Mitah sighed as he watched the approach of five more shuttles. They were not even designed for the type of fighting they were attempting to drag him into. With a grunt he gave them what they had come for and engaged with them.

  Before he was able to fire at the first shuttle, Mitah found himself swarmed. He was forced to maneuver with quick dodges, ducking at the last minute and weaving between enemy fire. His tsked his displeasure. They were too close to used his own weapons. Worse, they were pushing him closer to the compound.

  With each attempt he made to move further away from the compound, the harder the enemy shuttles managed to block him in. He had to admit that while the shuttles were not geared for this kind of battle, whomever was piloting truly seemed to know what they were doing.

  Try as they might they were unable to overpower his battle shuttle. Mitah was proving that all those fighting simulation, every pilot course was paying back in dividends. He might be holding his own, but the cost was his need to remain in close combat; which prevented all shuttles from firing on each other.

  The six shuttles were caught in a rivetingly endless dance. They wove around each other as though they had synchronized their movements. It was a stellar display of piloting skill; full of near misses and sudden drops. At any other time Mitah might have enjoyed the endeavour. As it was, he needed to find a way to end the stalemate he was caught in. he knew better then to get stuck in a state of attrition, but he was beginning to wonder if them running out of fuel was his only recourse.

  Mitah was certain that he should have been more frustrated than he was, but was unable to dig up the wherewithal to truly feel anything beyond apathy. The only joy that came with flying was the instinctual maneuverability of his shuttle that kept him invested in the fight and from taking dangerous and unnecessary risks. He had to admit the alien ship handled like a dream. It was as if they were one and the same; one mind, one body. The responses were almost instantaneous.

  A blip from the radar notified him of the arrival of three more shuttles. These ones appeared far better equipped for battle. The radar plotted the trajectory of the two shuttles that broke away. They were headed for the compound. The third shuttle fired at the gnats surrounding him. There was instantly black smoke trailing behind one of the shuttles. No longer able to maintain flight it was forced to land.

  Mitah wanted to whoop when two of the enemy shuttles shifted their course and went after the newcomer. Now that he had assistance it was not going to be long before he was free of the irritants. Since there were two shuttles no longer focused on him, he took aim and left another shuttle with little choice but to land.

  The last three shuttles proved themselves to be more dogged than the others. While they stayed close to either him or the newcomer making attacking them difficult, they were not managing to any major damage to either shuttle. By then, Mitah was getting a feel for how the pilots reacted. So, he waited. When one shuttle engaged him in a short game of chicken, he waited for the other shuttle to swerve then he fired at the wing.

  As the damaged shuttle spiraled to the ground, Mitah’s radio signaled an incoming message.

  “Alpha Zeneth One greets Alpha One. The second in command sent us to assist you.”

  “Who am I talking to?”

  “I am unnamed, sir.”

  “Well not for long. You are proving you can hold your own. I’ll make sure that Alpha knows of your dedication,” Mitah dodged an incoming shuttle. “In the mean time your name is Zwazo Predatè it means bird of prey.”

  For a moment there was silence, then Zwazo Predatè answered with. “Oowah!”

  The struggle between the four shuttles continued. Their dance no less elegant for the lost of fighters. Yet there came a point where all dances had to end. The same was true of the current battle. Mitah and Zwazo Predatè searched for their chance to strike. Getting nowhere Mitah had an idea.

  He halted his forward motion. That action threw the whole dance out of alignment. The shuttle behind Mitah had to veer away or collide with Mitah. Zwazo Predatè was on the ball and wasted no time taking aim. His shot hit its mark and force the enemy shuttle to land or crash. Now Mitah gave a whoop.

  Out numbered the last enemy shuttle decided to take a chance at escape and scuttled away. Mitah was not so generous as to allow the escape and took a shot at the wing. Part of the wing sheered away and it was clear that the pilot had lost control. Even still there was an attempt at stabilizing its descent as best as was possible.

  “Now that,” Mitah shouts through the radio. “Is how its done. Zwazo Predatè how many warriors are aboard your shuttle?”

  “Thirty, sir.”

  Mitah nodded. “Good use them to gather up the nine pilots. I like the way they flew; mostly. Since they attacked an imperial compound, I am betting things are about to go bad for them. I am going to tell Alpha about their skill and hope she lets me have them. No point wasting good flight skills.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “When you have the pilots, rendezvous with Ni’yell.”

