Echoes of the Storm

Chapter 38

"Drop your weapons!" The Riga special ops team fanned out in the Ops Center, their blast rifles not discriminating between friend and enemy. Hummel and Costarossa complied with the order quickly.

Jack looked up at the spec ops team leader who hovered beside him. The commander acknowledged him and Hummel. "Friendlies," he told his men, pointing to them and handing an X-4 back to Hummel.

"Good timing, Commander," Jack said. He smiled down at Tic, and brushed his fingers across Tic's sweaty brow.

The commander eyed the blood on Hummel's face and clothes. "Either of you need a medic?" He waved over a medpac-carrying sergeant just entering Ops.

"Lancer's down with a leg wound, bitchin' like a master chief," the baby-faced medic said, pointing back down the corridor. "I'll triage here. Doc and his team are coming up the stairs." He spotted Jack comforting Tic, then his gaze slipped to Norse and Berg. Other soldiers lifted Droga off the floor and propped him in a chair. "Where should I start?"

"I'll live," Hummel said. "Jack got smashed into a wall."

Jack grunted, but waved away his concern. "Fog needs help." Norse might be worse off, but he wanted his friends treated first, damn the rules of war. Even if Norse had played by them, Jack no longer cared. He thumbed away dirt on Tic's cheek. "Head wound, broken body parts," he told the medic.

"Maggie?" Tic tried to move and groaned.

Jack glanced over his shoulder. One broad-chested soldier was eyeing Costarossa's uniform. "She's ours," he told the man. "Blaster wound."

"I'm fine," Costarossa called.

Jack squeezed Tic's hand. "She's lying. But she'll be all right." He turned to the medic, tipping his chin toward Norse and the other Galilei. "Tic and Costarossa first, then Norse. The other two—nothing life threatening."

The medic was on his knees by Tic. "How's your head? Just a graze?" He pulled a sterile cloth from his pack and cleaned the blood away, then swabbed some anesthetic ointment on the wound. Boot prints were smudged but visible on Tic's fatigues. "That shoulder looks painful." He unbuttoned Tic's shirt, and then probed the darkening bruises on Tic's chest and stomach. "Two broken ribs. May have some internal bleeding. You're a mess, sir, but doc's team will fix you up. No lacrosse for a few weeks, you hear?"

Tic managed a smile. "Please check on Maggie."

"Will do," the medic said.

"Norse?" Tic asked Jack.

"He did this to you." Jack didn't want to say anything more about Norse. "But you and Saber kept hundreds of crusaders out of the skies."

Tears welled in Tic's eyes. He took a shaky breath. "They executed him."

Jack shuddered, adrenaline from the rush of the confrontation in Ops draining away like sand through a sieve. He held Tic tightly to shut out the emptiness, and closed his eyes to keep back his own tears. "I'm so sorry."

"Norse?" Tic repeated.

Blinking, Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "He's down."

"Still breathing?" Tic asked.

"Apparently. The commander is with him." Jack rubbed his eyes. Exhaustion was kicking in, and the last thing he wanted was to talk about Norse. "You look like a plate of overripe kowe."

"Don't change the subject." Tic sucked in air and coughed. The med tech's painkillers hadn't kicked in, but he seemed determined to say more, even if it meant every word was a struggle. "You did tell Norse where he could sti—"