"Battle for Katabatic"

Thought I would post this here in its entirety. It seemed kinda' disjointed in the other thread. This thread will be long, but I hope you enjoy it...
By the way, more will be added...
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As the cold glare of the distant sun climbed slowly over the horizon, the warrior shivered slightly in his armor. He had been standing this post for most of the night, and had actually been hoping for the morning light to dawn. But his hopes had faded as the realization that this sun, though fairly bright, would provide no additional warmth. The planet was a veritable ice chunk, being too far from the white dwarf star to receive enough solar energy to warm it. He shivered again, the armor barely providing enough heat from its power reserves. Occasionally, when a spot of bare skin came into contact with the interior of the armor, it would startle him. Even having its internal warmers, the “Scout” class armor was notorious for its thin-skinned feel. But he wouldn’t trade it for any other. The other two styles of armor, the “Assault” class and the huge “Juggernaut” class armors were warmer, for sure, but they seemed cumbersome to him. His gaze shifted from the small white dwarf star that feebly served as this planet’s sun, and he turned to his small camp setup. The last thought that crossed his mind was of the big stone fireplace in his living room back on his home planet. The next moment a mortar round that landed only a few feet behind him vaporized him instantly. The small post he had been occupying was also vaporized, as was a good portion of the small outcropping of rock he had been standing on.
“Nice shot, Groov!” h0micide remarked happily. He slapped the back of the warrior’s “Jug” heavy armor, and stepped around him to get a better view of the ruined observation post. The post was now nothing more than a smoking stump on the side of the mountain. Some loose stone and snow still slid slowly from the blackened spot.
“Well, if you say so. I wanted to drop it right on him,” the disappointed Groovie Man replied, eyeing the barrel of his mortar. “Freaking thing, must be the HE rounds tumbling wrong or something. I was reading that they would tumble badly if they get too cold.” He maneuvers to the drop-ship, its engines silenced to almost a soundless hiss, raising and lowering the barrel as if testing the weight.
“A perfectionist. I would be happy to hit within 10 meters by sight, and he hits near dead-on by sight and is upset. Sheesh!” remarks Marsman. He is still working and fine-tuning the shield pack on his “Jug” armor attempting to get the best frequency for his shield. The rest of the raiding party either smile or chuckle at the tremendously skilled Marsman and his comment. They all know his skill lies not in firing the mortar, necessarily, but deflecting its murderous fire while guarding the team’s assets. His skills at that are legendary in the Clan.
“Well, we need to get moving, and get this show on the road,” remarks Manitou. He has been studying his soldiers closely, trying to memorize each ones movements and behavior. He must soon send these very men into the screeching and agonizing hell known as combat. It is not a pleasurable task, and one he does not take lightly. “Even though there is no way the sound of that mortar could have been heard outside this valley, all we need now is one of his bored buddies to decide to visit their unfortunate friend and find Groov’s handiwork.” Manitou turns and radios the drop-ship bridge, touching the side of the faceplate of his light armor out of habit, “Dragon-mother, hatchlings have joy, and are returning to the nest.” With a hand signal from their leader, the small group silently collects their equipment and proceeds up the jump ramp. Manitou glances around one last time and swings up into the dark interior of the ship, the door closing slowly behind him while the sun continues its slow climb into the new day. This day will be the last for many.

Turning around, Manitou stops for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust a little to the gloomy interior of the drop-ship. The troop bay is crowded with his Dragon Wolves and their equipment and supplies. As his eyes adjust, he sees 10 grim-faced warriors looking right at him. These men trust me with their lives; they believe in me. These thoughts blaze in his mind like a firebrand. He smiles awkwardly at them, steadying himself with a hand on a panel next to the door. Even though the armor on the ship is incredibly thick and the padding and insulation and other layers of electrical and pneumatic equipment add even more to that thickness, the low dull throb of the engines are still loud in the bay. Manitou uses his in-suit com to speak to his men.
“Anyone else here up for a party?” he asks flippantly. He smiles again at his men.
“Mani, if you are going to a party, it has got to be the place to be!” replies Arglaar. He is tinkering with one of his spike turrets, opening and shutting the placement gear. There is a remote inventory leaning against the jump seat next him. The control panel has been opened and there are wires hanging out as if it had been ripped out haphazardly. But Arglaar is one of the best deployers in this part of space, and what appears to someone as a ruined piece of equipment is Arg’s way of “…streamlining the execution process…” as he likes to put it. The others all nod and laugh, some of them nervously, all of them relieved somewhat by the humor. Manitou can hear their breathing over the com, a few of them breathing a little harder than normal. His gut clenches as he recognizes the sound of apprehension.
“Manitou, Dragonmother bridge” suddenly crackles across his com, almost startling him. The sound seemed loud, even against the backdrop of the engines throbbing.
“Bridge, Manitou” he responds, beginning to work his way to the front of the drop-ship. He is careful not to step on any equipment that his warriors have placed on the deck, and with the unsteady movement of the ship, he has to grab the roof occasionally to steady himself.
“Manitou, we just received priority flash-traffic from the Lair that the replacements you requested will be meeting you shortly before ‘zulu-hour’. Sir, there were only three on the list” the disembodied voice reports hesitantly.
“Three?!” Manitou snaps. He stops just short of the access door to the main deck. “I requested no less than ten more warriors! I can’t be expected to drop in on this combat post with thirteen Dragon Wolves! There are close to 50 enemy warriors down there!” he nearly shouts into his com mic. Fortunately none of the others are on this command channel and cannot hear the edge of panic creep into their leader’s voice. He turns slightly and looks back at his men. They are busily doing drop prep and don’t notice the look of concern that now plays across his face. “Get the coordinates for the rendezvous with the repple-depple on the charts for me. I will be there in a minute,” he growls over the com. He glances once more at his men and punches the access switch hard. The door slides open and he passes through slapping the switch on his way to the bridge. The door slides closed behind him, sealing the bay.


“I can’t flaming BELIEVE they expect me to conduct this combat operation with thirteen warriors! What in the Four Rings of Ghelias do they want?!” Manitou is stalking back and forth in the flat narrow confines of the bridge area. There are three pilots, two seated and conducting different functions, more to avoid their angry leader than to fly the ship, the other taking the brunt of his tirade. Manitou slaps the PDA that holds the coordinates for the replacement ship down on the chart table situated in the center of the bridge area so hard, the cover plate that fits over the battery area on the PDA flies off and lands at the feet of one of the “busy” pilots, startling him. He pretends he doesn’t see it, concentrating furiously on the tasks at hand. “If I get one more pencil neck excuse about funding or monetary constraints from headquarters about this, I am taking this team and we are dropping on them instead and I am personally going to feed each one a blue cookie!” He glares at the piece of his PDA that flew off, then at the pilot sitting next to it. The pilot seems feel Manitou’s eyes on him and he jumps up leans over and grabs the panel and straightening rigidly thrusts it out to Manitou. Manitou looks at him, calms visibly and takes the panel, then glares out the front view screen into the deep black of space. “Get me the repple-depple on the com, please, and lets get them on board.”


Pan looked around the bay of the replacement ship, or “repple-depple”, as the veteran guys called it back at the Lair. It wasn’t very impressive, and it is actually somewhat of a let down to her. She had always dreamed of being a Dragon Wolf, ever since she had found out her oldest brother had joined the Rim Combat teams and somehow ended up in the now famous Clan Draconus Lupus, or Dragon Wolves. That had happened over 3 years ago, and it had taken her this long to train and gain the respect to get nominated and accepted to the “CDL”. Her brother didn’t know she had made it, and she planned on surprising him with the news as soon as she saw him. But right now she was a little bored, a little let down and also a little nervous. This was her first combat jump, and she had no idea what to expect. She had gotten a lot of harassment from the veteran CDL back at the Lair about how terrible it was, and how sorry she would be. She was a little worried, not too scared, but it was something she knew would be frightening. She hoped she would be able to live up to the legendary conduct the Combat Rim teams spoke about when they shared stories of the CDL. A sudden movement next to her catches her attention and she glances over at the other two replacements that have joined her on the repple-depple. One is a male, but the other is a female like herself. Many veterans spoke of how the Combat Rim teams usually didn’t accept women, but how the CDL oddly enough did. She was very glad they did, because she wanted badly to serve with her brother. The movement was the female warrior’s helmet rolling from side to side. She was asleep! Pan was amazed that this warrior was so calm. How could she possibly be resting at a time like this? Pan looked at the other warrior, a big, grizzled man who looked like he could bite chunks out of granite. He wasn’t looking at either of them but was concentrating on the ceiling overhead. He looked kind of green! The repple-depple was s small ship and the solar winds in this area of the Rims tended to be strong, but Pan had never had trouble with motion sickness. This big tough looking warrior obviously did! Pan found solace in that, and smiled slightly.



