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  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “I don’t think you are,” she said, turning away.

  Dean was just about to say more, to explain how great she was and how much he really did care for her, but a dark sedan pulled to a stop on the street beside them. Dean moved to stand between the car and Miranda, as the rear door opened and a man in a suit stood up.

  “Captain Dean Blaze?” said asked.

  “Yes,” Dean said.

  “I’m special agent Humphrey, FBI. We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Now really isn’t a good time,” Dean said, glancing back at Miranda, who had moved to his right just a little and was staring wide eyed at the man in the suit.

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s true. But we really must insist. If you could join us please.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dean said to Miranda.

  She nodded, and swiped at her nose with a tissue. Dean felt like a jerk as he stepped off the curb and slid into the seat of the dark car. Miranda watched him go, and stood all alone in the dark as Dean was whisked away by the FBI. The assurance he had felt earlier in the day was slipping away as his life seemed suddenly pulled in different directions again. He didn’t know what he would do if he missed his flight early the next morning, but the FBI agent didn’t seem to care about his orders at all. He sat impassively on the leather seat next to Dean as the car drove swiftly through the city, and a feeling of dread settled over Dean that the young Captain couldn’t seem to shake.

  Chapter 5

  They stopped in front of a tall building in downtown San Diego. There was no signage on the building, and the lobby was only dimly lit. Dean assumed they were in the FBI headquarters for the San Diego area, but he had no way of knowing for certain.

  They took an elevator up to the thirteenth floor and Dean was escorted into a small room. There were no windows in the room, just a table with a chair on either side. The florescent lights seemed unusually bright, and Dean felt like he was in an old fashioned detective show, about to be grilled by the savvy rogue cop trying to break the case. Instead, Humphrey followed him in and sat down at the small table. He pulled out a data pad not all that different from the one in Dean’s pocket.

  “Captain, please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the other chair.

  “What’s going on here?” Dean asked. “Am I in some kind of trouble?”

  “Just a simple debrief. We have your statement that you gave to the Los Angeles police after the shooting yesterday, but it’s a federal case now and we want to make sure we have everything we need from you before you’re sent off world.”

  “Alright,” Dean said, sitting down. “But I’m not sure what more I can tell you.”

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning. Tell me what happened.”

  “I was doing a panel discussion as part of the media tour the EsDef sent me on. I was asked a question and I stood up to answer it. The gunman stood up in the back row and raised his weapon. I ran for cover. He shot up the place, before being killed by my security escort. That’s really all I know.”

  “When did you realize that Mister Jones was a threat?”

  “Who?”

  “The gunman, his name was Edward Washington Jones. When did you realize he was a threat?”

  “When I saw his weapon,” Dean replied.

  “And with a room full of people, how did you manage to see the gunman in time to avoid fire from his automatic rifle?”

  “Like I said, he stood up.”

  “Weren’t there other people standing?”

  “Yes, mostly reporters and the security agents.”

  “So what was different about Mister Jones?”

  “Well, first of all he was in the audience that was seated,” Dean explained. “Secondly, he swayed off balance for a moment, before taking hold of the chair in front of him. I was looking at the audience. It didn’t seem out of place so much as different. That’s what got my attention.”

  “Did you know Mister Jones?”

  “No, I had never seen him before yesterday.”

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “I’m certain I didn’t know him. Why?”

  “We’ve traced his recent travels,” the FBI agent said. “He was in the last four cities that you were in, at the same times as you. Madrid, San Paulo, Chicago, and Los Angeles.”

  “I went where I was ordered to go,” Dean said. “If the gunman was in those places I didn’t know it.”

  “You didn’t see him at any of the other events?”

  “Not to my knowledge. I met a lot of people. They all started to blend together after a while.”

  Agent Humphrey pulled up a photo on his data pad. It showed the dead gunman’s face. Dean saw the tattoos rising up his out of the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t recognize him.

  “Are you sure you hadn’t seen him before?”