  “Yes, sir!” Zwazo Predatè veered off and began his descent to collect the unsuspecting pilots.

  Mitah sighed. It felt like an endless battle. Not that it was any different from any other mission that they had faced. Yet, somehow this felt…pivotal. As though he had crossed a line in his skill. On an exhale he radioed his team leader.

  “Skies are all clear Rennick. I sent my aid to fetch the pilots and told him to join us when he finished. Anything I can do from up here?”

  Desohta

  Just waking after a four-hour downtime, Desohta swung his legs off the makeshift bed and rested his forearms on his knees. Without opening his eyes, he calculated his next tasks. He stood and stretched before he set to checking his medical supplies. He always made sure that everything was where it was supposed to be and that nothing was missing. Just as he was closing his bag the first explosion went off; rattling the walls of the building he was in.

  Thankfully, Rennick had seen fit to ensure there were plenty of medical supplies. The quartermaster had apparently given the panther a bit of a hard time over Desohta’s Wishlist. It had taken two days to pack the supplies in the backpacks the way he wanted, but the mercenaries two healers, Reahab and Deisha, had been grateful to receive extra supplies.

  The sound of gun fire intermingled with explosions was getting more intense. Yet Desohta knew that rushing could cost lives. So, he focused on ensuring he had what he needed. Reaching for a second back pack, he double checked its supplies and added extra bandages.

  Desohta quickly took the time to make sure his pockets were equipped with items he was going to need for emergency triage; he also equipped two daggers: one on right thigh and one in left boot. As prepared as he was able, he set out to determine where his skills were needed most.

  Outside the building he had been in was still quiet, but he noted dark smoke rising to his left. At a jog, he monitored every pathway he passed as he searched for the cause of the fire. He hoped it was not the generators. As he passed a partially blocked pathway. There he located three bodies. He was able to tell from the stillness that one of the three bodies had passed to the next life. The other two he might yet save.

  Training kicked in like the instinct to breath as he assessed if it was safe to move the two warriors. Finding them stable enough he splinted the mercenary’s broken leg and bandaged his head to slow the bleeding. He also packed a shallow wound in the warrior’s side after rinsing it until it bled clear.

  Restlessly the mercenary struggled to rise. Desohta spoke with a calm, firm voice to reassure his patient that he was doing everything he was able to assist. The mercenary groaned but stayed down. Moving to the second body, Desohta discovered the cut in the gut was too deep and the blood too dark to be able to save the Purity fighter. So, he soothed the desperate woman and held her as she died.

  Realizing there were about to be a great deal of wounded, Desohta radioed his team leader.

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  “Go fast,” Rennick ordered in a clipped voice.

  “Where are we taking the wounded?”

  Rennick sighed. “There is nowhere to take them for triage at the moment. I need you to do the best you can where you find them. I will send people to round up the wounded as soon as the fighting ends.”

  “Roger.” Desohta knelt in the dirt and grimaced. Moving over to the wounded warrior he murmured. “I need you to remain as calm as you can and to not move. I know that is not an easy thing to ask, but you have a head wound and a badly broken left leg. What I have done will not support you if you move too much.    The mercenary winced when he tried to nod.

  “Someone will be back for you, so hold on.” Desohta stood.

  Every pathway became a testament to determination as Desohta attempted to save every life he encountered. Sometimes the best he was capable of did not seem like enough, but he pushed on.

  Turning around a corner, Desohta found two wounded and what appeared to be one dead. The mercenary appeared to have a broken arm an was weeping over his fallen comrade. Out of respect, the healer made for the wounded Purity fighter. He made efficient work of determining the injuries and went to work trying to save a life.

  ‘What the hells are you doing?” snarled the mercenary.

  “What does it look like?”

  “He killed Artan. He deserves to die!”

  Desohta nodded. “You have a point. Was Artan the kind of guy to let others suffer?”

  “What?”

  “Alpha once told me if I ever remembered anything she said to remember that there is two ways to fight: the right way or the dirty way. Inevitably both are necessary if one is to survive; but in instances where it is possible, regardless of pain it might cause us, we must strive to do our best to be righteous. It might be the life you save that ends a war before it starts.”

