THE ASSAULT ship sat in the makeshift bay pending a software upgrade after an emergency landing for repairs. The cold, dry wind howled relentlessly, serving as a cloak for a pending clandestine operation.
Specialist Joseph Brunner remained crouched in the shadows. The rest of the members of the six-person tactical team were hidden, awaiting the order from their leader, Garon Rogal, to board the scantily guarded vessel.
Their mission, to steal an intact Stinger Class assault ship from the ka’Thar, was crazy, to say the least. Even crazier was breaking into an OmniClon Universal (OCU) outpost to do it. The resistance knew that the OCU had state-of-the-art equipment, making the task nearly impossible. Also, they had access to advanced technology supplied by their alliance partner, the ka’Thar. Essentially, the team had volunteered for a suicide mission.
In desperation, the Free Humanity Movement (FHM), the resistance force fighting for the liberation of humanity represented as the Versapiens, had hastily sent a small team to hijack the ship. No one had ever accomplished such a feat, and nothing this risky had even been attempted. The resistance had lost entire tactical teams to less daunting missions. But the grand prize made the cost in lives worth the risk.
Brunner was not supposed to be there. He had not planned his life that way. Although he volunteered to fight for the resistance, he never wanted to be a soldier. He thought he could contribute somehow in other ways. With a genius IQ, Brunner was more comfortable behind a desk, punching away on a keyboard, building computer models, programming, and analyzing data.
But today, the FHM did not need him behind a desk. Instead, they needed his on-the-fly expertise with uploading a virus into the target ship’s system to allow the small tactical team the ability to access the core systems and steal the ship. Brunner’s skills were needed for a critical role in the mission. The pressure he felt was beyond anything he had ever experienced.
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Twenty-Four Hours Earlier
“Can we trust this intel?” asked Lieutenant Garon Rogal.
“It’s good. I vouch for the source with my life,” answered Herm Mellitz, the Intelligence Officer.
“We need you to put a team together, and do it fast,” said Commander Statton. “You have a twenty-four-hour window before the ship joins the ranks of the OCU’s regular fleet. There is no telling when we’ll get such an opportunity again.”
Rogal furrowed his brows. The intel was like a gift from heaven, and it would be a waste not to act on it. It wasn’t every day a ka’Thar ship required emergency service from an OCU outpost. Especially from an easily accessible outpost with an established routine. He perceived many areas of concern. This could be their first and last opportunity to acquire an assault ship of their own. If they failed, their hand would be revealed, and the OCU would surely tighten up security measures to counter any future attempts.
“Under normal circumstances, it would take at least a month to plan and train for such a mission, and the outcome at best would be eighty percent successful,” said Rogal. “But these aren’t normal circumstances. We’ve been hit hard by the OCU, losing over fifty percent of our forces these past six months.” His demeanor hardened, having warned Command against squandering resources needlessly in low-yield, high-casualty missions.