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  “We appreciate you not being a grade A asshole,” Cromartie said, with his usual sarcastic humor. “You ever need another escort don’t hesitate to call.”

  “It’s the first time I’ve needed to use my weapon on Earth,” Nunes said, nodding. “At least this assignment was interesting.”

  “I’d rather face the gunman again than be stuck answering reporters who want to know what kind of underwear I prefer.”

  “I still think you missed the opportunity of a lifetime,” Cromartie said. “A lot of lovely ladies could have been yours for the asking.”

  “That wasn’t the assignment,” Dean replied, his mind conjuring up the image of Esma on board the E.S.D.F. Valkyrie once more.

  “The memories could have kept you warm when the Kroll attack,” Cromartie went on. “It’s good to know what you’re fighting for.”

  “If we fight,” Dean said, not really believing that a fight wasn’t coming.

  “Oh, there’s a fight coming,” Cromartie said. “There’s always a fight to be had, that’s for certain.”

  “The gunman was part of the Isolation and Liberation movement,” Nunes said, changing the subject. “One of the security officers recognized the ink on his chest. Their anti EsDef rhetoric is gaining momentum with the possibility of an attack by a hostile alien race.”

  “What in hell did the one legged bastard hope to accomplish by snuffing the Captain?” Cromartie said.

  “To prove that EsDef isn’t the powerful entity it claims. To show that we are vulnerable,” Dean said. “If they can kill me, what can a space faring enemy race do to us? We hold the line gentlemen. We’re the only thing between earth and a frightening galaxy full of enemies.”

  “So killing us will make them safer?” Cromartie said, indignantly.

  “No, but it might help their cause,” Dean admitted.

  “Enemies at the gate, enemies at your back,” Nunes said, and the three men grew silent as they pondered the truth of the Staff Sergeant’s declaration.

  The drive to the airport was uneventful. Staff Sergeant Nunes caught a taxi to the beach. Sergeant Cromartie used his airline miles to book a trip home. And Dean rented a Jeep. It was the old fashioned kind, no repulser lift, or auto navigation, it even burned actual gas, which was expensive but Dean didn’t mind. He had a bank account with plenty of funds, and a full day to enjoy before he received his own orders. The weather was sunny and warm, perfect driving conditions for a trip down the coast.

  Dean still felt a little shaky, and maneuvering a fully manual vehicle through the traffic around LAX didn’t help matters. He couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d come to being killed. He was accustomed to being around weapons and training for combat, but dodging the bullets of a madman was a different experience all together. The briny sea air, warm sunshine, and loud music pumping from the Jeep’s speakers helped, but deep inside he felt like a small child quaking at the thought of danger.

  Hours passed as Dean drove south. He stopped at a fueling station after escaping the swarming traffic in and around Los Angeles, that was near an inviting looking food truck. He purchased some fish tacos and watched the sun set into the ocean while he enjoyed his dinner. In his mind he felt assaulted by an array of fears. What if he wasn’t given a platoon to lead? What if the gunman hadn’t missed? What if the Kroll Empire attacked? What if it was all a deceptive ploy by the Urgglattas?

  Dean didn’t have any answers, and on top of it all he wondered about Esma light years away? Did they really have a future or was he just fooling himself? Perhaps Sergeant Cromartie had been right and Dean had wasted his fifteen minutes of fame, pining for Esma. More than anything he felt conflicted, as if he might go spinning off in a thousand directions at once. There were too many possibilities, too many unknowns. He preferred combat, a clear enemy, direct orders, and a sound strategy.

  It was pushing midnight by the time he rolled up to the gate at the Coronado training facility. He was tired, his back stiff, and his legs were restless. He needed sleep and then he could face whatever assignment the EsDef brass decided to give him. The sentry at the gate checked his credentials and then waved him through. At the officer’s quarters he was given an empty room for the night. He showered quickly, washing off the grime from his long drive and then stretched out on the narrow bed, thinking about his future, and trying to rest. It took a while, but eventually he drifted off to sleep, as the fear of recent events finally eased their hold on his mind.

  The next morning he grabbed chow and then headed over to the admin building where he reported for duty and was asked to grab a seat in a small conference room. The walls were lined with display monitors, and above those were digital chrono displays, each labeled with the location of various EsDef bases around the globe.

  Dean was forced to wait a full hour, tortured the entire time by endless doubts and numerous possibilities of where he might be stationed, and what duty he would be assigned. Finally, Major Dwight Jons came into the room. Dean jumped to his feet and saluted his superior officer. The Major smiled and returned the salute before sitting down and opening his data pad.

  “Captain,” he said, emphasizing the rank, “Blaze, damn good to have you back. It seems you went out and saved the world.”

  “Just doing my job, Major.”

  “Hell of a job, from what I hear. With a crazy Admiral breathing down your neck and threatening court marshals or worse. Not too many officers would have handled that situation the way you did.”

  “There was a lot at stake, sir.”