“Replacements! Replacements! Stand up and hook up!” The sudden blast of a horn along with her com bursting out the prep command startled Pan awake. She must have dozed off! She scrambled to disconnect her harness and stand, trying to heft her equipment and get her gear ready for the jump to the main drop-ship. The big male warrior was already standing, although he was still a little green and kind of wobbly. Pan smiled again and almost laughed. The female warrior was also already standing, but she was tapping the side of her helmet and her lips were moving like she was using her com mic. Pan wasn’t hearing any traffic. She was under the impression that the replacement troops were only authorized to broadcast on the inter-ship channel and not any others. As a matter of fact, they hadn’t been given any other channels to set in the com, so she wondered how the woman was able to talk on another channel. The warrior was still talking silently inside her helmet when the “pickle”, the long green light that showed they were clear to jump, flashed on. The big male warrior had a huge laser rifle slung over his back, and Pan noticed a painted symbol of a bird of some sort on the side of his helmet. The pickle began to flash rapidly, so the three of them rechecked their gear and slapped the cable connecting their armor with a thin beam running overhead. The pickle went solid and they all three sucked in their breath, anticipating the shock of the ship-to-ship jump. The air suddenly whipped out of the bay as the bay jump ramp slid open. The blackness of space grew in front of them as the ramp slowly wound out. Pan never really liked this part, but it only lasted a few seconds. The com crackled and a voice in her ear said, “Replacements, Honor, Valor, Victory! HOWOOOOOOO!!!” The cable connecting the three of them snapped tight and they were yanked from the bay and shot across the space between them and the main drop-ship. The cold of space didn’t penetrate the light armors too much, but Pan could feel the chill as she swept along the jump connector. It was a wild trip as they were hauled across the gap between the ships and slammed into the opposite bay into the receiving bay of the drop-ship. The reception was always the hardest part, since you came to such a quick stop from a high speed. She slammed into the reception wall in the receiving bay, jarring her all the way to her bones. Her equipment was slung around as she tried to get her bearings and stand up and disconnect. The receiving bay door was winding shut and Pan could hear the loud inrush of atmosphere as the bay was pressurized. She collected her wits, and got her gear arranged and accounted for. The other two warriors were again already standing and ready to go. The woman seemed to be having some trouble though. She kept slapping the side of her helmet and shaking her head. The male warrior looked at her then looked at Pan.
“I think her mic is messed up. Must have jarred it loose on the jump. Yours working okay?” he asked.
“Mine com is working fine,” Pan replied. The woman looked over at Pan and nodded, acknowledging that she heard Pan’s response on the com. “You can’t talk on your mic?” Pan asked her.
All of a sudden a hideous racket burst out on her com. Pan nearly jumped out of her armor!
“I..ZZTTT..CRACCKLE..this stupi..SSSSSSSSTTZZZZ…POP!” The noise was tremendous and both Pan and the male warrior slapped their hands to their helmets. Pan scrambled to shut down her com before she became deaf. The man was wrestling with his also, franticly trying to turn it down or shut it off.
“BVVVVV…CRACK…idiot who gave me this armo….SHHHZZZZT!” the com static was almost overwhelming.
The door to the receiving bay leading into the rest of the ship opened up and a Dragon Wolf warrior marched in and looked at the three replacements. “Get your gear and follow me. You need to sign in and then you have to meet with Manitou in the pre-jump briefing center” Pan heard on the com. “I am MuTeD and I will lead you down to the center.” He turned sharply and strode out of the room. Pan followed the others out of the room; the woman was still messing with her helmet. Pan was wondering why her brother was meeting her! There is no way he could know she was here! She was trying to figure this out as they marched down the hall towards the center.


“This position is probably best for Groov’s and Dane’s long distance mortar spam.” Manitou points to a series of ridges and the valleys behind them in an overhead shot taken from orbit over the planet. He looks at Great Dane and Groovie Man, both warriors sitting next to each other going over coordinates and terrain maps. They both look back up at the overhead map Manitou is using. “It provides a good cover out of the enemy line of sight and also there is a good slope which you two can use to gather momentum to attack directly into their camp once we begin to close the noose around our foe’s neck.”
“Mani, what about the enemy light defenders? Do we have any info on their abilities or weaponry? I would like to know if I am facing any serious lancers. I hate that sound,” Dane comments with a shiver. “Rayzer put another sound chit under my bed the night before we left the Lair and I swear I almost crapped my pants when it went off.” Manitou chuckled, remembering that night. It was a wild one with the raiding team leaving and all the guys and also HalftheSky playing jokes on each other and enjoying each other’s company.
“Well, I think it was funny Dane. You still have that bruise on your head where you smacked it on the bunk trying to spin around?” Manitou asks Dane with a laugh. The night was an incredible party with the outgoing team being celebrated by the remaining warriors. Hamma, Sky, Darkwing, and the others not going on this raid were all in rare form, singing and dancing and generally helping the outgoing team release tension from pre-raid training for the past month.
“Yeah, yeah, pick on the big dog. Answer my question, Mani, what do their lights have?” Dane smiles and insists.
“They have excellent lancers, Dane. Sorry,” Manitou answers his friend solemnly knowing what a good lancer can do to a warrior in Jug armor. The room grows quiet as the other warriors digest this disturbing information. A good team of lancers can decimate an attacking force with little trouble. The warriors who had been at the observation post destruction were all assembled except for MuTeD. He had gone to the receiving bay to greet and pick up the three new Dragon Wolves. American Psycho slowly raised his hand, a cigarette pinched between his fingers in the other hand. He had a grim smile on his face and Manitou knows he probably has a very good question, as “AP”, the nickname given to him by the CDL, rarely says anything. When he does, it is usually very insightful and has good wisdom.
“Mani, are we doing a bomber run first over the target? Did you get the air assets approved for us?” he asks, slowly taking a long draw from his cigarette. H exhales loudly, blowing the smoke into the air.
“AP, I wasn’t able to secure the air assets. HQ said they were not able to afford the allocation of credits,” Manitou answers. His jaw clenches as he thinks about wrapping his hands around the neck of one of those whiny accounting pukes in HQ. “I tried bro.”
“Wonderful. We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun…” AP sings quietly to himself, taking another draw on his cigarette.
“AP, gimme one of those, this news is killin’ me anyway,” Groovie Man says. AP tosses him his pack and Groovie lights one up himself.
“So what your telling me, Manitou, is we have no air, we have no reserves and our only dust-off is Dragonmother?” h0micide asks, leaning back in his chair. He has a pencil stuffed behind his ear as he holds a wad of paper maps in one hand and a layout of tactical assets in the other. “Wonderful, just wonderful; I am absolutely thrilled to be challenged in a way that brings all my talents to bear. Then get owned by pencil necks using something as lame as bureaucratic idiocy,” cide says sarcastically.
“Hey cide, you wanna be one of them pencil necks, don’t you?” calls Diocletian from the only couch in the pre-jump brief center. He is laid back and relaxing, his boots off and a big pillow under his head. He laughs and the rest of the Dragon Wolves join him when h0micide grins also.
“That’s me, mistar bureaucrat,” he replies, laughing.
“Okay guys, are you all pre-jump prepped and ready?” Manitou asks his team. He looks towards the door as he hears the sound of people coming down the hallway. He turns and begins to finish his tactical briefing, continuing with a breakdown of enemy assets and the placement of their turrets and anti-personnel equipment.


“The pre-jump briefing is being given now by the Boss, and he wanted you three in there as soon as possible,” MuTeD says to the three new troops. “He is big on everyone knowing what everyone else is doing. Its one of our strengths in case someone gets taken out,” he says matter-of-factly. The three new troops glance at each other. They have taken off their light armor and are all dressed in the general issue dark grey CDL space-weight battle fatigues. Each has the Dragon Wolf head sewn onto the left breast area of their fatigues and their team position patches on their right shoulders. Raptormax, testflight, and Pan all had gotten more acquainted during the walk from the changing rooms to the center. Seemed testflight had been having mic problems the whole time of the flight, Pan found out. She asked testflight to hurry and get them fixed because the racket that ensued was terrible. “The Boss wanted you three to know this mission is going to be a rough one. So pay attention to his briefing.”
“Is this “The Boss”?” Pan asked MuTeD as they continued down the hall.
“If you mean is this the founder of the CDL, yes, this is one of the original five members, Pan,” MuTeD answers, glancing over his shoulder. “He has been doing this for three years now and has never missed a drop; pretty tough dude.”
“Wow,” Pan remarks quietly. So he must know my brother, Pan thinks to herself. That’s about the same time my brother joined the CDL. They continue in silence down the hall until they can hear someone talking. It sounds like they are getting close to the center. Pan recognizes the voice as her brother’s voice! “Who is the warrior giving the briefing?” Pan asks as they round the corner and come upon the door to the center.
“Why, Manitou is, of course Pan. The Boss always gives the main briefings” MuTeD answers as they all proceed into the center. Manitou has turned at the sound of Pan’s voice, he too recognizing her voice.
“Pan!” Manitou blurts.
“Mani!” Pan replies with a start.
“What in the Blue Flame of Tremaine is going on here?” Manitou barks to MuTeD. MuTeD simply stands there, his mouth working without a sound. He finally manages to introduce the three new troops.
“Mani, this is testflight, Raptormax, and I guess you know Pan,” he answers meekly. Raptormax and testflight come to attention, but Pan stands there, her mouth hanging open as she realizes who her brother really is. “Pan, come to attention when meeting Manitou under official orders,” MuTeD snaps at Pan. Pan reacts to the order instinctually coming to attention, as the training she had endured was hard and very good. Realizing she is still staring, she closes her mouth and places her eyes front.
“At ease, for crying out loud,” Manitou barks, his face a deep red now. He marches over to the three troops and stops in front of his sister, “Pan, what are you doing here, and wearing the Dragon Wolf uniform?”
“Sir, I am a Dragon Wolf. I serve to gain Victory through unblemished Honor and unflinching Valor,” she replies quickly and evenly, giving the formal reply.
“Stop acting like that, Pan! How can you be a Dragon Wolf? You’re my SISTER! You’re supposed to be at home, taking care of the family!” Manitou yells. He spins and looks at Marsman. “Mars, has the repple-depple left yet?”
“Manitou, I am a Dragon Wolf! You can’t send me home!” Pan replies to her brother’s back. The room is deathly silent.
Mars looks up from the PDA in his hand and replies to Manitou, “Already left, Mani.”
“Manitou, she is right, she wears the uniform,” Arglaar points out calmly. “She has been trained and has qualified.” Manitou spins on Arglaar, and then looks at the other warriors in the room. Every eye is on him, while a few shift back and forth between him and Pan. Manitou struggles with the intense emotion he feels and the deep sense of dread about this whole mission. But they are right, and he knows it. He looks at his sister, proudly facing him at attention, her uniform sharply tailored with an Honor Graduate pin on her left lapel. He looks at Arglaar who shrugs and grins, then he glances at Dio relaxing on the couch.
“Dio, get up off your butt and let these new Dragon Wolves sit down for this briefing,” Manitou orders gruffly. He turns to MuTeD, “Have they stored their gear and gotten their stuff drop-prepped?”
“Yes sir, they are all ready to go,” MuTeD replies smiling. “Pan’s gear was exceptional, by the way, Mani, she know her stuff.”
“Of course she does, MuT, she’s my sister. What’d you expect?” Manitou asks, grinning now. “Let’s get on with this. Listen up, as we begin the…” As Manitou continues the briefing, Pan, testflight and Raptor take the remaining seats on the couch. Dio and MuTeD take their seats and the center is all focused now on the maps of the enemy camps that lay below on the frozen planet known as Katabatic. It’s an odd term, and in the native tongue it means simply, Cold Grave. The term will soon become a very fitting name.



