage of anti-missile sigs from the ship's comm array.

"Hold tight!" Chase veered sharply, taking the ship into a wild spin. Lights from a dozen indicators swathed his face in harsh colors.

Jack felt every vibration through the leather seatback. His knuckles whitened on the controls and his gut lurched into his ribs, but he kept his eyes on the boards. Sensors and blinking green lights confirmed their tail was Corona-free. "Clear," he said.

Cloe was almost the same shade of green as the indicators. Shooting out of atmosphere was not her thing. Her forte was ground-based and stealth ops with a heavy dose of bomb squad mixed in.

Jack hadn't flown missions against the enemy, but his connections to Torredo's elite had its perks. He trained with the best, including aces from Corona's air command. But, he'd found his heart and soul with the resistance. The work was dangerous and deadly, but a free Torredo made this life worthwhile.