  “Damn, straight. I’d say the most ever, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m downloading some important information to your data link. It’s mostly common practices for recipients of the Planetary Medal of Honor. Now that you’ve finished the required PR tour, you get to pick your next assignment. I’ve got a spot open here at Coronado if you want it, but there’s plenty to choose from. You can serve at just about any base, planet side or space base, that you want. Or, if you so desire, you can take command of another platoon and head back out for your second off world tour.”

  “Sir? I get to choose?” Dean asked.

  “That’s right, perks of winning the highest commendation in the service. You know what you want to do, or do you want to take a few days to consider it?”

  “No sir, I’m ready.”

  “I thought you might be,” he said with a grin.

  “I’ll take another platoon, sir. That’s my choice.”

  “Good, that’s where you’re needed most. If these Kroll bastards come calling, I want you out there ready to meet them. I’ve got a class of CCS graduates just finishing up their paperwork. You can take your pick for platoon Staff Sergeant, then head up to Idaho and start drilling with your platoon. I doubt you’ll have much time though. From what I hear, the trouble out on Rome III is about to turn violent and if that happens every Recon platoon not on an assignment somewhere else will be called in. Check the list on your data link, then head on over to the CCS facility and you can meet the NCO’s in person.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dean said, standing quickly and saluting.

  “You honor me, Captain Blaze. It’s not everyday that I get saluted by a Planetary Medal of Honor winner.”

  Dean didn’t know how to respond, and the Major didn’t give him a chance. Running the Recon Specialist training base was a massive job and it kept Major Jons very busy. He left the room and Dean sat back down, retrieving his data pad and finding the lists that the Major had sent to him. He opened the list of Close Combat Specialists. Most platoon Staff Sergeants were CCS, the elite fighters came from other specialties and were given a shot at CCS only after they had proven experience in the field. They also had to reach the rank of Sergeant, which meant the pool of candidates for CCS training was small.

  Dean read through the list carefully. The names weren’t in alphabetical order and he slowly read each one, searching his memory in hopes of finding someone he could trust. He read through the brief personnel
file of each Staff Sergeant, learning a little about their past tours and former specialties. And then he came across a name he did recognize. In fact, the name on the list both surprised Dean, and made him somewhat proud. He closed the data pad and smiled, before setting off across the base toward the CCS facility with a spring in his step. Things were looking up, he thought to himself. Things were looking up indeed.

  Chapter 4

  The CCS training facility looked just like every other specialty building. It consisted of a large quonset hut that was divided between exercise equipment, training areas, and admin space. Most of the specialty facilities were very busy places, loud and sometimes even crowded. The Close Combat space was much more reserved. The Sergeants didn’t train with firearms, instead, all their time was spent learning to use bladed weapons, and hand to hand combat. Every Specialist in OWR was trained to fight, but the CCS sergeants were trained to kill quickly, and with very little resources.

  Dean wasn’t surprised to find the cavernous facility nearly empty. The graduating class was loitering near the admin area. They had already transmitted their applications to EsDef and were waiting for their assignments. Most would be sent to Bayview, which was part Recon base, part assembly area, to be assigned to platoons as needed. Dean would be going to the scenic base close to the Canadian border with whatever Staff Sergeant he choose to help lead his platoon. They would be assigned the rest of the platoon from the soldiers at Bayview and begin drilling together right away, but first he needed to have a conversation with one of his old Heavy Armor specialists.

  “Staff Sergeant Chavez!” Dean called out.

  “Captain on deck!” someone shouted and the entire group of Close Combat Specialists snapped to attention and saluted.

  “My, my, my, a real, bona fide, Medal of Honor recipient,” Captain Anderson said, saluting Dean with a smile.

  “Hello Captain,” Dean said.

  “Well, we’re of equal rank now. I guess you better call me Pete. It’s good to see you Dean.”

  “Thanks, it’s good to be back at Coronado.”

  “How long you staying?” Captain Anderson asked, ignoring the CCS troops gathering in close behind him.

  “Just a day or two. I need to collect a Staff Sergeant to reassemble my platoon.”

  “You’re going back out?”

  “Absolutely. Just as soon as I get back in shape.”

  “I thought you looked a little soft around the middle. I guess wining and dining the rich and famous has it’s draw backs.”

  “Does it ever,” Dean said. Then, turning to one of the tallest men gathered nearby he held out his hand. “Good to see you, Chavez.”

  “Captain,” the former HA Specialist said, shaking Dean’s hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Look at you, a Staff Sergeant. I thought you might branch out into the world after that last tour.”

  “I gave it some thought. I had some options, thanks to you, but in the end I decided this was where I was needed most.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. Would you be interested in being my Staff Sergeant? The Major already signed off if you’re willing.”

  “Sir!” Juaquin Chavez said, saluting Dean again. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Great, it’s good to have you on my team.”

  “Any idea where we’re going?”

  “Bayview for now. No idea after that.”

  Dean spent over an hour answering questions from the CCS graduates as their assignments came in over the EsDef network. Most of the questions were the same as those asked by the people Dean met on the media tour. Dean couldn’t give the soldiers any more information than he gave the media and celebrities he had met as he traveled around the world, and yet he wanted to tell them everything. Unfortunately, he honestly didn’t know the answers to most of their questions. He had spent more time communicating with the automated ship Berg 78615 than anyone else on his team, but he hadn’t learned anything about the Kroll Empire, which what the CCS troops and most of the people on earth, wanted to know about.