“Sir, we have been tracking the dropship for four days now. She still thinks we can’t see her. It appears they are doing regular pre-jump surveillance,” the technician says. The intelligence room of the Terran Rim Allegiance, or “TRA”, is dimly lit, glowing with a surrealistic light generated by the multiple plasma scanning screens and pulse electromagnetic radar screens. The light from the screens runs slowly from a deep blue to an even deeper violet and back again, with bright blue tracer routes showing tracked objects outlined in red for hostile and green for friendly.
“Has there been any contact with their home station, or any other ships in the area?” asks the watch officer standing behind the technician. “I can’t believe that the Dragon Wolves, if that’s who they are, are this sloppy. I have heard you usually never hear them coming, and by the time you do, it’s too late.”
“We haven’t been able to pick up any com activity, sir. We had a power outage due to an avalanche near the power grid. The snow and ice knocked down some of our support lines, and we were off line for maybe an hour or two. But it is highly unlikely anybody slipped in during that time,” he replies, eyeing the screen. The red-marked dropship is altering course slightly and the technician reaches out to adjust a few settings to record and trace the new route. “They did land and take out one of our observation posts about ten clicks north of our base. The soldier assigned there was killed and the outpost was obliterated, but we had to let it go to maintain our feigned ignorance ordered by the commander,” the technician says.
“Yes, I had heard we lost a man there. He was a good soldier, and I know his family. I wonder if this “feigned ignorance” is worth his life?” the watch officer muses, his disagreement with the commander’s policy plain in his attitude. “We are warriors who fight our foes, not mice who hide in shadows.” He turns and continues to walk down the row of screens, checking with each technician, rubbing his chin in thought.


“Have we gotten the perimeter defense net established and gap checked, yet?” the big man asks the warrior facing him. The man is seated in a large, comfortable chair behind a massive wooden desk. It is finely worked Intarian hard oak and has a beautiful stained finish. On the black market it would fetch a huge amount of credits, which is exactly where the commander purchased it.
“It has been set and checked, commander,” the warrior says. He flips open his PDA and begins tapping with his pointer at the keys, reading the reports as the flow across the small screen. “The net is extensive and totally interlinked around the whole perimeter of our base. All net connections are redundant with a nuclear battery chit and solar backup cells. Pulse sensors are concealed and painted to match the surrounding terrain. They are virtually invisible. Motion sensors also have all camouflage applications in place, and cameras are interspersed throughout for anti-jammer purposes. All sensors and detectors are set across 35,000 frequencies and can recognize 6 different encrypted algorithms every second. Nobody will get through without us knowing about it.”
“Then we are set. Captain, get the teams ready, and make sure they are clear on our policy regarding this operation,” the commander says. He stretches and leans back in his chair, crossing his feet on his desk and putting his hands behind his head. “I want all teams on standby and ready to deploy to reaction positions within 5 minutes of the call. Have two teams of your choosing held back for reserves, although I don’t think we will need them, to accomplish the finishing touches on our operation. Remember, brief the your men on the policy, Captain. I want no mistakes on how we handle this. Dismissed, warrior.”
“Yes sir!” replies the Captain, turning sharply and exiting the room.
“This CDL will find us a little bit more of a challenge than others. Information is power, and I have lots of interesting information,” the commander muses, thinking aloud.



The snow has drifted heavily in this area and the crust that has formed over the surface of the snow extends out over the edge of the gorge, appearing as if it was at one time a beautiful crystal bridge. There is no life on this planet, other than the humans that have taken up residence, the only indigenous life having died out long ago when the sun that once warmed this planet began its retreat to the white dwarf it is now. The ridge would be just any other ice covered ridge like many others on this frozen planet, except that right below it was a host of warriors unloading a white painted dropship. Dragonfather was the twin of Dragonmother, the dropship that Manitou and his crew were orbiting the planet in now. Dragonfather was slightly different though. It was owned and equipped by the Dragon Wolves. Nobody knew that the CDL had her, nor did they even know she existed. Her stealthing and cloaking devices were using technology unknown anywhere else in the universe, having been programmed and constructed using scripted algorithms original to the CDL from a warrior named Marsman. In essence, she was virtually invisible while the systems were running. Right now they were off, and the crew of Dragon Wolves was unloading the bay and setting up a base camp just below the ice-covered ridge.
“I think Mani wanted us to make sure all the HE mortar rounds were checked. He commed to the Lair that Groov mentioned something about a wobble when they get too cold. I don’t want anything left to error. This operation is going to get hairy and if we miss just one shot, Dragon Wolves could die,” Hamma instructs the gathering of warriors around him.
“I remember reading something about that too, Hamma,” Malone replies. He is busy working with the case of mortar rounds he has just unloaded from the bay of Dragonfather. “I think if we set the Jug armor heater around the ammo case a little higher, it will keep that from happening.”
“Good idea, Mal,” Hamma replies. “You guys hear that? Make sure you set the heater levels around your ammo cases in your armors a little higher. Confirm please.”
“Check!” replies HalftheSky.
“Check!” replies ThroneBeast
“That’s a rog, Hamma,” answers Desperado.
“CC,” says Rubick.
“Darkwing, you make sure that when you paint those targets, you are dead on. I don’t want any misses and I want this to be totally perfect,” Hamma remarks grimly. “The lives of our fellow Dragon Wolves will be resting on our timing and on our skill. Lets not let them down.” Hamma looks at each one of them, then turns to Sky. “Did Swifty get picked up alright?”
“Yep, Asmo was waiting for him when he got done with the “avalanche” by the TRA base power grid. They lifted safely and should be back with team one now,” Sky answers with a smile. “By the way, Hamma, has Mani briefed the rest of crew one yet on all this?”
“Nope, and he won’t until they are in jump status. Not sure why, but you know how Mani gets,” Hamma replied grinning. “One thing I do know, the commander of that TRA base is in for one hella surprise.” The other Dragon Wolves all laugh at that, as they continue prepping their weapons and fine-tuning the art of death.