  Desohta pointed to the ground. “Now sit. I will splint your arm next. Any other injuries?”

  Stunned, the Mercenary proved to be stubborn until he jolted his busted arm. After a bit of hesitation, the warrior chose to comply. Something in the warrior shifted as they sat side by side. It was not a sudden love for his enemy, but an acceptance that a true healer was not looking at battlelines but at limiting loss of life.

  “What’s your name?”

  Desohta looked at the warrior. “Desohta, field medic to Alpha Bailey. You?”

  “Saaverley, hired gun; at the moment with CARVER.”

  With a nod, Desohta asked him how he became a mercenary. When he opened his mouth to answer, the healer snapped his arm back into place and began rinsing the wound so it was ready to be packed. Arm splinted and strapped to Saaverley’s chest, Desohta stood.

  “I’d tell you to sit put, but some how I doubt you’d listen,” Desohta stated wryly.

  “I’ll stick with you,” Saaverley struggled to his feet. “I can still shoot,” with an impish grin he continued. “If you can see me, I should be good, yea?”

  Desohta rolled his eyes but was unable to hide the twitching of his lips. He was starting to sound like Ipino.

  Together they continued to address every wounded they encountered. Saaverley, still able to use his right hand learned to disarm his targets with the least amount of damage so that he halted any threat that approached Desohta. Saaverley also learned to assist the healer with the more severely wounded.

  As they turned another corner, they both halted. If Desohta was not certain they had not already been there he might have thought they ended up doubling back. Carefully placed out of harms way were six already partially triaged wounded warriors. All he had to do was finish the already started job and maybe prevent some deaths. The way they had been treated left Desohta wondering who had cared for them.

  Once more on the move, they entered a courtyard and were met with carnage; to one side of the court there were bodies that appeared to have been launched. Desohta prayed not to encounter whatever had been responsible. With grim determination, Desohta moved through the carnage with tranquil grace; weaving around the few battles to attend to the wounded. There were already enough warriors fighting. He was certain the battle was not to be won or lost on his rifle.

  In the middle of triaging a warrior, a body began to emerge from the shadow Desohta was casting. He raised a hand to halt Saaverley from shooting. Ni’yell was next to appear. He filled the healer in on the injuries the prince had taken and Desohta was quick to do everything he was able to. On Ni’yell orders he administered a second syringe of nanites. Before he was able to find out what was going on Ni’yell was gone.

  As he stood, certain the prince was as stable as possible, he saw his brother carrying wounded in his half-shifted form. With little preamble his brother set the four bodies down and turned away. Desohta set to work once more. He continued to tend to the wounded as more and more wounded were brought to him. As soon as aid started to arrive, he sent three able warriors to fetch more medical supplies. As more help and wounded showed up, he directed the extra hands like a maestro before a symphony.

  After what seemed like an interminable amount of time the two mercenary healers joined the fray. Unsurprisingly they kept away from Purity so Desohta adjusted and kept his focus on Purity. When there were finally no more bodies to tend to Desohta squatted next to a partial wall and rested his head against it. Saaverley continued to stand watch. Never was he more grateful for his training than his first time on a battlefield.

  Ipino

  “Alright guys. We are on downtime in twenty,” Ipino grinned. “Enjoy your four hours.”

  Ipino listened to his team grumble about the short rest time and the increasing tension.

  One grunted. “Wish they would just make their strike already.”

  Ipino agreed. The waiting was becoming interminable. Not that he was going anywhere when his alpha was in danger. “Alright, alright, guys. Let’s get some rest.”

  The rumble that set the ground to tremoring was the only warning before the explosion went off to his right. Ipino felt the surge of adrenaline and pumped his fists.

  “Get ready,” he growled.

  Everyone jumped to respond. They moved to cover the possible entrances to the courtyard they were in. They all heard the hollering before anyone spotted the Purity fighters. The onslaught came like a tsunami. The whole team was slammed into. All Ipino was able to do was watch as pandemonium erupted around him. It was an instant slam as his team was quickly overrun by the number of Purity fighters.

  Ipino’s wolf growled for blood and he agree that a little ass kicking was in order. He moved to the nearest warrior and started walloping anyone he was able to get his mitts on. together they pushed back the members of Purity and made their way to the next member of the team.

