Lawrence's steepled hands obscured his face. Benny sat across from him, smug as could be. The other members of the 13th MAV, bar Kaz, huddled around their blackjack game. Lawrence shot a glance at Victoria. She merely smirked and floated off to the mess hall entrance.

  "Not going to see how it ends?" Frank called after her.

  "No, and you're coming with me," she answered.

  "What? Why now?" He asked, puzzled.

  "Last-minute diagnostics," she said without looking back.

  "But my K?mpfer is fine," Frank protested.

  "No, it has miscalibrations with the hands," she said.

  Frank sat up attentively. "How'd you figure?" He asked.

  She came to a stop at the mess hall doorway and turned to face the group with that warm smile of hers. "I just know: come with me now, Frankie love." Frank hesitated; he looked to Lawrence for help but the response was only a shrug. Frank's shoulders sagged as he drifted after Victoria.

  "Well, better he leaves now than see how his idol loses the big pot," Benny said, his boarish grin made Lawrnece shrink from his sheer swagger.

  Lawrence lowered his gaze; interwined hands rested on his forehead. He peeked at the aforementioned mountain of supply tokens. A low groan slipped from his lips. It was, perhaps, a good thing Frank already turned away to avoid seeing how pathetic his senior officer looked presently.

  They were betting with their supply tokens; Lawrence had none left in reserve. He was going to walk away the loser from this in supply and reputation. It was one chronic blunder after another, and his appetite was going to pay for his shortcomings later. He convinced Boris and Luke to pony up their supply tokens as collateral, but it proved futile. Was it even possible to recoup losses, even on the off chance I won this round? Lawrence wondered. One face-down card would make or break his fortune, and by extension, the two goons. Oh Lady Luck, Lawrence pressed his interlaced hands together tighter, don't fail me now.

  "This is highway robbery," Luke said. "Why did you even agree to this? You know he's the blackjack champ."

  "I guess the better question is: how did get roped into this?" Boris mused.

  "I liked my chances," Lawrence said. He sat straight and flicked his hair. "I still like them now."

  "Well chief, what's it gonna be?" Benny asked, "Hit or stand?"

  "Can I phone a friend?" Lawrence reclined in his chair. He massaged his stubble. "Say, Wellington, what would ya do in this situation?"

  Boris raised his eyebrows but nonetheless leaned in and studied his two cards. Double eights: Benny had a nine as dealer. The other card remained face down until the call. "Well, I'd say—" Friederika elbowed him in the ribs.

  Benny grinned and rested his elbows on his knees. He gestured towards the cards. "It's your call, champ."

  Lawrence fell for this situation all too many times before. Stand, and that nine might just become a twenty-one or even a seventeen. But on the other hand, he'll never have to worry about eating pseudo meat for at least a few deployments. Boris and Luke could eat good, too. He needed five or less! If that were to happen, then he could stand on the next draw. But it's a big if, Lawrence told himself. His gaze shifted to the group, and finally he opened his mouth to declare his call—but it wasn't his voice that came out—it was the general quarters siren that wailed.

  "Saved by the bell, eh boss?" Luke said.

  "Good save as any," Boris said. "Say, can we have our loot back now?"

  "Tsk tsk," Benny wagged a finger. "Not so fast . . . whaddya say cap'n? Show those imperium fools what it means to interrupt our game—and then let's resume after. I'll even throw in a sweetener and double the odds. If you win, you gain back everything; whaddya say?"

  "Don't do it, boss!" Boris said.

  "Does that include your tokens, too, Morrison?" Luke asked.

  Benny stroked his shin. "Sure, if it enables the chief to play some more."

  "You're on," Lawrence got up. "I'll put you in your place old man."

  Benny grinned as he always did. He got up and finger gunned Lawrence. "That's the spirit, champ . . . but you're finished."

  When Lawrence returned to consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was a splitting headache. He almost welcomed it; at least it proved he was alive. He attempted to move a muscle—any muscle, but pain resisted him with such force it was like an anvil and piano being dropped on him simultaneously. He winced; the only thing that didn't hurt was his eyes at least. And as far as he could tell, nothing seemed broken.

  After that he chanced it and opened his eyes. But he closed them right at once when it was all too evident he stared directly into a band of light. As a cure for a headache, that view was not recommended.