The Lair teemed with activity as Rayzer walked swiftly and with a purpose to the main com deck. He had received a com earlier from Manitou and wanted to run some checks on all outbound signals from the Lair for any unusual traffic. The concourse through the central hub of the Lair, a huge Alpha class battle station vastly modified to Dragon Wolf specifications, was always crowded. The Dragon Wolves carried on a large amount of commerce with other Clans and also with surrounding settlements. The additional income from that commerce went to fund a lot of the added changes to their equipment and vehicles. The CDL employed many different people to carry on these functions, including the accounting of this large income. Rayzer knew that the accounting technicians were not well liked by the CDL warriors, as they seemed to generally be stingy with the funding for items the Dragon Wolves ordered or contracted. Manitou was one of their least happy fans. Rayzer smiled at that thought, remembering Manitou’s temper firing off whenever a purchase or contract for something got held up in the accounting area. His train of thought was interrupted by a loud commotion just slightly ahead of him. It wasn’t unusual for arguments to occur in this crowded area as people got jostled and tempers flared, but this seemed different. The voice he heard was familiar, but he hadn’t heard it for a long time. Altering his path a little to approach the noise from a better angle, Rayzer strained to remember the voice that was shouting. He crossed under a large section of scaffolding that supported some men working on a balcony area near a set of spiral stairs leading to a second level. The men working on the balcony were also distracted and watched the center of the growing crowd. Rayzer had to press hard to get through the growing crowd, and some people muttered warnings at him as he passed. He simply ignored them, intent on getting to the source of the crowd’s attention.
“I have EVERY right to be here! You better find me Manitou NOW, or we are going to have trouble!” a voice was shouting at someone. Rayzer had the memory of that voice right on the edge of recollection, when he finally squeezed his way through the last ring of curious onlookers and popped into the center of the crowd.
“You aren’t a Dragon Wolf, any more than I am a Garrellian Lizard!” replied a merchant, by the appearance of his clothes and cases. “Where is your uniform? Dragon Wolves never waltz around in civilian clothes!” he retorts acidly.
“Sir, I will handle this,” an automated sentry standing there begins to say.
“Schrike! What in the world?” Rayzer says in shock. “I thought you and your crew were still on assignment in the Seven World’s Cluster! What are you doing here?”
“Thank God in heaven there is someone with a brain on this jalopy of a station!” Schrike answers with relief upon seeing Rayzer. “Now, Rayz, if you would please be so kind, let these people know who I am!”
“I have never seen this man in my life,” Rayz answers, folding his arms across his chest with a frown.
“What?!” Schrike replies, his eyes widening.
“Just kidding, old buddy!” Rayzer quickly answers, laughing heartily. The sentry had just reached out to grab Schrike’s arm and the merchant had begun to get a rather smug look on his face. “Sentry, this warrior you see here is a Legacy Dragon Wolf. His time and tenure with the CDL stretches back to the days of the First Great Tribal War. He is also a field Captain in charge of the Dragon Wolf crew stationed in the Seven World’s Cluster. You would do well to respect this honorable warrior. As for you, Garrellian Lizard boy” Rayzer adds slowly, turning to face the pinch faced merchant,” you might want to become real scarce right about now.” Rayzer smiles grimly at the man. The merchant glances at Rayzer’s battle fatigues and his campaign insignias then simply gulps twice and quickly fades into the crowd. The crowd itself, not getting to see the fight that it was expecting to see, begins to disperse and go about their business again.
“Dragon Wolf, I apologize for the mistake,” says the sentry evenly. The sentries were designed and scripted by Marsman to help uphold the peace and keep the locals from stretching the fabric of honor within the Lair. They had become quite effective and were always obeyed by the people who frequented the station. Not obeying them had some rather nasty consequences attached, as Marsman had used his imagination when scripting the responding behavior of the sentries. “If I may be dismissed, I will attend to my duties, sir.” Rayzer and Schrike both nod to the sentry. It saluted and walked smoothly away.
“Now Schrike, what in the devil are you doing back here?” Rayzer says to his friend.
“I received an urgent com…” glancing around, Schrike motions Rayzer forward. “Lets continue this elsewhere, Rayz.”
“Okay,” Rayzer agreed with a curious look as the two of them continue the way Rayzer had been headed before this strange reunion.

“It seems there is a leak within the Lair somewhere, Rayzer”, Schrike says solemnly. “Mani had mentioned in his com to not speak to anyone but a Dragon Wolf of my return. That’s why I didn’t have my uniform on in the concourse. The rest of my crew is still waiting in the transport. They are getting antsy as we have been there for a week or so already.”
“A LEAK?! You have got to be kidding me! Why does Mani think that?” asks Rayzer incredulously. The two friends are seated in the large com deck in two large and comfortable chairs next to a series of plasma screens. Most of them are dark, but the one they are seated in front of is glowing slightly, although no messages are onscreen yet. They are alone, having asked the one com technician to take a break for an hour or so. He had happily agreed and left hurriedly. Behind the plasma screens is a huge pulse-plasma view window giving a spectacular panorama of the planet the Lair orbited. It is a gas giant, somewhat similar to the native earth system’s planet Jupiter, but much larger. A myriad of colors swirled and stormed over the surface of the planet, clearly visible from this orbital altitude. The two are casually looking out the window, when Schrike begins to explain what he knew.
“Well, seems that the last few missions have been compromised somehow and he mentioned that the enemy seemed to have advanced warning of their situation” Schrike replied. Just then the com system began to chirp that there was incoming traffic. “Is that the com you have been waiting on, Rayz?” Schrike asks his friend.
“Should be, bro. I had originally come up here to monitor any unusual traffic, which I found quite a bit. Seems there have been some unauthorized coms originating from the accounting area recently. I will be following up on it for sure.” He looks at the com screen. “Yep, its from Mani so maybe he will fill in some of the gaps we seem to have in our info here.” Rayzer answers, reaching to press the receive and unscramble pad. “Hmmm, interesting” he remarks as he scans the com. “Let me read this to you, Schrike. I think it explains everything.”
“I sure hope so! I could use a break down at the spa! Been a while since I have been back here at the Lair,” Schrike replies, leaning forward to read the floating illuminated print on the com screen. “Oh great! Just when you think a break has come your way, Mani puts us to work again!” Schrike says after a moment of reading.
“Hey, no rest for the weary, my stalwart warrior friend!” Rayzer laughs to his fellow Dragon Wolf. “I think this will be rather enjoyable for me. Mani has given me an easy assignment this time, and one I am going to fully immerse myself into.” Rayzer says as he leans back in his chair. Rayzer reads the com as they both digest the incredible content of the message. They simultaneously gaze out the window and are soon lost in thought focused on the tasks ahead.



“So how are mom and dad, sis?” Manitou asks his Pan. She is seated on a plush recliner near a pulse-plasma view window. Katabatic fills the screen with a harsh white light, reflecting back out into space nearly all the light from the star it orbits. She takes a sip of water from a glass her older brother had given her earlier and looks at him.
“They are fine. Odd that you ask, Mani” she replies somewhat angrily. “We haven’t heard a word from you for three years. We knew you were still alive, but not a peep!” She stands up and glowers at her brother, turns and stalks over to the window, staring at the planet. She takes another sip from her glass, and then whirls around, frowning furiously. Some of the water sloshes out of her glass and lands without a sound on the thick blue carpet in Manitou’s personal quarters. “You could have at least sent a com letting us know you were doing okay! No coms, no letters, nothing!” Pan seems on the verge of tears, but she is tough, and she knows it isn’t the right thing to do at the moment. She is mad and upset, not injured physically. She walks over to the small kitchenette located in the back of the common living area, swallows the last of her water and gently places her glass in the tiny sink. Her back is to her brother and she is leaning against the counter top with both hands. “You know we missed you terribly, and often feared we would never see you again. I wanted to join you the day you left so hurriedly. You just up and walked out with a wave of your hand and a blown kiss. I remember that day so well…. Like yesterday.” She wistfully recalls the day in her memory. “The very next week I did something about it. I went looking for information as to where you went. I heard many rumors and some were scary. But eventually I had heard you joined the CDL.” Pan laughs out loud at that. She turns and looks at her brother, who is sitting in another recliner watching his sister intently. “You started the CDL, Mani! My gosh, you could have at least told us that! When I found that out, I knew what I had to do. I was going to join you.” Pan finishes her recalled memories fondly. “Big brother, mom and dad would be SO proud of you! Oh for crying out loud, I am so proud of you!” She blurts proudly. Manitou looks at his sister and seems to be barely breathing. “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Pan asks, becoming flustered with her brother’s apparent lack of emotion.
“My, you have grown into a smart, beautiful, strong young woman, Pan.” Manitou says finally, just before it seemed his sister would explode.
“I…uhh…into a… you said..what?” Pan stammers.
“Yes, I said that, sis. Its true! And a Dragon Wolf to boot! Congratulations, Pan, I am so proud of you.” Manitou finishes, his eyes slightly moist. “I have missed you and mom and dad too.” Manitou stands and smiles.
“Mani!” Pan says with a smile. The two siblings hug and then sit back down and begin sharing and reacquainting themselves again like two little kids. They talk long into the evening, never once stopping, having so much to catch up on. Katabatic glows in the window behind them, appearing so peaceful. But on that very planet, the two of them would soon find the future not so pleasing as the past.


The big room was fairly dark, only a few neon lights glowing just above the man seated at a utilitarian desk, in a plain chair. His desk was only one of twenty or so identical desks that filled the room, all lined up neatly and divided by a short partition between each one. Some still had plas screens glowing, their owners having forgotten to turn them off. The man’s name was Satoshi and he had been hired by the Dragon Wolves about six months ago to help in the accounting department. Unbeknownst to the CDL, he was a mole, cleverly placed there with a definite purpose in mind. He had been fulfilling that purpose with a devastating detail and regularity. It had caused many deaths and almost lost the Dragon Wolves some battles. He was pecking away at his portable com unit sending the latest information about the CDL’s purchases and activities. A small sound in the far end of the room near the doors startled him. He sat up straight and looked quickly around the darker side of the room. He could have sworn he had heard something, but there wasn’t anyone in the room. After another glance around the room, he hesitantly went back to his com unit. The tapping sound of his fingers on the tiny keyboard is the only sound right up until the moment his head snaps back and his eyes begin to bulge grotesquely from their sockets. Both of them rupture at about the same time, the purple fluid splashing out and onto his desk and all over the dull gray partition in front of him. His mouth opens the scream, but the muscles in the back of his throat are so contorted with spasm he can’t even exhale any air. The saliva in his mouth begins to boil as the electric current that is coursing through his body from his back starts to cook him alive. He suddenly begins to rise, his body agonizingly contorted into a knot, the bones in his hands snapping. A loud crack from his right thigh as his femur breaks allows his leg to double up under him. Rayzer holds the shocklance firmly, slowly picking the dying man up out of his seat. His shocklance is inserted neatly into the man’s back and smoke and a small flame dances where the metal touched his shirt and skin.
“Remember this as you make your slimy way to hell, you worm. Rayzer owned you. Rayzer and the Dragon Wolves owned you hard.” Rayzer finishes his sentence with a twist, seating the shocklance deeper and watching as the man’s jaw snaps shut. The man dies in unbearable pain, skewered on Rayzer’s lance. Rayzer tips the deadly weapon over and dumps the lifeless body onto the floor. “Thanks.” He finishes with a grimace. “Schrike, you can come over now. Thanks for the diversion buddy!”
“Oh sure, you get all the fun, and I get stuck sneaking around the room sounding like little mice.” He approaches his friend and glances down at the corpse. “So, did the adjustable setting thing work? Looks like it.”
“Yes, otherwise his body would have exploded the moment I pulled the trigger. I didn’t want him to die that quickly. I told him we owned him, thanks” Rayz remarks with a smile.
“Well, you did. I might add it was lovely, also” Schrike comments as the two Dragon Wolves turn to leave. “We might want to get someone to clean this up, Rayzer.”
“Nah, we can let the accounting pukes take care of their own. It might just discourage this from happening in the future,” Rayzer replies.
“Indeed.” Schrike states simply. The two leave the room, shutting off the last of the lights as they exit.