  “I don’t recognize him. Should I?”

  The FBI agent stared at Dean as if he had just uttered a curse.

  “Captain, we are trying to solve a very complicated crime here.”

  “I appreciate that, but I don’t really know what I have to do with it other than being a target.”

  “Have you heard of the Earth Alone movement?”

  “No, I have not,” Dean said.

  “It’s a separatist movement that doesn’t believe humans should colonize other planets.”

  “They’re a little late, aren’t they?”

  “They also claim that you invented the story about the Kroll Empire to help stem the tide of human expansion. Is this true?”

  “Absolutely not. I’m an officer in the Extra Solar Defense Force. My discovery aboard the Urgglatta ship was well documented. We’ve got hundreds of scientists studying the data. I couldn’t have made a story like that up.”

  “Yes, well, it’s our job to follow up on any claim that might cause mass hysteria. You’re report about this new alien race is a bit like shouting fire in a crowded theater.”

  “I guess so,” Dean said.

  “And there are people claiming that our efforts to colonize other planets is what is drawing the danger to Earth.”

  “I thought you said I supposedly made that up.”

  “What I said was that a separatist group made that claim. And then a man, you claim to have never met, who has strong ties to the Earth Alone movement, shot up a room full of people.”

  “I’m still not seeing the connection,” Dean said. “What do I have to do with that crime?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to determine.”

  For nearly four hours Dean was grilled by special agent Humphrey. He was asked to tell his story again and again, then questioned relentlessly, about his travels, his background, his family, and his connection to the gunman. Dean answered every question, doing his best to cooperate even though he was exhausted and frustrated. He had thought that debriefs by EsDef senior officers was intense, but the FBI was even worse. It was dawn when they finally released Dean. He had less than an hour to get back to the base, gather his things, and board the aircraft that would take him to his next assignment.

  “We appreciate your cooperation,” Humphrey said.

  “I’m not sure how much help I actually was,” Dean said.

  “We may have more questions,” the agent stated as he pushed the button for the elevator.

  “If so, contact EsDef directly,” Dean said, happy that Humphrey didn’t try to follow him onto the elevator.

  “Good luck, Captain.”

  “Thank you.”

  The doors closed and Dean breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing his eyes and cursing his luck. He didn’t have a ride back to the base, and there were no taxi’s in sight. He tried to call for one using his wrist link, but there was no answer. It was 0545 in the morning and the streets were nearly deserted. Dean was tired, but he didn’t have a choice. He started jogging, trying the taxi service every few minutes and keeping an eye out for any alternative that might get hi
m back to the base. If he was going to catch his flight he didn’t have a minute to spare.

  It was six O’clock before he able to reach one of the many taxi services, and another ten minutes before he was picked up. He reached the EsDef base with only minutes to spare. Luckily, all his belongings were still packed in his ruck sack that was in the room he’d been assigned to in the Officer’s quarters. He had one of the guards drive him over to pick up his pack, then rush him out to the air strip.

  The plane was an older model, used mostly for transporting supplies. It was filled with graduates who were headed to Bayview before being assigned to Recon platoons. Dean moved quickly up the ramp and settled into the seat Chavez was saving for him.

  “I was beginning to wonder LT… I mean Captain,” he said with a sheepish grin. “You look like hell, sir. Late night?”

  “I was being questioned by the FBI,” Dean said in a quiet voice. He didn’t mind talking with Chavez, and was actually looking forward to building a platoon with him, but he didn’t want to announce his business to the entire cargo hold full of soldiers.

  Chavez didn’t reply, he just looked at Dean with raised eyebrows.

  “The shooting in L.A.”

  The latino Staff Sergeant nodded sagely.

  “I thought that would be handled by the locals,” he said. “Or Homeland if it was a terrorist act.”

  “Well, this was FBI. Apparently some loony group is saying that I made the report of the Kroll Empire up simply to thwart human expansion.”

