Chapter 1
Pava Three has been torn by the turmoil’s of civil war for the past eight months. It’s young ruler Satrap Sandri, wanted to flee to the sanctuary of Agar after her expulsion by the newly formed Cordilla, but had thus far been unable to do so. The Network has bolstered the Satrap’s ailing army in the fight to regain her throne. The original Network force is fast
becoming depleted, and commander of the Network battle group, General Teage, has again requested reinforcements from Network Command.
The Cordilla’ guerrilla armies have inflicted heavy casualties on Teage’ forces, beating them at nearly every engagement. Teage’ battle group is sure the Cordilla is receiving
off-world assistance in her bid to keep power; as yet the Cordilla’ identity remained a
mystery.
Teage’ weary and battle scarred troops have finally managed to surround the Cordilla’ armies in the Pava capital of Chinquita. The guerrilla’s have torn the Network troops to pieces in their desperate fight to the city, ambushing and running, then ambushing again. They fought expertly for untrained, unseasoned troops; catching the Network troops off guard, and unawares they destroyed supplies before they could reach them.
From the charred Network landing area in the North, Network dead lay in their hundreds; atmospheric fighters are strewn across the landscape, crashed and abandoned;
their twisted shells scavenged by the Cordilla troops for anything they can recycle.
General Teage, had over the past several months turned into a broken desperate
commander. He is well aware of the backstabbing back at Network HQ; his reputation would be in tatters if he didn’t turn this conflict around. Soon his replacement would be
Imminent, and he would return to Agar in dishonour. One last request was dispatched to Network Command, a plea for yet more reinforcements and supplies.
***
Pierce Force commander, Colonel Raga, had been complaining profusely about having to attend the Tanteee festival of Ramac San; he didn’t want to attend, but had been politely requested to by none other than Second Admiral Satamon. Satamon had made her
request through Admiral Torre, who near enough ordered Raga to comply. For the last three weeks Raga had sat through lesson after boring lesson on Tanteee protocol and
diplomacy. The boredom had almost on several occasions driven him close to disobeying Torre’s order; and as he was not a diplomat, he couldn’t be legally forced to act as one.
However, the lessons were ending, and to disobey Torre openly would only cause
problems he didn’t want. He had learnt nearly all he could in the short time allotted, and
tomorrow the shuttle would arrive to ferry him to Tanteee. He had only just managed to get through the day without blowing his top after the hours he’d spent tied to a desk listening to the tedious ranting of Salatsious Kava the resident boff on Tanteee protocol.
On a couple of occasions Raga had dropped off while boredom had set in, only to be
alerted by Kava’ relentless coughing. At one point when Kava had been droning on and on about the sanctity of Tanteee privacy, Raga almost asked if Kava had actually met a Tanteee before, safe in the knowledge that he hadn’t and was only droning on about
protocol that had been drawn from the Coalition library data banks. However calling out Kava on the matter would have only caused more problems and drawn out this arduous trial.
Raga now sank into the comfort of his bunk more tired by Kava’ lectures than active duty. Earlier he’d downed a couple of Torokian wrenchers to help him through and their affect was now wearing off, and a weariness was fast overtaking him. He lay there looking up at the blank white ceiling wondering how his group were fairing under the temporary
command of Major Tantis. He hoped Cap wasn’t giving him too hard a time; no, Pala would keep him in check. Slowly his eyes gave way to the weariness closing almost hesitantly as he drifted off.
***
Major Ral Tantis was handed temporary command of Pierce Force during Raga’ absence while Pierce Force attend the advanced training compound on Favi Four. Where for the next two weeks they would be put through the most rigorous assessment the Network
instructor’s could throw at them. Whilst on Favi Four, all Pierce Force members would be treated as trainees. No trainee could use their rank to influence an instructor, as all rank would be abolished during assessment. Pierce Force were not happy.
Favi Four training facility is well known for its vigorous and sometimes brutal ways of
testing troops. It boasts the toughest of regimental trainers and instructors; none more so than Chief Instructor Gennt. Gennt’ infamous reputation for harshness is well talked about among the new recruits dispersed throughout the Network. Cap Beeta looked forward to trading wills with Gennt and seeing if he was all he was cracked up to be.
“I really can’t see the bloody point of all this!” Cap Beeta moaned as he changed into the drab green jumpsuits of Favi Four issue. Nametags on the jumpsuit lapel were the only identification worn, and this was so the instructors could verbally assault by name.