The ageless art of battle tactics is a skill that many have tried to achieve or even refine. History books are filled with those who became legendary in their abilities and those that were infamous in their inabilities. Names such as Sun Tzu, Vegetius, Bonoparte, Patton, Rommel, Schwartzkopf, Lefanderson, and G’Larious all ring out within the halls of the shrine of tactical worship. Those that failed in that aspect are no less well known, but theirs carries with them shame and sometimes dishonor. The Dragon Wolf known as h0micide knew all these names, and more, well, and he had sworn to himself he would never let his name be added to the lesser names. So far, for the CDL, he had accomplished this. There had been a few close calls; strangely enough it seemed the enemy had knowledge of his planned movements and weaponry. But for the most part his tactical expertise was somewhat of a legend. He never considered it a given though, as he understood well how fickle the finger of fate could be. He constantly worked to improve, refine and or sharpen his ability to plan and strategize using every known situation, load-out, weapon array, or territorial consideration. To some it seemed a daunting task, but h0micide fed on this duty. He lived and breathed the different levels of tactics involved, whether it was air, space, land, sea or subterranean. Manitou had always enjoyed listening to him brief the different ways which h0micide would like the CDL forces deployed and trusted h0micide emphatically with those deployments. The various maps and battle standard topographical overlays, and terrain details were scattered all over h0micide’s planning table deep in the bowels of Dragonmother. He had this room equipped with every communication device, topographical scanner, pulse electromagnetic radar screens, and all sorts of various information output devices currently known to man, plus a few unknown variations designed and scripted by the Dragon Wolves’ very own Marsman. Information was power, h0micide always said. He scanned the topographical maps once again, still not completely satisfied with the drop routes and their corresponding drop zones on Katabatic. He had spent the past twenty-two hours reconfiguring his last drop estimates and coordinates, as he was not satisfied with the error rate. “Error rates! Blast, if I could get that trimmed to less than one percent, I would be happy!” he thinks to himself. He is so intent on his calculations and the charts and readouts around him he doesn’t notice SwiftasFeather and Asmodeus walk into the room. They are carrying a batch of paperwork containing soil sample results and air sample results h0micide had requested before they had made their drop onto the planet.
“’cide! We got the stuff you needed from the planet,” Swifty remarks, laying the ream of bound data sheets on the table. The startled h0micide spins and glowers at the two Dragon Wolves, fumbling with a pen stuck behind his ear.
“Shazbot! How many times have I told you guys I hate that!” he replies testily. “One of these days I am going to set an EE scrambler on my door and watch you two roll around on the floor like babbling idiots for twenty or so minutes. Then we will see who sneaks up on me again!” He straightens his the pen and wedges it in place, then turns to the information documents the two grinning friends had just brought in. “This better not be jumbled like the last set of surveys were. I can’t get the best magnetic pull if we don’t know where the highest concentration of iron ore on this planet is.”
“Your welcome, your grumpiness,” Asmodeus answers, feigning hurt feelings. He glances at Swifty and smiles. “All bark and a little bite!”
“Asmo, we need to go report back to Mani. I think he wanted the drop prep speeded up a little. He had mentioned that the weather patterns on the planet were mixing again and promising a nasty squall line across the TRA base about this time two days from now. I think that’s D-Day for the attack” Swifty says. “’cide, we are heading back up to the Center, you need us to take anything up to Mani for you?” he asks h0micide.
“Nah, I sent my latest report to his PDA just a minute ago, so he has everything he needs for the pre-drop brief tomorrow morning. I will be up in a few minutes. Let Mani know I am running a little behind, but will have the finishing touches for the tac-ops done when I come up” h0micide replies, turning back to his table. He places both hands on the table, leaning over the information and scanning it, already deep in thought, his two friends quickly forgotten.
“Lets go then,” Asmo says and the two head out the door, making their way to the Center.

The big “TRA” letters painted across the vehicle pad of the base were partially obscured by drifting snow. The last storm had dumped a huge quantity of snow in the area, and the pad had been covered until yesterday. The warriors that had cleared it had only swept enough to gain access to the pad for use. That was sufficient for generating the grav bikes and Jericho, but nobody had generated any shrikes or other flying vehicles. It wouldn’t necessarily matter, except that the flying vehicles utilized a different cycle of energy that was fabricated and maintained for the formation of the special materials used in the make-up of the vehicle itself. Again, this wouldn’t ordinarily matter, but one of the TRA warriors had gotten sloppy, or lazy, whichever, and had decided to just toss the removed snow to the side of the pad and not completely off of it. Unfortunately, some of that snow had drifted, blown by the fierce winds that swept Katabatic periodically and found its way into the wave scanners that helped the creation of the vehicles. The wave scanners, although not used for land vehicles, still warmed up when the pad was used. The pad had been used last night by a patrol of TRA warriors going to inspect the elaborate defense net erected recently in expectation of the CDL attack. When the wave scanners had warmed up, the drifted snow had melted and the resulting bit of water had trickled down into the housing of the scanners themselves and pooled right under the actual scan chips. The scan chips were arranged in sets of five to a board, and helped control the oscillating of the frequencies used by the wave scanner in creation of the flying vehicles. There were twenty-two boards in this particular housing box, equaling enough electro-magnetic energy to supply a moderate sized city on planet Earth with electricity for week. The water had then frozen when the scanners had cooled down and swelled slightly with the hardening of the ice. The surface of that ice had come into contact with the bottom of one of the boards, but since no energy was currently being used, it wasn’t a problem. Future use of the pad promised to be exciting though.

The huge squall line running across the weather screen in the Center was brutal looking. Katabatic had been known for its storms, but this one was exceptionally nasty. It was packing winds of nearly eighty miles an hour, and was dumping nearly three feet of snow every six hours on the planet’s surface. Manitou was watching it carefully, and fretting about it the whole time. Swifty and Asmo walked in and took their customary seats, and began to pull out their PDAs for the briefing. Manitou turned and glanced at his troops, then returned to his study of the storm system. The sounds of a group of people coming down the hall caught Manitou’s attention once again, and he turned just as the rest of his team entered the Center and took their seats for the pre-drop briefing. Once the quiet conversations and scraping of chairs and desks ceased, Manitou tapped his PDA and the weather screen dimmed and winked off. A new image began to grow and then sharpened on the screen. It was a top-down view of the TRA base and the surrounding area, including superimposed terrain features, surface survey information, range markers, blind mortar spam points, and all the different attack routes and pick up points. Basically it was all the information collected and collated by h0micide during the last few days or so and built into the attack plan of the tac-ops.
“This is briefing number 134-206, dated 5 September of the year 2201 CE, given by Manitou for Operation Fast Pace. It is a classified briefing and all penalties of breach of confidence by any attendees will be swiftly meted out,” Manitou says evenly, giving the pre-drop brief instructions. It is something that the Dragon Wolves have heard many times, only the mission number and dates having changed. “Dragon Wolves, welcome to the Center. PDAs are to be on all the proper frequencies and set for receive only at this time.”
“Mani, I pre-programmed the PDAs with an automated script that activates on power-up of the briefing screen. It wasn’t hard to do and the dot cs file was easily incorporated in the last update to all the troops’ PDAs,” Marsman says from his seat. He is busy checking his PDA for the proper functions to make sure nothing unexpected happened when the script enabled.
“Mars, you never cease to amaze me, bro!” Manitou replies smiling and shaking his head. “Guys, I need to update you on some events that have occurred in the last twenty four to thirty six hours at the Lair and on Katabatic.”
“Great! I love surprises,” moans Diocletian.
“Oh, ya’ big baby!” Groov replies smiling.
“The news is not good.” Manitou states in a flat voice. “The mission we are on right now is being monitored closely by the TRA base and they exactly where we are at this moment. They also know who we are and probably about how many people are on board Dragonmother. They are armed with a full sized company of extremely talented shocklancers and have at least four exceptionally trained shrike pilots. Their commander is no fool. He has a long history of outstanding battle victories and is a graduate of the Terran Corporation’s War College and Inter-Stellar Tactics and Plans Institute. He has at his disposal a headquarters section of some of the most highly trained captains I have ever seen. His troops are fanatics and consider him almost to be god-like. The weather pattern I was watching before you all got here promises to limit visibility to a few meters at best and will provide temperatures around thirty-five to forty-five degrees below zero without wind chill figured in. It is dumping a huge amount of snow, which as you all know, tends to reduce mortar damage and diminish the affects of plasma guns. I wanted to let you all know this information so that you are all ready for the operation, and pumped and ready to go!” he finishes with a flourish. He is standing there smiling at his warriors, who are all now staring straight at him with their mouths hanging open and their PDAs forgotten.
“Ummm… is there… I mean… what’s the good news, Mani?” Arglaar asks, scratching his head absently with his PDA. “I mean…” he chuckles a little nervously then continues, “there is good news, right?”
“There is always good news, Arg!” Manitou replies smiling. “The good news is we have three new troops to help us!” Manitou sweeps his hand in the direction of the now red-faced newest Dragon Wolves. “They are the key to this battle.”