  “That’s why the gunman tried to snuff you? Keep you from telling the story?”

  “No, apparently he was one of them?”

  “That don’t make no sense, Captain.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Dean agreed. “Neither did the questions they insisted I answer, over and over again all night.”

  Dean stretched his legs and couldn’t help but long for the posh seats on board the commercial airliners. His seat on the EsDef aircraft was a plain metal bench, with a five point harness connected to the hull of the plane. When Dean rested his head against the metal he could feel the vibration of the wind friction and the roar of the engines.

  “They always want to drag in the victims. I been questioned plenty. Federales back home, police on leave here in the states, even MP’s on base. It’s always the same.”

  “Well it was my first time, and I didn’t enjoy it.”

  “Welcome to my world, Jefe,” Chavez said with a smile.

  “There’s no need to share this with anyone,” Dean said.

  “No need, but lots of reasons,” the Staff Sergeant said with a smile. “Don’t worry, Captain, your secret criminal life is safe with me.”

  “Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?”

  Chavez spread his hands innocently, then leaned his head back and smiled. Dean closed his eyes, his fatigue overcoming the discomfort of his surroundings. The next thing he knew, the plane was descending toward the base in Idaho. Dean rubbed his face, poked Chavez who was asleep beside him, and got ready for landing. It was a bumpy touchdown, but the aircraft landed safely. Then the big hatch opened, and a frosty gust of wind met them.

  “Clean mountain air,” Chavez said.

  “Let’s go get our platoon Staff Sergeant,” Dean said.

  “Yes, Captain,” Chavez replied. “With pleasure.”

  Chapter 6

  Bayview was one of Dean’s favorite places. He loved the mountains with their towering evergreen trees. Snow had already dusted the peaks, giving them a distinct look. Colder weather was coming, and Dean thought the chill was bracing.

  They went immediately to the admin center and began looking at the roster of troops. Dean was thrilled to find Corporal Adkins, Raymond D. was at Bayview and available to join Dean’s platoon.

  “Go find Adkins,” Dean said. “The two of you pick our HA troopers.”

  “Yes sir,” Chavez said.

  Dean was amazed at the once belligerent Chavez. He had been resentful, questioning Dean’s every order but also proving himself more than capable during the fighting on Newton Six. It had been Chavez who made the final decision to trust Dean on the Urgglatta ship when it had been racing toward earth and Admiral Hamilton had been calling for Dean’s head. Chavez could have shot Dean in that moment, completely justified by military reasoning, and yet he had chosen to trust his Lieutenant and that had made all the difference.

  Dean was also glad he had a second person on his team that he knew and could rely on while the platoon went through the difficult process of acting as a singular unit. Adkins was an easy going HA Specialist, and had trained with Dean in Coronado. He could trust Chavez and Adkins to select the other five members of the Heavy Armor line. All that was left for Dean to see to was selecting two Fast Attack Specialists, a Demo team, and one Sniper. There was no one else in the rosters of available troops that Dean knew personally, so he took the advice of the officers in charge to fill out his platoon.

  That afternoon, as thick gray clouds rolled in from the west, Dean met with his unit. They were a good looking lot, lined up at attention just outside the barracks they had just moved into after being selected for Dean’s platoon. Chavez was all the way to the right, and beside him towered the Heavy Armor specialists. Dean looked at the stenciled patch on each man’s chest. HA was the only speciality that was dominated by men. The heavy armor required massive amounts of growth hormone and strength enhancing drugs. The HA division often looked like a body building contest when they were lined up together.

  The six of the big men stared straight ahead as Dean walked slowly past them. He had memorized their name and ranks, but it was good to start putting faces to those names. The senior man was Robert “Bear” D’Vris, a Sergeant with almost two decades of experience. He was the largest man on the line and the gray in his hair made Dean wonder if the hormones the brass fed the HA troopers were really as safe as they claimed. The team had two Corporals, Adkins who Dean knew well, and Antonio “Tank” Pimrey, a dark complected man who was practically covered in tattoos and spoke with a British accent.

