James left Martin’s apartment, typing in an override lock command that would keep him in the secure spot until he returned. He didn’t bother with the elevator as he took the stairs two at a time and made it to the lobby faster on foot. Going to the front entry, he looked up to the dome as another aftershock rocked through the base. This time the bomb had landed at the edge of the dome, leaving a noticeable crater, but no damage to the protective dome itself.

Gunships and fighters were already scrambling as ground crews dashed about to prepare more ships for launch. Civilians were running for either their dorms or for a bunker to lay low in until it passed. James opened the door and let several people into the building before exiting and running across the base. He went straight for a hanger numbered 34, swiped his ID, and unlocked the cockpit of his fighter.

“Lieutenant James Wright, requesting permission to launch,” James flipped several switches before he sat down.

“Confirmed, Lieutenant James Wright, permission granted,” came an automated female voice over the radio.

The large hanger doors slid open, and James pressed the sequence to start up the engine of his short distance fighter. This particular ship was built for atmospheric battle, with short range space capabilities. The time limit it could remain outside the atmosphere was one hour. Anything more than that and it was curtains for the pilot. Each fighter was specially designed for the planet and pilot. James’ model was a Raptor DX, the latest model. It greatly resembled a large bird as the wings unfurled as he left the hanger and waited to be cleared for take-off.

A ground crew member came to his side, glowing sticks in his hands, which he used to direct James’ movements. Three people launched before him, but James was in the air within a minute of leaving the hanger.

He zipped up to an airlock, the doors spinning open just enough to let him through. The doors could open enough to allow a large freighter through, but while they were under attack it only opened enough to let the gunships and fighters through. The door slammed behind him and the second door opened in front of him. He flew through and onto the primary doors set into the first dome.

As the final doors closed behind him, his radar instantly started going off, signaling a Xythandrian ship closing in on his four o’clock. Making a tight turn, James hugged the dome as he headed straight for the enemy ship. Unlike human ships, the Xythandrian ships were sleek, almost egg-shaped with no visible wings. Human scientists had been trying for years, unsuccessfully, to try and figure out how their ships flew.

James personally didn’t care how the ships flew, all he cared about was how to take them down, and he already knew how to do that. The weak point on the ships was the back, where the engine was. One well-placed missile there and the entire thing exploded like an egg in a microwave.

Visual confirmation of the ship his radar had picked up made James smile. He climbed up, again keeping close to the dome, as he circled around and came down behind the ship. He locked on, and fired. Three missiles flew, two hit, with one slamming home. The ship splintered and exploded in a ball of fire and James veered away from it only to be met with return fire from the enemy’s wingmen.

“Fuck,” James cursed as a stray shot caught his wing. “Diagnostic,” he ordered.

“Left wing, seventy percent operational,” the computer chirped. “Total function, ninety percent.”

With a flick of a switch, James turned on the backup engines on the right wing and extra stabilizers to compensate as he banked right, hard, to avoid the next volley of fire. He now had three Xythandrian ships on his tail.

“Keep them dancing, James.” He smiled at the sound of that voice. Newt Braxton, his wingman and longest standing friend. “I’m on my way.”

“Where the fuck have you been?” James demanded as he dove behind a large natural rock formation and used it to circle back around and come out behind the group following him. He managed to shoot down one more before Newt arrived and took another.

“You’re so demanding,” Newt sighed as he brought his fighter alongside James and gave him a thumbs up.

James returned the gesture and they flew off toward a cluster indicated by their radar. Working together, one acting as bait luring the Xythandrians toward them, the other one coming up behind and shooting them down, they managed to quickly weed out the next group.

“They’re withdrawing,” Newt called over the radio as the ships started to climb, heading out of the planet’s atmosphere.

“Permission to follow,” James asked.

“Denied, return to base,” was the responding command.

Swallowing his first response, James confirmed the order and turned his fighter to the nearest airlock. Newt followed behind him.

“Crissy is going to kill you when she sees your wing,” Newt warned him. “She just fixed it from the last skirmish.”

“Don’t remind me,” James sighed.

Landing on the tarmac, James shut down the engines and opened the hatch allowing the artificial air to fill the cockpit. It wasn’t much different from the stale tanked air he breathed through his mask while piloting.

“Wright!” Cringing, James turned to watch as a short woman with flame red hair braided back came stalking toward him. “What the fuck is your problem? How is it someone with your abilities is constantly damaging their unit?”

“Maybe he just likes seeing you, Crissy?” Newt said, coming up to them, and throwing his arm over James’ shoulder. Newt was the same height as James, but that was where their similarities ended. Newt’s skin was snow white, looking as if it never saw sun. He had freckles dotting his handsome, clean-shaven face. His sandy blond hair was cut short, as was regulation. He was also built like a brick building. The man was solid and thick.

“Stop teasing,” Crissy hit Newt, though James did catch sight of the blush dusting her cheeks as she ducked behind them to inspect the damage to James’s unit.

James frowned. He didn’t feel anything for Crissy, expect comradery. Thinking of feelings, one person did come to mind and he needed to go check on him.