  Lawrence lay there presently, statue-like as he regained his strength and wondered how soon it'd be to safely open his eyes. Thoughts drifted to Victoria and the rest of his squad. But before he could woolgather any further, a slide of curtains hijacked his train of thought. He turned his head slowly toward the sound's source, and risked a look—one eye cautiously peeked open.

  Muted green curtains boxed him in; was he in a Yilan medical bay?

  A petite nurse with a silver tray stood before him, her back to him as she unpacked the tray's contents. He squinted, as he still saw stars. She turned around and looked up, startled.

  Instinctively, Lawrence tried to get up; his muscles cooperated partially this time. She let the tray and its passengers drift in zero gee as she made an attempt to push him back on the bed. "It's not good for you to move around just yet, honey chile," the nurse said. He didn't have the strength to resist. "See?"

  "That you, boss?" Bori's baritone voice carried through the thick curtains somewhere behind him. "Hey, keep your hands off me, lil miss!"

  "Well, I'd never!" was the shrilly response.

  Lawrence addressed the nurse before him: "The sergeant, where is she? Schwarzenberger." His voice still weak.

  "You're in no state for any funny business," she answered matter-of-factly. She reached for his pillow to fluff it. "Captain Buttermilch ordered R & R for your unit."

  "R & R?" Lawrence groaned. He rubbed his head. "Just how long was I out for?"

  She checked her wrist watch. "About an hour, bun."

  Lawrence tried to remember how long it was until the second enemy fleet was supposed to engage them, but it escaped him. "We don't have that kind of leisure time," he said. Not anymore, he added inwardly.

  The nurse opened her mouth to object, but a sudden crash cut her off. They glanced at the curtains where the sound originated. There was a cry for help, and the nurse floated to the curtains to investigate.

  She peeked out: a silhouette blurred past, and the nurse recoiled with a yelp. The figure was sudden but Lawrence recognized who it was right away. "Victoria?" Lawrence mouthed. Muscles, particularly his legs, hadn't woken up yet, but he felt spurred on by her.

  Someone fumbled after her; a clumsy attempt to remain oriented in zero gee. She called after her and it confirmed Lawrence's curiosity. "Sergeant! Not good," the woman said, "someone—anyone: stop the sergeant! Head nurse! Head nurse!"

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Chairs screeched at the expense of Lawrence's hearing, followed by his inner thought being drowned out by a serious outbreak of audible confusion. Femme silhouettes danced around his dividers.

  What's she doing? Lawrence thought. A flash migraine tormented Lawrence's head in response. Lawrence cursed under his breath because it meant one thing; she did again!

  He found much-needed second wind and tore the bedsheets off. He was still in his flight suit; vest gear nearby. He grabbed the stuff and slipped it on as he floated hastily towards the flap to peer out. Sure enough, it was unmistakably Victoria. She was already at the hatch door and looked back at her warpath. The determination in her emerald eyes meant business.

  A nurse of noticeably large build blocked her escape. The Amazon raised her arms in a sort of wrestler posture. But for Victoria, she threw her over her shoulder with complete ease.

  Lawrence bolted for the door lock. The giantess rolled past overhead, baffled and unable to process what even happened.

  "This is no time for heroics!" A voice rumbled behind him; it was Boris. He tore off patches that lingered on him as he fought to break out of his curtained prison. "Just what do you plan on doing?"

  "Hey!" A squeaky voice shouted behind Boris. "I should be asking you the same thing, corporal!"

  Victoria didn't stick around to answer. The door slid shut behind her just as Lawrence reached it, Boris not far behind. The two of them waited for the door to slide open, which certainly felt like ages. The commotion in the corridor was still fresh.

  The door finally opened and they hurried out. "Which way did she go?" Boris asked. The two men landed on the wall, they searched frantically for the beautiful blonde valkyrie.

  Lawrence pointed to their left. "There she is!"

  Victoria was at the end of the hallway when a petite nurse found herself at an unexpected pivotal moment in her life. She made Victoria come to a halt. Lawrence and Boris kicked themselves off the wall to continue the pursuit.

  The nurse noticed the two and addressed Victoria. But Victoria cut her off before she could actually say anything. "Stop her!" Boris shouted.