  The three Privates were all new recruits, which surprised Dean in a way. He had expected that Chavez, once an HA Specialist himself, would want a more seasoned team, but Dean had let his Staff Sergeant choose the line, and he would have to trust him. Trey Carver, Tony “Atlas” Wilson, and Christian Kliner, were all African-Americans straight out of HA training. To Dean’s eye they looked eager to prove themselves. Each one was massive, their shoulders and thick chests strained the seams of their utility fatigues.

  Next were the Fast Attack specialists, Sergeant Emily Harper, and Corporal Catherine “Cat” Valosky. Harper was Irish with flaming red hair, and a mischivous look in her eyes. Cat was Russian and stoic, with very short hair, and a scar from her forehead over her right eye, almost to her ear.

  The sniper was a tall, lanky Texan named Grady Brodus. He grew a regulation mustache, which Dean noticed was well trimmed and oiled. He was also a Sergeant with six off world tours and an excellent service record. He could have been a Staff Sergeant or a Close Combat Specialist, but he loved shooting and was happy being on the team, with no desire to lead one.

  The last two people in line were the demo team. Sergeant Eleanor Tallgrass was a full blooded member of the Crow nation, with dark skin, black hair, and piercing eyes. She was thickly built, and Dean could see her well muscled shoulders in her tight fitting fatigues. Her partner was Grayson Herbert Chancy III, a Corporal whose father was a Rear-Admiral in the EsDef navy.

  “I suppose some of you have questions,” Dean said. “They’ll have to wait. Yes, I’m Captain Dean Blaze, that Captain Blaze, the one you’ve seen on the news. Staff Sergeant Chavez and Corporal Adkins were with me when we captured the Urgglatta ship. We could have moved on, taken easy assignments here on Earth, but we chose to serve with a platoon instead.”

  Dean was stretching the truth a little, Adkins and Chavez didn’t have much of a choice in their assignments, but
Dean did and he had chosen them. That, in his mind, was significant.

  “We will train together, fight together, work, sweat, and bleed together. That is what we do, because we are Force Recon, the first in the fight, the tip of the spear. And make no mistake, the entire human race will be watching us. I’m one of the youngest Captain’s in EsDef, and not because I’m special, but because it was good PR for the service. I didn’t choose to be paraded around the world and plastered on the cover of magazines, just as you didn’t choose to be in my Wolf Pack. But you are wolves now, and you will act like wolves. We will carry out every assignment with precision, efficiency, and lethal intent. Failure is no longer in your vocabulary. Giving up is not an option. Death may find you, but you won’t go alone and you won’t go easy. This is my platoon and I will accept nothing less. Is that clear?”

  “Yes Captain!” the twelve members of Dean’s platoon shouted in unison.

  “Good, now lets get busy. I want weapons and armor cleaned, loaded, and ready for field exercises before lights out. Staff Sergeant Chavez, see to it. I’ll send my training schedule to your data link by 2300 hours. Platoon, dismissed.”

  Dean stood back and watched as his soldiers relaxed and headed into their barracks. It was getting colder by the minute and rain was starting to fall from the dark gray clouds above. Chavez nodded to Dean, then followed the platoon indoors. When they were all inside, Dean walked swiftly back to his own quarters. The officers stationed at Bayview had good sized rooms with private baths, desks for paperwork, and Dean’s favorite feature of all, windows that looked out over the lake and mountains.

  He was cold and wet by the time he reached his quarters. He immediately stripped off his clothes and got into a hot shower, letting the water work out some of the tension that had built up over the last few days. Getting shot at, seeing Miranda again, and getting questioned by the FBI had left him exhausted. Seeing his new platoon had been both exciting and a little nerve wracking. A few extra minutes in the shower enjoying the hot water that cascaded across his tight shoulders was warranted.