Rubick and Desperado had finished loading the additional ammunition into Dragonfather and were busy restacking pulse sensors and motion sensors in the storage closets for jump preparation. Hamma had finally gotten the com from Manitou that they were enroute to the rendezvous point and that they would be expecting Dragonfather along with Team 2 to be in place in the next few hours. The coordinated drop between the two CDL ships would be one based on a shred of time calculated by h0micide to give the best advantage to the attackers. A large gyration pulse electromagnetic coil had been carefully placed and concealed within three miles of the TRA base by Heirax and Darkwing. They had set it to “unwind” at the precise moment the two dropships would be unleashing their howling and highly motivated cargo of Dragon Wolves on the TRA base. The GPE coil was a nice little invention brought into existence by Marsman while trying to find a better way to power the plasma cannons on the Lair. He had scripted a new algorithm for the coils they used now, but instead of increasing range or lethality of the cannons, the newly programmed coil had “unwound” and the result was a massive electromagnetic pulse that shut the Lair down and wiped out satellites and local shuttle traffic within a six mile radius of the Lair. Fortunately the Lair was equipped with shielded electronics and the damage to the circuits and boards had only been partially successful. The local shuttle traffic and a good majority of the satellites affected by the pulse weren’t so lucky. The CDL had been busy rescuing drifting shuttles the rest of the day and a terse statement released by the CDL public relations section had attributed the pulse to “unusual solar activity unforeseen by the CDL space weathermen”. Manitou had personally seen to it that Marsman was given a three-day pass for the discovery of a new weapon system! Marsman had promptly chosen to spend that time on the planet New Jamaica and the stories of that trip were now considered legend.
“Do you think the GPE will be affected by the weather or cold, Rub?” Desperado asked his buddy. He hefted the last box with the sensors into the closet.
“I haven’t read anything from Mars about it being affected by cold weather, but who knows?” Rubick answered, wiping his brow. Both of them had their battle fatigues unzipped and pulled down to their wastes, wearing the camouflaged tee shirts issued with the rest of their battle gear. “They need to turn the heat down a little in here.”
“Yeah, I heard they are trying to keep it a little warm so the mortars won’t be affected by the cold so much when we drop,” Desperado replied. They had finished the storing of the equipment and were now standing in the bay relaxing and taking a break when Thronebeast walked in with two PDAs and a small folder with some paperwork in it.
“You guys fill out your wills and last wishes stuff yet?” Thronebeast asked nonchalantly.
“Notice how he asks that so easily, Rub?” Desperado asks his friend.
“You know how TB is, he thinks he is invincible!” Rubick replies grinning.
“Guys, how many times I gotta’ tell you? Death visited me once and I kicked his butt in a game of poker and he had to ante up my death to pay me off. He ain’t visiting me no more!” Thronebeast responds smugly.
“TB, do you even have one of those filled out?” Rubick asks the big warrior. Thronebeast was well known for his skills on the battlefield. It had been rumored that he was bucking for an Officer’s position and was trying to concentrate on his career within the CDL. The fact that he was nearly fearless on the battlefield lent itself to his aura of invincibility.
“Don’t need to. I don’t plan on dying,” he replied with a smug grin. “Plus, if I do, I will just go looking for Mr. Death and remind him he owes me.” The three all laugh out loud and Rubick and Desperado take their PDAs and their paperwork and sit down to begin filling out the required information. “By the way, we got drop confirmation from Mani. We go on schedule in twenty-four hours.


The time-honored position of Kitchen Police had changed a lot since the days of peeling potatoes and scrubbing pans. Space travel was not the same as ocean travel or land travel. The space you had to carry equipment and supplies forced the people traveling to be very economical in what they hauled around with them. So the latest technology in food preparation and sanitation of eating utensils had eliminated a lot of the more legendary aspects of the KP personnel. But one thing had not changed, and that was who got assigned the KP duties. The newest warriors, and the ones that were of lesser rank always ended up pulling the duty. So, being the newest troops on board, Pan, testflight, and Raptormax were all sullenly carrying on with their esteemed duties and hating every minute of it.
“I swear, I can’t believe we use this many dishes during one day’s period of time. What in the Nine Planets of Home do they do the rest of the day?” testflight asks grumpily. “It seems to me all they do all day long is eat!”
“Well, we contribute to these dishes also and we use the food processors for our meals also, test,” Pan reminds her comrade-in-dishes.
“Oh sure, take the logical side!” testflight responds. She is busy replacing the boards that control and produce the food stock used to prepare the foodstuffs for the meals. The process of generating the foodstuffs is somewhat messy on the systems, as it requires a “donor” material to pull the material from. Normally the “donor” material is leftover food and or plant material taken from local plants on planets the CDL have landed on. The plants are tested for any incompatibility with the human body and once cleared, stowed away for future processing. The material is fed into the processors and when the molecular structure is broken down by the processors, it builds up a static charge that tends to draw any loose molecules to the outside of the processor systems. This also includes any dust particles and human skin cells that happen to be floating about the area. Together, the molecules gather to form a rather sticky mass that requires a routine cleaning to prevent a heating up of the processor tubes. The three friends were busy doing just that and restocking the processor system with new material for the coming day’s demands.
“All I know is, this was never mentioned in the recruiting process of the CDL, and I sure as heck don’t remember any mention of it in the CDL Guide Manual,” Raptormax added with a quick yank of the rag he was using to reach around a particularly tough area to clean. The rag flipped out and slapped testflight in the back of the head, leaving a messy gob of the molecular goo in her hair. “Oops! Sorry, test!”
“Great, not only am I forced to degrade myself by wiping up molecular doo-doo, I have to get it smeared on me as well!” testflight huffs, reaching for a clean rag to wipe the offensive mess from her head.
“Attention on deck!” Pan suddenly calls out, startling the other two warriors. They all struggle to get up, having been seated for some time beneath the big cabinet that stored the processor system.
“At ease, guys!” Manitou replies, approaching the working KP team. “I just wanted to come down and explain myself about why I used you three as the target of this morning’s briefings. I was not intending to embarrass you at all. Although, test, if you don’t get that static sludge out of your hair quick, you will be embarrassed by the color it will change it.”
“Great! Just great! Not only is it absolutely the most disgusting, smelly stuff in the known galaxy, but it stains as well!” she replies, reinforcing the scrubbing with a newfound vigor. Her hair begins to stand straight up as the static charge seeks release. The sight is almost too much for the three watching, and they try hard to stifle their mirth under a disguise of clearing throats and coughing fits. “It isn’t funny…” she replies scrubbing a little more.
“Anyway, I just want you guys to know, that the reason for the three of you being the only ones dropped off at the rendezvous was to give the TRA base something to get over-confident about. They have been monitoring us for some time and I wasn’t sure what they knew or could hear. Pride mixed with over-confidence will always get you set up for a defeat. Learned that the hard way!” Manitou says, still grinning at testflight’s discomfort. She seemed to have gotten all the sludge from her hair at the result of her hair standing straight up with static charge. “When we drop in less than twenty-four hours, we should have just the advantage we need to make this a clean sweep.”
“Mani, are we getting any back-up?” Raptormax asks.
“I will brief you all on that once we get to the drop arena,” Manitou answers calmly. “I think it is best we wait until then.”
“Well, all I know is, I am ready to kick someone’s butt if I don’t get off this KP duty soon. I would rather be dodging freaking shocklancing fanatics from the pits of Hellios than scraping this interplanetary dog poop another day!” testflight says, tossing the rag with the offending matter into their bucket.

 

COME AND GET IT!!!!!

Okay, here it is... enjoy!