  They also asked about the assassination attempt, which was a major story on every news outlet. There wasn’t a lot to tell, and more than one camera had recorded the attack. The group of soldiers were both curious and outraged that someone would target one of their own. And then the jokes started. Dean had escaped unscathed, but his dive from the platform was less than flattering.

  Dean got a a flight assignment for 0630 the following morning, along with Staff Sergeant Chavez. They both had plenty to do to get ready so they said good-bye to the other troopers and set off for the evening. Dean had dinner in the officer’s mess, answering even more questions as the small mess hall was converted into the Officer’s Club for the evening. Drinks were served, but Dean abstained, and excused himself as quickly as he could. He was almost back to his quarters when a Corporal came riding up in an electric cart.

  “Sir?” he said, saluting.

  Dean returned the salute and looked questioningly at the soldier.

  “I’m looking for Captain Blaze,” the Corporal said.

  “You’ve found him.”

  “Great, there’s a woman looking for you at the gate. She says she knows you.”

  “I don’t think I do,” Dean said.

  “Her name is Miranda. She runs the swim shop down on Hampton beach. A real hottie if you don’t mind my saying.”

  Dean did mind, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he got into the cart with the Corporal who drove them back to the main gate. The Corporal was a talker, but Dean didn’t pay him much attention. Instead, he was focused on seeing his old girl friend. They hadn’t dated long, but she had left a strong impression on Dean, who had cut the relationship short knowing that he would be gone off world for years. He didn’t think it would be fair to Miriam to let their feelings for one another to continue growing, but knowing he had hurt her haunted him. Seeing her again was not something he had been prepared to do.

  She was standing next to the guard shack, on the far side of the large metal gate. It was dark out, but the entrance to the base was bathed in bright artificial light from large halogen lamp posts. Dean could see that Miriam had curt her hair short, and she was wearing a dress and flip flops. Just the sight of her made Dean’s heart beat a little faster. He stepped out of the cart just as the Corporal brought it to a stop near the guard shack.

  “Hi Dean,” she said.

  “Miranda, I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “What do you mean, I live around here. I thought you might have come back. I heard about the attack in LA.”

  “Everyone has, I guess. The footage of me running for my life and doing a belly flop off the stage went viral.”

  She giggled at his description. The footage of Dean dashing away from the other representatives on stage at the reception in Los Angeles had been portrayed as another heroic action by a dedicated soldier. If Dean had run the opposite direction it would have put the other people on the platform at risk, and the media gave him credit for saving the day, although it had actually been Cromartie and Nunes that put the mad gunman down.

  “I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.”

  “I had good protection,” Dean said, slipping under the gate. “You want to go for a walk?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and walked beside Miranda. They were both well, their families also, and the small talk seemed a little awkward at first, but they soon warmed to each other. Still, Dean knew what was coming and he hated to break the news to Miranda.

  “How long are you in San Diego?” she asked.

  “Just tonight. I leave in the morning.”

  “Oh,” she said, not trying to conceal her disappointment. “I’ve thought about you a lot.”

  “I think about you too,” he said.

  “It’s kind of hard not to since you’re on the news every other day.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t my idea.” />
  “No, I’m proud of you Dean. You’re a hero.”

  “I don’t think of it that way. I just did my job.”

  “Well, they don’t give that medal you got to everyone who does their job.”

  “It was a publicity stunt, honestly. Just a way to spin the news and put the fact that we acquired an Urgglatta ship in a positive light.”

  “I think it’s more than that,” Miranda said. “I did a little research and I read that Planetary Medal of Honor winners get to choose their next assignment. Why didn’t you choose to stay here?”

  “I’m an Off World Recon officer, that’s where I’m needed.”

  “What about what I need?” she said, with a touch of anger in her voice. “Do you ever think about that? Was I just another notch on your bedpost?”

  “No,” Dean said. “You know that.”

  "I don't know anything of the kind,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “All I wanted to do was get over you, and suddenly you’re everywhere I look, every television show, newspaper and magazine. Maybe there’s a reason for that. Maybe I’m not supposed to get over you, Dean.”

  “I don't believe in fate,” he said.

  “Well maybe I do. And maybe love is stronger than both of us.”

  “Love?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking down at the dark street.

  “Miranda, I care about you, I really do. And perhaps if things were different we could be together. But I’m a soldier, it’s my dream. I can’t give that up.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “But it isn’t fair to either one of us. I’ll be gone, for years at a time, with no way to contact you. What kind of life is that?”

  “Isn't that my choice?”

  “No, it’s our choice. I have a say in this too, and it isn’t what I want.”

  “Dean, you can be a soldier right here. You can shoot guns and blow stuff up and be with me.”

  She stopped in front of him, putting one hand on his chest and looking up at his face. There was such longing in her eyes that Dean nearly gave in. He felt so cruel saying no to her, but he knew he wanted more. Being with Miriam would be a great life, but he was meant for the stars and he couldn’t deny his dreams.