  What followed was a high-fidelity movement Lawrence couldn't even comprehend: Victoria grappled the nurse and the poor thing let out a blood-curdling scream. She was primed overhead, like a javelin—then hurled towards the two.

  The two men ducked to the sides at first, principally out of fear of Victoria. Lawrence's mind raced as fast as the terrified human missile—does he catch her or not?

  Boris threw himself into the line of fire before Lawrence made a move. "After her, Mendge!" He shouted. Lawrence swerved, just as Boris grunted when he caught the weaponized nurse. The zero gee force propelled him backward. "So sorry about this, miss, I really am."

  Lawrence didn't hesitate. He landed on the corridor wall amid a confused crowd, but ignored them. Victoria was nowhere to be seen. "Vic," he muttered, teeth gritted. I know you can hear me, Lawrence protested inwardly, what's gotten into you?

  There was no headache, no answer.

  He didn't even know where she was going, but in his best guess, it had to be the hangar. He chanced it.

  Lawrence continued on until he stopped at a console and considered contacting Captain Buttermilch, but in the spur of the moment he didn't remember the commander's codec. "Not much he could do anyway," Lawrence said. Whether or not that was true, Lawrence raced on with the forlorn pursuit of Victoria.

  He entered the hangar through a second-story entrance and sped down a catwalk, but there were still no signs of Victoria. Was I wrong? He wondered, or too late? He searched everywhere—and finally found her. She crept along the wall behind boxes and he looked ahead where she headed—her Yellow Typhoon. It was beaten up, alright, more than usual. The fact their mobile troopers managed to avoid total destruction was a miracle. All except for Luke, and Friederika's, that is. Just where was Friederika, anyway?

  Victoria paused and turned to face Lawrence. For fleeting moments, he looked into her eyes and face charged with determination, but she didn't captivate him for long and beelined for her K?mpfer.

  "Vic!" Lawrence hissed. He raised himself onto the catwalk railing, his magboots kept him secured in place as he did so. He couldn't make it in time, he was sure of it. But there was a large team of mechanics servicing her battered, burnished K?mpfer.

  Lawrence cleared his throat. He pointed at them and shouted: "You there!"

  They all turned in unison to face him. He continued: "Don't let Sergeant Schwarznenberger in her MT!"

  They looked around cluelessly like a bunch of good-for-nothing hooglians, unable to track Victoria as she slipped past their uniform vision. The K?mpfer's chest hatch was open and unguarded. She made a brilliant dive into it and Lawrene heard a surprised cry as a technician was thrown out like a rag doll. It curled inward after him and sealed tight.

  "Damn it!" Lawrence said. He dived off the catwalk and used his waist hook to latch onto one of the Yellow Typhoon's dented pauldrons. But by the time he could reel himself in, it was already active and in the process of standing up. Despite the abrupt movements, Lawrence made it onto the mobile trooper's waist and worked his way up. Victoria either didn't see him or didn't care.

  Once he reached the chest, he took the moment to catch his breath, then banged on the hatch.

  "Vic, are you out of your mind?" He shouted. Confusion ran rampant as Victoria marched past the small squishy teams for an armory box. She slipped on weapons after another: a laz gun, a naginata hilt, and lastly an oval shield. She said nothing all the while. Lawrence's fist burned with pain as he continued to punch the hatch. There was no way to force it open from the outside.

  The hangar's speaker crackled on, and he heard Captain Buttermilch address Victoria from the control tower. She didn't say a word as she stomped slowly for the elevator lift. But despite Victoria tinkering with the system, it didn't activate.

  "Stand down, Sergeant Schwarzenberger, and I may just lessen your time in the brig."

  "Sir... we can't afford that right now," a subordinate next to Roy said.

  "What?" Roy spun to confront the subordinate.

  "The Imperium fleet trailing us, it's . . . moving away," the man said.

  Murmurs sprang up in the hangar but were silenced when Roy angrily asked him: "How can that be? What do you mean?"

  "Sir, I . . . "

  There was noise as the K?mpfer's external speaker turned on. "Open this gate," she said defiantly. She swung the gun to point it at the control tower. "Or I'll open it myself!" She swiftly brandished it at the catapult bay door.

  Personnel panicked and made a break for it for the pressurized compartments. From where he could see, the control tower members fled in terror except for Captain Roy.