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Schrike took the PDA and walked to the console opposite the view screen of the hyper-shuttle. It was a rather simple console, nothing real fancy; a dull gray color without any flashing lights or rows of buttons. But it served a very important purpose within the ship. It was the central control access, and from here you could just about run every aspect of the shuttle down to flushing individual toilets in the staterooms. Schrike wasn’t doing that at this point. He was entering coordinates for the hyper-drives to push-pull the shuttle to a far-flung, ice-covered frozen planet in the Rim system. The hyper-shuttle itself was unremarkable on the exterior, resembling any of the hundreds of myriads of shuttles that entered and left the Rim systems daily carrying out various duties. It was painted and identified as an ore transport and passenger liner, one of the many that made this run. Only this hyper-shuttle had no ore, and a very unique group of passengers. They were not necessarily outstanding as individuals, but together they were a legend.
“Doomy, did you get that com from Mani out of the printer?” Qor72 asked his friend. They were both relaxing in the recreation room, waiting on Schrike to notify them of the impending hyper-jump. Doomhawk was reading a set of nav maps. Qor72 had been warming up a cup of hot chocolate that said in big letters “#1 DAD” on the side. He had also been reading a letter from his wife about their new baby and how he was growing so much. Qor72 smiled, remembering the day his son was born and the way Manitou had announced it across the big message board in the Lair common areas. “I know it finally came through, but the de-scrambler took a while with it.”
“Yup, got it right here,” Doomhawk said, grabbing a piece of paper and waving it above his head. “You wanna’ read it?”
“Yes, I wanted to see if that storm system he sent the info about was still wound up as high as he had mentioned in the other status reports. I think h0micide wants to go under the storm and use it to help in the confusion during the attack,” Qor72 explained. He set the letter from his wife down on the counter and walked over and took the sheet of paper and began to scan the words, sipping carefully from the hot cup.
“Doomy, did you get that com from Mani out of the printer?” Pumpmonkey asks, walking into the recreation room. He is followed by a few more Dragon Wolves, Praetor-Vong, Racewiz, and Metallica77. They had been in the ore-hold fine-tuning equipment on the CDL’s Havocs. The Havocs were slow, lumbering transports that were good for surface-to-surface transport, but were very vulnerable. The CDL had gone to great lengths to have the shields and other pieces of tactical equipment modified to give the warriors the best possible advantage in battle. It wasn’t much, but anything was welcome.
“Ummm…. Yes,” Doomhawk replies, pointing in the direction of Qor72.
“Cool. Was just wondering if we had any more information on the attack,” Pumpmonkey comments.
“Doesn’t seem to be anything radically different about the whole deal. Seems Mani got some help from one of the other Rim Clans. Not like we need it, but he seems to think it would be good to let one of the other Clans take a look at some tactics, plus it gives us some witness support in case the local jurisdiction decides to intervene,” Qor72 replies, quickly summarizing the com to the group. “He has invited one of the TnP warriors to join us on this little outing. You guys know of Scrub?” Qor asks, looking up from the paper. “He is supposed to be dropping with Team 2. I am not real sure how he is joining them, but supposedly he is.”
“I know him from the first Tribal Wars. He was involved in the Insomniax Theater. That was some wild stuff there. Talk about modifications to equipment! You guys ever seen a rocket pack attached to a “Jug” armor?” Pumpmonkey asks, laughing out loud. “Now that was a wild ride!”
“Good lord I miss those days,” Doomhawk replies from the couch, his feet propped up on the low coffee table. “Capturing the bad guys’ banners were a snap then.”
“Yeah, right, Doomy! Like you have any ability problems now!” comments ShadowSpawn as he walks into the room, joining the others at the coffee maker.
“I swear you guys are always talking about that War. I came into the CDL at the tail end of it. Wish I had seen those days!” Metallica77 adds. He finishes stirring his coffee and joins Doomhawk on the couch, taking some of the nav maps Doomhawk has finished and glancing through them. He sets his coffee down on the table carefully, as he had filled it almost to overflowing. “Doomy, watch your big feet and don’t spill my java, bro!”
“Zibbidy” Doomhawk replies, busy finishing his review of the last few maps.
“Where is Schrike? Is he still on the bridge?” asks Oed, just joining the group. He strolls in casually and walks over to the coffee machine just like the rest of the Dragon Wolves had done upon entering the rec room.
“Yep, he wanted to finalize any gravity well settings for the Katabatic system. He likes to make sure we have the smoothest ride possible,” Racewiz comments dryly to the group.
“Yeah, I bet,” replies Praetor-Vong. “That guys always cuts it close every time we hyper and I end up sucking my stomach back down when we arrive.” The others all chuckle at that and relax around the rec room finding any diversion to take their mind off the coming battle. Even though they are all completely confident in their teammates’ abilities, the “fog of war” still existed in the highly technical battles of today. Combat, though even lopsided for the Dragon Wolves normally, still exacted a price from its participants.

Dragonmother shook with a low rumbling that felt as if it would vibrate the very fillings from his teeth. The hull was thrumming in response to the massive forces being exerted against it, and Asmodeus was not used to this type situation during a combat drop prep maneuver. Most every drop prep he had been in had been fairly smooth until the actual drop. But this one was a world of difference. The morning’s pre-drop briefing had been filled with technical outlays, weather forecasts, static jump info, and the frequency settings for every shield and com set on the team. It was a huge amount of information, but Asmodeus was used to all that. He was a combat veteran from way back. He had been fighting with the CDL for almost three years now, and had a proud heritage with the team. The morning’s briefings were a familiar routine by now, but Asmodeus had sensed urgency in Manitou’s voice, since this was the first time they were actually attacking an enemy who had full knowledge of their movements and of the attack times. The only thing the CDL had going for them at this point was the fact that the enemy knew nothing of the other two teams joining the battle at a selected time. The whole attack was carefully choreographed for the most effective use of the CDL’s massive firepower and their partial surprise expected to be achieved by Team 2 and Team 3. Asmodeus wasn’t fearful of death, nor was he afraid of his team letting him down. What always bothered him was the unexpected; the outside chance that something unplanned would happen. He had been dating a young lady recently and had every intention of marrying the girl once he got the leave built up to head back to the Lair for the ceremony. Manitou had mentioned having a big party and inviting a lot of the other friendlier Rim Clans to come. He just wished this last drop was over with. The pre-drop briefings were especially focused on the talented enemy they faced, and the skills that they would have to deal with upon entering the field of battle. Dragonmother began to jostle him around more. Asmodeus looked around the drop bay at his Clan mates. They were all trying to deal with the pre-drop ride, as rough as it was, in their own ways. Some were sleeping, amazingly enough, and some were focusing on their weapons, while others simply stared straight ahead, concentrating on some spot in front of them. He glanced to his left and smiled when he saw the green look Raptormax, one of the newer Dragon Wolves, had on his face. The team had been giving Rap a hard time ever since Pan had mentioned he got motion sickness. The big warrior was a ferocious soldier, and to think he got sick riding in a drop ship was kind of funny. On Asmo’s right was SwiftasFeather, wearing his customary light armor, busy slapping the forearm plates of his outfit, resetting the pieces. It was a nervous habit the team had seen Swifty do whenever they got ready to drop. Asmo looked straight across from him and strapped in there was Arglaar seated between Great Dane and GroovieMan. The three of them were chatting lightly, laughing occasionally at jokes one or the other told. The drop bay gear had them strapped in tight, with the drop seats already primed for the drop onto the planet. Massive cables stretched from the top of the drop bay to the backs of each drop seat, connecting to the back of the seat and running a preset distance to a huge coil fastened to the back end of Dragonmother. Every CDL warrior’s seat was connected to this coil and it was the sole thing that kept them from pancaking into the planet’s surface when they dropped. It was actually a rather uneventful ride as far as drops went, but the person on the end seat had the roughest drop. Since the coil held every warrior, the last seat to drop usually had the hardest landing. Unfortunately for testflight, she had the honor of being last out on this drop. Asmo chuckled to himself when he recalled Manitou assigning her that seat. She had nearly snarled the acknowledgement, and had mentioned that at least her com mic had better work this time. Asmo strained to see the rest of the Team 1 troops. The other warriors were strapped in farther down the drop bay and Asmo couldn’t see them from his seat. Dragonmother began to vibrate even harder as she pierced the lower atmosphere and began to build up the typical static charge associated with friction with the air. The small portal windows revealed a tremendous fireworks display as the super-heated hull began to glow.
“Dragon Wolves, ten minutes to drop count start!” A disembodied voice crackled over the com, and almost startled Asmo. He rechecked his connection monitors and reset his weapons latches again, double-checking the ammunition primers and making sure his laser rifle was tightly secured to its mount on his armor. He glanced at his friends, noticing they were doing the same things he was, even though they had all done it several times already. “Dragon Wolves, preset your seats, and check off ready status now!” the voice barked again over the com. Asmo reached over to his seat trigger box and mashed the green button signaling his status as “go”. “Dragon Wolves, drop bay com is going off-line. Weapons systems on suit energy only, ensure all systems go! Honor, Valor and Victory unto you! HOWOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” The customary pre-drop howl echoed throughout the drop ship. It always sent chills up his spine and charged his blood for the fight that was soon to follow. Asmo clenched his teeth, waiting for the energy to swap from the ship’s generators to his suit. It always caused a flux that snapped a small static charge through the armor. It wasn’t too painful, but some had accidentally bit their tongues when it happened. The switch occurred and the charge snapped through his suit, startling him even though he was ready for it. He could see the others jump a little as each one of them felt the switch. The drop was close now, and he felt his gut tighten and clenched his seat even tighter. Soon, he would be facing one of the hardest battles he had ever faced in his long service with the CDL. Asmodeus was ready and confident. He just wished he could get it over with. As it was, it would be over soon, very soon indeed.

 

lol Nice Arg... hehe

 

test... you are always close to my !

I have something special planned for your character... the heroes are always challenged the most.

 

Ready for the next part??

Here it is! Enjoy!

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The hyper-jump went fairly smooth as hyper-jumps go, only a few members of Team 3 getting sick. Schrike had tried to fine-tune the settings best as he could, but there were always so many variables to consider that you just couldn’t script them all into the jump equations required. The shuttle arrived in the Katabatic system pretty much unnoticed, just another ore-transport making the rounds. Schrike notified the local traffic control that he was enroute to Katabatic orbit and would be maintaining there for at least a week as the ore was transported up from the planet’s surface. The control center accepted this without a question, not even bothering to ask for clearance identification numbers or anything.
“I swear he does that on purpose,” Praetor-Vong says grumpily. He had just finished cleaning up the contents of his stomach that had involuntarily left his body and found new residence on the floor of the rec room.
“Well, I thought he did a wonderful job!” Metallica77 remarked happily. He was never fazed by the jumps and always loved to inform all his teammates of that fact.
“Just once I wish you would get hyper sick, Met,” replied Oed, also feeling queasy. “Its ten time worse than sea-sickness. Only good thing is it fades quickly.”
“Plus, a good healthy lunch will help! Greasy synth-burgers!!! Woohoo!” calls ShadowSpawn from the kitchen area of the rec room. He had just ordered up a burger and fries and was busily munching away at the sandwich. As the smell of the cooked burger reached the rest of the team, the ones that had gotten sick retreated to the closest bathrooms again. The others laughed and began the lock-down of all the hyper-jump seats.
“Attention, Dragon Wolves of Team 3! Begin drop-prep and weapons preadjust for drop. The load-up for the drop is in twenty minutes! Schrike out!” snapped the ship intercom. The guys looked at each other for a moment then they all moved at once to finish what they were doing and then head for the ore hold. The anticipation of the coming battle was soon to turn to participation. The Dragon Wolves were ready, and they were anxious to begin.


