Five people stand on the topdeck of the skyfurnace R.S.S. Konstantinov in the hour before dawn. Kyuzo looms over a furiously glaring Makita -- who did not come onboard the Red skyfurnace willingly -- a gun in his hand. Chief Engineer Torin smokes a cigarette with his arms folded over his barrel chest, coat thrown hastily over his uniform. Maya ( Read more... )

His ship is burning.

His ship is burning, and in the heartbeats of silence between explosions, Skymarshall Urik Antares prowls the length of the observation deck, the controlled chaos of the Konstantinov's command center sealed away behind blast doors ( Read more... )

The desert was almost completely empty. Two figures stood in immaculate uniforms watching as the aerial transport swept over for a landing. The older figure, a man with a graying mustache and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, turned to his companion.


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If the recon holds up, Urik said yesterday, this whole mess should be over by 15:00 hours.

Thanks, Uri, Alex thinks bitterly, huddling behind a flaming krawl at 15:30, in a break between shouting at her comm. She's starting to get hoarse -- from bellowing orders over gunfire and over the goddamned screaming 'Gorkas, and from yelling at this ( Read more... )