Cap and Pala were assigned to the same training unit as Pierce Force were split between the training groups. They now stood on the compounds square awaiting their instructor. The weather was changing quickly and the ground had become damp; while they waited, the clouds darkened, threatening one of Favi’ famous downpours.
The temperature dropped fast and would soon reach freezing. The unit had been waiting forty-five minutes, and the thin material of the jumpsuits failed to keep the cold out. Cap was becoming more annoyed with every passing minute.
“God damn stinking planet. What bloody good is this doing? I’ve a bloody mind to shove this bleeding useless jump rag down someone’ bleeding throat!” Cap snapped angrily.
After another fifteen minutes and some considerable foul mouthed ranting from Cap, someone approached. They marched with a regimental swagger, a trait of a regular. He came to a halt with a thump of his oversized boots.
“I am Chief Instructor Gennt.” He announced loudly.
Gennt is a Bathlothian; a species of hog faced bipeds, pug nosed and beady-eyed with long whiskers as eyebrows; small in stature, but renown for their skill at deadly combat. He wore a tailored uniform of Network grey, which allowed the deadly Bathlothian shoulder horn to protrude, a horn of solid bone that could gut a person with one swipe. Bathlothian’ are well known for their tempestuous tempers and impatience.
“From now on my word is law. When I give and order, I don’t give a flying crap what rank you used to be, you will comply immediately and without question. Failure to comply will result in an immediate downgrade in your assessment and the brunt of my wrath, which you won’t like at all!” Gennt hollered.
He waited for any untimely and very unwise chatting in the ranks, but all remained silent, so continued.
“Do not rely on any favours or intervention from anyone. While you are hear you are my personal possessions, to do with as I feel fit. You will only answer when ordered to do so. If in the unfortunate event you feel to need to speak to me you will address me as Chief
Instructor, and your unit trainer as Trainer. Do you all understand?”
Gennt studied his new charges, eyeing them for any signs of rebellion. When no one answered, he repeated more forcefully.
“Do you understand? Or are you all stupid low-life’s who can’t understand the question?”
“We understand Chief Instructor,” came the unified reply.
Gennt nodded, then added.
“Trainer Hamil, you will take our new friends out for a swift jaunt before chow. Make it a nice ten kilometre run, move them out.”
As the unit moved off, Gennt returned to the comfort of his heated office as the Favi
downpour began.
***
The scheduled Tanteee shuttle arrived on time. Raga waited in the north spaceport’s centre lounge. He had arrived early and had seated himself at the middle table with a cup of Waii coffee. He had almost finished when someone sat opposite him without any
announcement. The visitor was dressed in the high backed collar of the Diplomatic Corps; his dark drown hair was slicked into place and glistening; his penetrating green eyes shone with enthusiasm as he spoke.
“Colonel Raga? I am Tamara Varl. I will be accompanying you to Tanteee as Diplomatic Envoy.”
Raga looked up from his coffee and eyed Varl; he wasn’t aware he’d have company, and didn’t like last minute surprises.
“Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Raga inquired.
“It was a last minute decision. The Corps feels, although we mean no disrespect to you personally of course.The Corps feels this situation should be dealt with by a professional diplomat.”
Something about the way Varl spoke didn’t ring quite true to Raga; normally the Dip-corps would have assigned an envoy immediately to work with him; it wasn’t their way to assign at such a late date.
“Colonel Raga?” a female voice asked from behind him.
Varl watched the youthful athletic woman of alien origin without speaking. Raga turned to face her and nodded confirmation; he recognised the military emblem of Tanteee on her shoulder.
“I am sub-commander Kammon; if you will follow me, Colonel Lal is waiting.”
“Lal’s hear?” Raga asked as he rose.
The woman didn’t answer; she looked at Varl as he stood, and inquired.
“Who is this?”
Varl held out his hand and responded in a friendly manner.
“Special envoy Varl, of the Coalition Diplomatic Corps.”
Kammon didn’t take his hand, she shook her head saying.
“Colonel Lal made no mention of anyone other than Colonel Raga. You will not come.”
As she turned, Varl grabbed her by the arm; she shook him off easily as Varl spoke.
“If you check with your own diplomatic office here on Agar, I think you’ll find all is in order. I have been cleared by none other than Ambassador Morka himself.”
Kammon glanced at Raga, who responded with a shrug.
“Very well, you will remain here until I have verified this. If all is as you say, then I shall
return.”
Without waiting for any response, she quickly strode off. Raga had to move quickly to keep up.