  They worked methodically and as efficiently as was possible when the people they were fighting were simply attempting to overwhelm them. Ipino issued orders like a boss and his team responded with increasingly more of the confidence they were known for. Ipino was not going to let up until they had conquered and intended to drag his team through the fighting if he had too. The shifter had to admit that Purity had brought a staggering number of people.

  Through dogged determination and the ingrained skill of his team, Ipino managed to hold out and support his team. Little by little they were putting Purity in its place. It was starting to look like they were finally turning the tide and gaining the upper hand. Some of the Purity member even appeared to be hesitating.

  Then the second wave hit them.

  There was barely any time to breath. Ipino continued to give orders as he was able, but the sheer volume just kept coming. Still, they fought on. One by one his team was swept under in the undertow. Time became meaningless as Ipino fought to stay on his feet. He thought of his alpha helpless in the tank and dug deep. He refused to surrender.

  Refused to let petty prejudice rule the day. His wolf howled a challenge and pushed at the edges of Ipino’s mind. It spurred him on. Drove him to pull on reserves he had not known he had. At that moment he was relentless and strove to be immoveable, but like immoveable objects there came a force with the power to push passed.

  At first the attacks came one at a time. As long as he kept his footing he managed to deal with each as they came. He lost track of the numbers as he focused on the next attack. They were barely trained if trained at all. So, it was inevitable for him to keep coming out on top.

  Then the Purity got smarter and started coming in multiples.

  For a moment, he seemed to be managing. His wolf feeding him information and power as he strove to put them all down. Then the first one jumped on his back. Ipino reached to pull him off as another grabbed for his leg. That seemed to ring some kind of bell and it became a free for all. Suddenly he was at the bottom of a dogpile. His strength was tested to its utter limit.

  Struggling to remain on his feet, Ipino felt his wolf attempt to push to the forefront. He wanted to give him the reigns, but it was meaningless if the beast was unable extricate himself from the bodies attempting to pin him down. He was certain the shift was not going to go in Ipino’s favor at that point. Still, he struggled to stay on his feet. He was able to feel the strain in his knees. They were not going to last much longer.

  Salvation came in the firing of shots, somewhere to his right; which caused some of the bodies piled on him to struggle and tumble away.

  As his load lightened, he growled and let loose the beast within. He had to keep a tight reign on the shift because the beast was blood thirsty. No matter what he needed to remain in control. He felt the shift wash over him; muscles rearranging, bones snapping and elongating, mouth taking a partial adjustment to a muzzle. Shirt in tatters he gave a howl to the heavens. Throwing his arms, shoulders, neck, and head back in defiance he tossed the people still on him off.

  Trying to be careful, he started throwing punches at anyone that came at him with any aggression. Most went down with one punch; which he pulled knowing they were not built to take his shifted strength. After the fall of the first few, the fight seemed to evaporate from the fighters around Ipino. He stomped over to check on each of his teammates and found two that needed medical attention.

  With the fight at an end, Ipino’s chest heaved from the effort and the struggle to control his wolf. Now he needed to get the wounded to a healer. His enhanced hearing sifted through the noise around him and word drifted by that a healer was tending to anyone with an injury in the courtyard on the westside of the compound.

  Ipino lifted two of the nine teammates to his shoulders and grabbed two Purity fighters with his hands. Growling at Purity, he spoke. “I know your scents. If any harm comes to my team I will hunt you down and make you wish you had never been born.” Then he began hauling wounded the long distance to the courtyard and what he suspected was his brother.

  Along the way there were still scattered fights, but the sight of a wolf shifter hauling bodies like it was a Sunday stroll was often enough to end the fight. No one interfered with his passage.

  Ahead he spotted his brother tending to someone’s wounds, he carefully added his load to the line. Without a word, Ipino made use of his enhanced strength to move the critically wounded to where they were able to get help. Enemy line ceased to matter as the bodies piled up. He worked in a spiral around his brother clearing methodically and directing the walking wounded to the courtyard.

  Energy flagging, he set the last body down and shifted back to his human form. Looking around the courtyard he was amazed at the staggering number of wounded and gave thanks to whatever war god was listening that the majority of the injured belonged to the enemy. Exhausted he found a spot that was vacant and sprawled against the wall one knee half bent in defiance of sleep; as though his empty reserves were enough to get back to his feet. Sleep came unbidden.