Echoes of the Storm

Chapter 37

Jack half heard the ping and crackle of the comm, like distant thunder in the Ops Center. He could hear the rustle of clothes. His Galilei prisoners shifted anxiously at the front of the room. Hummel said something, probably to keep their captives in line.

All Jack could do was stare at the monitor. At Tic. At the blast rifle aimed at his head.

I can't save them all.

Norse stood with his arms behind his back. Jack met the eyes of the Galilei men, of Costarossa—her lips were drawn in a tight line, her face hard, but her eyes shimmered.

"There's not much time," Norse said, watching Jack, then tipping his chin toward the visuals streaming on the screen.

One shot would take Tic's life in an instant. Jack swallowed hard.

"What happens when your Riga friends storm the corridor?" Norse wouldn't shut up. "Do you want me to tell you?" He paused, letting the silence linger. "My soldiers have their orders."

Breathe. Jack wanted Tic alive, Norse in chains.

"Let my men in, Jack. Put your weapons down."

"Don't listen to him," Hummel said.

The minute Riga troops infiltrated the sixth floor, Tic's captors would execute him. If Jack let them into Ops, there were no guarantees. He could toss his T-88 to Costarossa—Field—when the door opened. The three of them might take a few Galilei down. But all? And keep Tic alive?

I... We can't save them all.

Galilei must fall. That was the only justice. Tyranny that had plagued Torredo and other worlds for a generation would be vanquished. Ultimately, it didn't matter who died. Riga still won this war. Jack, Tic, Hummel, Costarossa—they'd have done what they set out to do.

"Let them in, Jack," Norse said. "Save your friend."

Jack's finger hovered over the door release.

The comm crackled with Arlee's voice. Jack jerked his hand back. "Go ahead, Big Sky."

"Spec forces are in the stairwells approaching your location," Arlee reported.

"Copy that. See you soon." Jack pulled up the displays on the SITS Board. It needed to be abundantly clear to the Galilei in the Ops Center that their defeat was imminent. The evidence was there, on the monitors—the spaceport in flames, skyfighters and the defense platforms targeting a small number of crusaders, Riga armored vehicles on the streets, and her troops moving up the stairwells of the HQ.

Jack looked from Costarossa to the Galilei men, and finally at Norse. "It's over. Riga ground forces are headed to Ops as we speak."

"And your friend will be dead," Norse said coldly.

Jack turned his gaze back to Tic. He held it too long. Lirrani barreled around the bank of workstations, launching herself toward Hummel. Roused to action, Berg hoisted a chair and threw it at Jack.

Dodging the missile, Jack lost his balance. His shoulder struck the command chair and he twisted in an ungraceful pirouette. He didn't even have time to curse. Droga jumped on the first row of workstations and executed a diving tackle to bring him down. Sidestepping, Jack fired at him and missed, but Droga was on target. He slammed Jack into the half wall behind the command chair.

Everything around Jack blurred. Pain and nausea surged through him. He lost one of his blasters, and struggled with Droga for control of the other. The T-88 discharged inches from his face, burning a hole in the command chair. Sparks showered them, and Jack had to work hard not to gag on the stench of crisp, scorched fabric and metal.