  "Vic, calm down," Lawrence said. He stopped banging and stood up. He jumped off the K?mpfer and floated near the hangar entrance, limbs outstretched. "I don't know what you're planning, but, I . . . we need to rest, Vic! If that fleet's movin' away. . . . we have more ample time," he padded his vest. "Rest with me, Vic, cool your head!"

  Victoria didn't answer at first. The K?mpfer's monoeye flicked between the control tower and Lawrence. It darted back to the control tower. "I'm not leaving Frank behind," she said sternly.

  "That boy? He's probably dead by now," Roy said. "Don't risk your life over a rookie, sergeant." Lawrence couldn't believe what he was hearing. If only the Walpurgis hadn't launched them into space, he could've still saved Frank. He didn't want to believe Frank was dead. Luke's daring kamikaze was still fresh on his mind, played over like a loop he couldn't stop.

  "He's not dead; I can feel him," Victoria said. "He's holding out hope for us . . . fighting for his life on Zeta. You may abandon your own, sit here and twiddle your thumbs but I'm not heartless like you—or Lawrence!" It was like an arrow pierced him. He shook his head; but he couldn't shake off the allegation.

  Lawrence still hovered near the hangar door even as it opened. He quickly slipped on his helmet. "Vic, I . . . you're in no state to take on Zeta yourself!" Without warning, Victoria snatched him like he was nothing more than a little toy and threw him over her shoulder. His vision blurred—and he crashed into another pilot: it was Friederika, but they still barrelled through the hangar.

  Another crash, another pilot; it was Boris.

  "Phew, I came just in time . . . damn it, Schwarzenberger, can't you be more careful? Are you out of your damn mind?"

  "Vicky!" Friederika protested, tears filled her eyes. "Darling, let me . . . I'll sortie with you!"

  "You'll do no such thing, stay with the fleet," Victoria said. "Open this door . . . now!" It was a tense decision for the captain, but ultimately, the hatch door was opened.

  "Vick!" Lawrence wrestled himself free of the two and tried to bolt forward, but the two kept him restrained.

  "Lawry, love . . . all of you, don't come after me," she said as she readied herself on the launcher. "They're coming . . . protect the fleet. I have a score to settle with Churchill once and for all. You'll only get in my way and I can't afford to slow down for any of you."

  The alarms blared. The Yellow Typhoon's engines roared to life and the trio had to back off to avoid its massive afterburners. The cataplut flung her into the deep cosmic sea until she became no more a blip to the naked eye.

  "Enemy units emerging from the asteroid field, it's the Zeta fleet!" He heard someone say over the control tower speaker.

  "What?" Roy uttered in disbelief, "What was the Home Fleet and the colony laser doing?!"

  "No word from them, sir. And that's not all, I've just received updates on the Imperium fleet the vice admiral tasked us to intercept is indeed disengaging and retreating from the system at a rapid pace."

  "I can't even—to the bridge, hurry!"

  Seeing the moment to act, Lawrence broke off from the two and shot a hook for his K?mpfer. He reeled himself in quickly and Boris called after him. "I won't let you go at it alone, chief," Boris said. "If those bastards want a fight, I'll give them one."

  "I can't let you two cavemen go at it alone," Friederika said. The two broke off and made for their mobile troopers: Friederika for a Shrina, Boris for his K?mpfer.

  "Wait, corporal, that one isn't—"

  "Put a bloody sock in it," she said as she sealed the hatch.

  Lawrence entered his cockpit and strapped into his seat. He did a brief diagnosis and turned the console keys. The dome cockpit rumbled as the panorama view flickered on without issue. "Good to see it's functional at least," Lawrence said. Two portraits of his battle buddies flanked him on either side. "Everything good on your guy's end?" They gave affirmative grunts. "Well... can't say I'm too keen on having you guys risk your lives—"

  "Are you kidding?" Friederika asked. "Victoria isn't the only one with a score to settle, and it'll take more than just you to keep her in line," she glanced at Boris. "If either of you died, I... I don't know what I'd do."

  "And I don't want to lose any more of my squad, either, let's get a move on," Lawrence said. The Yilan rocked as he saw strobes of laz threads light up the dark void. "Second Lieutenant Mengde . . . launching!"

  The overwhelming force threw him back in his linear seat as his K?mpfer hurtled down the runaway into the unraveling Tacoma assault.