CHAPTER ONE

        It was never easy telling a loved one you were being sent to war.

        She sat across from him, a goddess in a white lab coat. Golden hair fell past her shoulders. Her hands clasped her tea gently. Outside the window of the cafe, speeders zipped past.

“What?” She asked, disbelief heavy in her voice.

        Marcus ran his hand through his buzzed hair. He crossed his arms, his newly earned Corporal insignia brandishing his crimson uniform.

“I have to leave. Tomorrow.” He repeated, his eyes looking at his black coffee. Still untouched.

        “But you just got back,” she said. “Why can’t someone else go?”

        Because the whole Martian fleet is going. He thought grimly. Because we’re outnumbered.

“There’s no one else.” He said dismissively.

        A light flickered through her eyes. She knew.

“This is about Deimos,” she said.

        Unbidden, memories flashed before him. The Earth warship glassing the moon and the garrison there. As he flew towards it in his Bladeship, over four thousand soldier were killed. He knew many of the men and women there. They had trained him, taught him how to fly. Made him a man.

        Marcus couldn’t find words for her.

        “Please tell me you’re not going to Earth,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.

        Marcus looked around, ensuring no one had heard. The cafe’s other patrons were busy, absorbed in their own conversations.

“You can’t say anything Kate. Not even to your dad.”

        Tears fell down her soft cheeks. She shook her head.

“You can’t go. You’re not a violent man Marcus.”

        He reached across the table, putting his hand on hers.

        How long had he loved her? Long before he joined the Martian Fleet. He couldn’t recall a time he didn’t love her. It was something as constant as time. Or gravity.

        “I have to.” Is all he could bring himself to say.

        Kate wiped her eyes with her napkin, reaching behind her neck, she unclasped her necklace. A small chunk of a meteor, hung on a fine silver chain.

“I want you to hold onto this.” She said, passing it to him over the table. She stood up.

        “Kate, wait.”

        “You can give it back to me when you come home.” She said, putting her jacket on. She left without another word.

        Marcus sat there, numb.

“I love you.” He said to the empty seat across from him.

        Marcus Aderes, Pilot of the Martian Fleet awoke to klaxons. They rang loudly across the crew quarters of the Warship Sabretooth. Red lights flashed, in case the siren wasn’t terrifying enough.

        He bolted out of bed, hearing the rushed footsteps of other Pilots as they dressed.

        He ran through the common room and into the hallway, putting his feet into the legs of his Flight suit. A hydraulically assisted suit of armour that allowed him to survive the heavy G forces. It would protect him against some small arms fire, but that’s not what it was designed for. It featured an oxygen supply, and a nitrogen based propulsion pack.

        Marcus pulls the meteorite necklace from underneath his t-shirt, kissing it gently for luck. With a groan, he heaves the upper half of the suit onto his torso, listening as the back clasps together.

        “Hornburg?” He called out to the group of Pilots.

        Sergeant Hamlin gave him a cursory glance, fitting his helmet on he left the hallway, heading to the Flight deck.

        “Right here dipshit.” A voice said from behind him, the voice was masked by the electronic speakers of the crimson helmet.

        Marcus fitted his own helmet, clapping his wingman on the shoulder.

“Stay safe brother,” he said. They locked eyes through their visor for a moment. Thousands of things left unsaid.

        “You too.” Hornburg said with his wide, easy smile.

        Marcus left the hallway at a sprint. Klaxons still rang overhead, but he only heard the sound of his own breathing. Normally the Squadron would chat over the comms. Not today.

        The doors opened up to the Flight deck, it was relatively small. Only 150 meters wide. Compared to the Flight deck above them that housed two hundred Jespa Fighter ships and stretched the full 1.5 kilometres of the ship.

        But this deck was home to Bladeship’s. The elite Pilots of the Martian Fleet flew them. There were sixteen of them, broken down to four Lance’s of four.

        Marcus followed Hornburg and Sergeant Hamlin to the far end of the deck, armoured feet rapping on the metal floor.

        Grey was already climbing the wing of his ship. Around them, Blade squadron mobilized.

        Marcus reached his, the leek mirrored hull reflecting his crimson armour. He mounted the wing, sliding himself into the opened seed pod.

        It was a long oval shaped pod, that cushioned the Pilot perfectly. From inside, the Pilot operated the ship while laying flat on his back. It was extremely disorienting the first few times, but they offered protection from just about anything. Which was important on a fighter that relied on speed, agility and stealth.