“Be back,” James tossed off Newt’s arm and ran for the civilian dorms. Racing up the stairs, he arrived at Martin’s door and quickly unlocked it.

* * *

Martin had watched the entire battle from the safety of his temperature controlled apartment. He’d never felt so fucking useless. As he watched the fighters zip about outside the dome he wondered which one of those was James. Martin wasn’t a fool. He knew what the wings on James’s uniform meant. The Ranger was a pilot.

Sitting there, unable to leave or do anything to help, Martin silently prayed that his bodyguard was okay. With each minute that ticked by, he hoped for the battle to end.

The sight of one ship getting hit made his heart stutter and seize in his chest. Martin had no way of knowing whose fighter it had been, but as the smoke flowed out from the left wing he couldn’t help but see it as James’.

A click at his door alerted Martin to the entrance of another human and he jumped up and raced for his bedroom door. “James?” he called out.

“Martin, I’m opening the door now,” James announced.

Breath filled his lungs and Martin’s heart pounded harder than he could ever remember it doing before. As soon as his door opened he threw himself into James’ arms and kissed him. Instantly the other man was holding him close and kissing him desperately.

“You’re safe? You’re not hurt, right?” Martin asked, pulling away and running his hands up and down his body.

James pressed several open-mouthed kisses to his neck before just hugging him. “I’m unharmed. I can’t say the same about my ship.”

“You were hit?” Martin instantly flashed back to the single ship that he’d seen take a shot to the left wing.

“I’ll be fine, and my fighter can be repaired,” James reassured him. “How about you? How are you doing?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Martin sighed, hugging James like a lifeline. “I’ve never felt so useless before, but I’m fine.”

James didn’t say anything to that, he just held onto Martin. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, just wrapped in each other’s arms, but it wasn’t long enough, in Martin’s opinion, when James’ com went off.

“Lieutenant Wright,” James answered without completely releasing Martin.

“Get down to the hanger,” a woman’s voice demanded. Whoever she was, she sounded downright pissed.

“Roger that,” James responded before hanging up and stepping away from Martin. “I need to go see what Crissy needs.”

“I’ll come along,” Martin said. “Unless I can’t?”

The small smile that graced James’ lips took Martin’s breath away. It was like the smile of an angel. Okay, a bit overly dramatic, yeah, but it was.

“You can come.” James grabbed Martin’s hand, and led him from the room. The trip to hanger 34 was filled with bustling people. Martin had been here for three days, not a long time to be sure, but he had yet to see the place so busy. Everyone was running, or doing something. The courts, which had been the central hub until now, were empty.

So, this is what the base was like when the war decided to reemerge. Martin wanted to ask how often these attacks happened, but he was certain he wasn’t going to get a satisfactory answer. He knew enough to understand you couldn’t predict an attack.

Arriving at the hanger, Martin felt his stomach fall out at the sight of the damaged fighter. He couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, but he was about eighty percent certain it was the same one he’d seen take a hit. James had been piloting it.

“James!” a woman shouted over the squeal of machines and the pounding of tools as she advanced toward them. The first thing Martin thought upon seeing her was how short she was. She couldn’t be any more than five-five. The most notable thing about her was her striking red hair, braided back tightly.

“Crissy,” James nodded toward her in acknowledgement of her approach. “What’s wrong this time?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Crissy growled, “How about the fact you fried both engines on the left wing and two stabilizers. You should’ve returned to the base as soon as you were hit! Why in the name of the home planet did you keep fighting?”

“The fighter was still ninety percent operational,” James shrugged. “I had no reason to return.”

“You take too many risks,” Crissy sighed and Martin got his third noticeable thing about the woman, she had feelings for James. Her eyes, beautiful green gems that held more intelligence than most men Martin knew, looked to him for the first time and she tensed. James still had a hold of Martin’s hand. “James, who is this?”

“Oh, this is Martin Black,” James released his hand and motioned for him to step forward with a hand on the small of his back. “He’s the new contractor in charge of the rec-center and hospital wing projects.”

Yeah, she didn’t look happy to see him. “Nice to meet you,” she held out her hand all the same. “I’m Crissy McCoy, head mechanic.”

“Hello,” Martin accepted the handshake and returned the death grip she gave him.

By the time they both released each other Martin was fairly certain he might have a fractured bone or two in his hand. The woman had one hell of grip on her. With the greetings out of the way, Martin stepped into the background as Crissy and James talked repairs for the fighter in front of them. Martin had to admit, it was a beautiful piece of engineering and technology.

Spotting a chair, Martin moved to it and sat down. He watched from that vantage point, studying James’ every movement as he and Crissy talked. Each second made it more and more apparent that the woman was in love with him, and that made Martin anxious. Especially because it was impossible to read James from this distance. The only saving grace he could hold on to was the kiss and embrace they’d shared before coming here.

“Get down!”

The warning was all they got before an explosion lit up the air outside and rocked the hanger. Martin was thrown forward, his head slamming into a toolbox. Blackness was instantaneous.