Hamma slapped the console cover back down on the control interface of Dragonfather’s flight system yoke situated on the arm of the pilot’s chair. He yanked the stick back and began the ascent to attack altitude, sharply banking the sleek drop-ship towards the valley leading just up to the back of the TRA base. His assigned drop zone was about four hundred meters behind the enemy vehicle pad. His team had drop-prepped the area of the drop zone and removed any sensors and or detecting equipment that could warn of their arrival. He was hoping that they had timed it properly to avoid any maintenance teams that normally rotated through the area to inspect and adjust the sensor net. It was critical to the attack plan that they get in unseen and undetected. The last com they had received from Manitou had stressed that h0micide was emphatic about this. Hamma always thought h0mi was a little picky about his tac-ops, but he also knew they always seemed to work out well. He had perfect confidence in them. He turned to look at the digital clock someone had taped to the bulkhead above the doorway to the bridge. They had about fifteen minutes before Team 3 began their drop descent. They were coming in using an acute attack angle and Hamma knew how that felt. The Team 1 guys had also used a steep one, but not quite as steep as the Team 3 ship was. Team 3 was using a converted ore transport and could handle the heat from the atmosphere a little better with its thicker hull, but it was slower and more vulnerable than either Dragonmother or Dragonfather. That forced them to show up at the battle sight faster and give the TRA base less time to get anti-aircraft shots away. The clock ticked down another minute and Hamma realized he had been lost in thought. He turned back to the view screen and concentrated on the terrain sweeping by below, and sometimes next to him. He had not really begun to think of the coming battle too much, but now the pre-fight butterflies began to wing about his stomach. He had no real fear of battle, but he did fear for his comrades and their safety. He knew that combat forged a tremendously fierce bond between people, but that bond came sometimes with a high price. The clock behind him beeped twice. Hamma reached out and poked a button on the console in front of him. “Attention Dragon Wolves of Team 2! Begin drop-prep and weapons preadjust for drop. Approaching LZ and will perform drop in eight minutes! Hamma out!”
The Dragon Wolves in the back of Dragonfather settled into their drop-harnesses, securing their weapons and double-checking their suit presets and energy levels. Their drop was going to be radically different than the drop from Dragonmother. They were going to perform a LAPES drop directly into the interior of the TRA base area. The acronym LAPES stood for Low Altitude Parachute Extraction System and could only be performed on planets with some type of atmosphere, since it required the use of parachutes. It was a low level drop and made for immediate deployment of troops on a very limited battlefield with pinpoint accuracy. It was by far the hardest type of drop, as the warriors were quite basically yanked right out of the drop bay by the parachute. The pilot, in this case Hamma, would hit the drop chute doors button, which would cause the main bay door to slide open, followed by the drop chute doors sliding open. A small primer chute would deploy, catching the air streaming over the hull of Dragonfather. It would in turn start a process of yanking each individual chute attached to the drop harnesses of the Dragon Wolf warriors in the back, out of the drop bay to be delivered to the LZ. It was a hard drop, but brought the troops right into battle immediately. Manitou didn’t use this type drop often, but in this case he was sure it would provide the shock he needed under the circumstances to the TRA defenders. The Dragon Wolves in the drop bay all had dropped like this before, and most of them hated it. But they knew it was Mani’s call and they trusted him to make the right decision in this case. Desperado was situating his fusion mortar and rechecking the temperature level of the ammunition carrier in his suit. He looked up and glanced around the bay, knowing that in less than five minutes they would be dropping into the hell of ground combat. He missed his partner Zesty Hot, as the two had been a team in the old days during the First Tribal Wars. Zesty had taken a sabbatical to the Andorianisti Planet system, looking to find an upgrade to his personal ship he had heard rumored about there. The CDL hadn’t heard much from him since, a few coms coming in every once in a while to assure everyone that he was still alive. Desperado stopped his gaze on Rubick who was sitting silently, simply looking straight ahead. He seemed to be focused on some inner thoughts. He next looked at Darkwing and then Heirax, both in medium armor, chatting about one thing or another and laughing occasionally. Thronebeast was seated next to halfthesky, both of them in light armor, also discussing some things. They seemed more intense than the rest of the drop bay crew, but they were both commissioned Officers. It had come down just a half hour ago that TB had been promoted. Sky was probably going over some protocol issue or another. Despo looked over to Malone and laughed again to himself. Malone had taken some white and brown and black spray paint and painted his armor to resemble a cow’s hide. It was hilarious looking and everyone had laughed uproariously when he first showed them. Malone was busy reading the TRA base plans so he could be familiar with the interior of the base. He had his PDA out still, the screen glowing in the dimly lit bay. Despo commed Malone and said, “Hey, Mal, put that thing away! We got like three minutes to drop, bro!”
“I got it, I got it,” Mal replied, flipping the screen closed and storing the device. “I have plenty of time, for I am the elite Uber Cow!” he replied, smiling. Just then the claxon began sounding, warning of the coming drop. The bay door was winding slowly out preceding the actual LAPES drop. “I am ready to drop some cow patties on these llamas,” Malone said grimly, staring out the bay door. Despo joined him in looking out the door, watching the white snow-covered terrain rush by beneath them. More than the frigid air of the planet caused the chill they all suddenly felt.

Rayzer was tracking the movement of the three teams as they approached the battlefield. He knew the difficulty of this particular battle. What had surprised him though was that Manitou had just sent a com informing him that another team was joining the fray! Rayzer couldn’t believe the names that were in that team! These guys were legends that had just walked out of the history books! There weren’t a lot of them, but there didn’t need to be. Rayzer picked up the piece of paper with the com printed on it. He read through it again, shaking his head in amazement. Evidently Manitou had brought these guys in to be inserted directly with a new transporting device that Marsman had designed using a portal system established by the CDL Jericho that was being deployed with Team 1. Even Rayzer had not seen the new device in action, although he had heard some scuttlebutt about it. He chuckled to himself, waiting to see the faces of the CDL warriors when these guys hit the battlefield. It wasn’t every day anymore that the CDL had seen Full Otto Matik, Ground Chuk, Mossimo, and WinterKnight. These four warriors were pivotal in the great battles the CDL had won in the First Tribal Wars. They had each gone into a semi-retirement phase, having different reasons for leaving active duty. But each one had earned the tremendous right to wear the tag of the CDL forever. Otto, Chuk and Mossimo were charter members like Manitou. Rayzer set the com down and headed towards the door of the ops center above the Lair shuttle bay. There was a peculiar pad installed next to the vehicle pad that was to be used for the transport of these fine warriors, as well as him right into the battlefield. They had to wait for Team 1 to get the Jericho set up and operational before they transported over. It had not been tested using this kind of distance, but all of them were confident in Marsman’s promise that they wouldn’t come out with an arm growing where their leg used to be or worse! Rayzer loped down the steps two at a time rounding the corner and jogging out to the bay area. Otto glanced up from his odd dual-barreled chain gun, and waved slightly to him. Otto was constantly working on that wild thing, Rayzer thought to himself. He had seen Otto setting the aim on it, like aiming was necessary, and he saw it to be a massively destructive weapon. Otto had used the target range in the Lair and the first time he fired it up, the range crowd had every one stopped firing to watch! The weapon had obliterated the targets Otto had placed and nearly destroyed the backing on the range itself. The smell of hot chain gun oil was what Rayzer remembered from that moment. Chuk was suiting up in his Jug armor, an old GBDT Platoon patch from the First Tribal Wars still emblazoned on his shoulder. He looked at Rayzer and sketched a salute, then went back to what he was doing, his long hair hanging around his face. Mossimo was working on his missile launcher, and he was still grumbling about the differences in these and the “missile launchers of old”. WinterKnight was working out in his jump suit with an antique bastard sword in the middle of the bay, thrusting and parrying with an unseen enemy. He was the most unique Dragon Wolf Rayzer had ever had the honor to meet. Manitou had spoken very highly of this warrior, calling him the “…last of a breed of chivalrous knight unseen since the days of King Arthur in legend…” The warrior was cutting the air sharply with the sword when he saw Rayzer enter the bay. It was odd, but Rayzer had noticed that Otto and Chuk also carried swords fastened to holders on their armor.
“Hail Rayzer,” he said, stopping his swordplay and lifting his hand in greeting. “Is it time for battle to be joined?”
“Yes, I just got the com. In about one half hour the Jericho should be up. I expect we will be on planet within the hour,” Rayzer answered.
“That is good, for I wish to be about cleaning the system of these wretched curs, the TRA,” WinterKnight commented firmly.
“Yep, I am ready to spread the joy with my buddy here,” said Otto, slapping the barrels of his chain gun. The pickle light in the bay flashed yellow, signaling the warning to get ready to transport. WinterKnight began suiting up, as did the others, and Rayzer walked over to his cabinet and began his ritual of donning his armor. His special shocklance was hanging in the cabinet, gleaming with the chrome and polished metal of cold hard death.