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  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 some
thing. 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.

  Chapter 5

  James had taken cover on the ground the moment the alarm sounded, a second before the bomb went off. For a brief pause he wondered what happened. Terrorist attacks didn’t usually make it all the way into the base. They were typically isolated to the gate or supply shed and civilian areas. So, what was this? Had one of them slipped through during the scatter during battle?

  “Martin?” James coughed as smoke filled his lungs. He forced himself to his feet and tried to look through the debris that was floating around, fogging up his vision.

  “James,” Crissy sounded in pain and to his right, but he couldn’t focus on her right now. He needed to find Martin.

  “Martin!” He called again.

  A soft groaning, almost too quiet to hear, drifted to his ears. Waving his hand in front of him, James stumbled over rubble. The entire left side of the hanger had been blown open. A huge hole now stood where the wall had been. Tools, machine parts, and people were strewn about. As James advanced he looked at each person. With each one he felt himself hope that maybe Martin hadn’t been caught in the explosion. That was impossible though. So, where was he?

  “Martin!” James shouted, the smoke clearing and allowing his lungs a break to get a good breath.

  Again, that soft groaning sound reached him. This time it sounded more like a wheezing, like the owner of that breath was gasping, unable to take a true breath. With a bit more balance to his steps, James walked steadily toward the source of that groan.

  A body was pinned beneath one of the large toolboxes. His legs completely covered. James felt his heart stutter as he recognized the patch of brown hair and profile of Martin lying on the ground beneath more debris, dust, and settled ash.

  “Martin,” James gasped and instantly moved to get the toolbox off him. As he attempted to lift it, Martin groaned, but the box barely budged. Taking a deep breath, James centered his weight on his legs and lifted again. This time the box shifted, but not enough to free Martin.

  “James! Crissy!” Newt’s voice pierced through the noise of sirens blaring and people shouting in the background as his silhouette appeared from the entrance to the hanger.

  “Newt, help me,” James called out to him. “Martin’s pinned.”

  His friend was at his side instantly. Together they managed to get the box off Martin and set it up right. James kneeled, pulling Martin into his arms, and checking him over for damage. His legs were broken. Well, at least one of them was. Not to mention whatever damage he couldn’t take note of by just a cursory feel.

  “Where’s Crissy?” Newt asked from above him.

  “Right here,” Crissy answered, stumbling out from behind the now extremely damaged ship. James caught the hostile look she threw at Martin, but chose to ignore it for now. He didn’t have time to deal with her unwarranted jealousy. He’d never showed any inclination toward her.

  “You okay?” Newt asked, going to her side, and helping her stand upright.

  “Just a bit shaken,” Crissy shrugged his assistance aside. “What the fuck happened?”

  “We need a medic at hanger 34, several injured,” Newt called into his com before saying, “Delayed charge attached to one of the ships that were late to respond to the retreat call. Fucking Squids are getting more devious with their weapons.”

  “It wasn’t terrorists?” James found himself asking before he could stop himself.

  Newt shook his head. “One of the mechanics found the charge with just enough time to get clear. The other one working on the fighter didn’t make it.”

  “Fuck,” Crissy bowed her head, a mumbled prayer leaving her lips.

  James didn’t see the point in praying. No amount of prayers brought back the dead. It sure as shit didn’t end wars. It was nothing more than wasted breath and effort that could be better used for other pursuits.

  “Who’s injured?” a medic shouted as he entered the hanger.

  “Over here,” James called out.

  “And over there,” Crissy pointed to the men that still hadn’t moved that had been closest to the blast site.

  One man moved to the group of bodies while the other crouched down beside James and Martin. Using a hand held Medical Scanner, he ran it over Martin’s body. James didn’t like the multiple red bleeps that appeared. The yellow and orange ones weren’t any better.

  “We need to get this one to the hospital stat,” the medic said, before reaching for his com and putting in a transport order. “How are things over there Jim?”

  “They’re gone, Mack,” Jim answered.

  Crissy released a soft sob, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. James tried not to think about it too hard as he helped Mack get Martin on a stretcher and out to meet the transport. His neck was secured, though James had told them several times it was his lower half that had been pinned. Mack said it was procedure though.

  He walked beside Mack and Jim as they got him outside and loaded him up. James sat across from Martin as the two
medics somehow got an IV into Martin’s arm even as the vehicle spun around and raced across the base toward the hospital.

  The doors opened to greet them even before they had stopped, and three nurses and a doctor came rushing up to the transport. Soon they were carting Martin through double doors and away from his reach. A nurse physically stopped him from proceeding further.

  “I’m his bodyguard,” James tried to explain.

  “There’s nothing for you to guard him from here,” she retorted.

  “What are you going to do to him?”

  “Based off his extensive injuries, they’ll be prepping him for the tank.”

  “The tank?” James didn’t like the sound of that at all. He knew Martin’s injuries were bad, but bad enough to be submerged in a tank of fluid to help speed up recovery? James was never entirely certain what the fluid was made up of.

  “Please, while you’re waiting, contact his next of kin,” the nurse instructed.

  “Isn’t that your job?” James frowned.

  “Normally, but seeing as you’re his bodyguard, and he got hurt on your watch,” the nurse eyed him like he was completely to blame for the entire situation.

  On the subject of next of kin, James had no idea who that was. Hell, he didn’t know anything about Martin outside his work ethic and lecherous tendencies to flirt with him. The only person he could think of to call was the last person he wanted to, especially because he still wasn’t even sure what the true story was behind why Martin was sent all the way out here.

  James sat on a chair, watching Martin float helpless in a large tank. An oxygen mask was covering his face, a tube leading to the outside of the tank where it was attached to an external oxygen tank. He’d been in there for two days now. James wasn’t entirely certain what all the bleeps and ups and downs on the monitors meant, but he could tell there were less of them than yesterday. That had to be a good thing. Right?

  Reaching out, James rested his hand on the glass as if he could touch Martin through the tank. It was ridiculous, but he desperately wanted to feel the other man’s heat. The only positive he could see in all this was he had Martin all to himself here. Wanting to monopolize the man, it was about time he admitted that Martin had gotten to him.