Chapter Two

Rhys heard nothing from Admiral Garter over the next four months. His nerves about the case back on Terra gradually dropped as he further realised how little he could do to affect the outcome. He began to learn to just trust the admiral and hope that the continued silence meant there was no bad news to be given.

He was rarely seen apart from Steph and he soon became unhappy when the two were separated for whatever reason. They would often go out and sit together in the forest. They had found a small, sun-bleached clearing just a couple of hundred metres in which they declared their own. The trees seemed to be designed just to accommodate them. Their branches reached out to each other and just asked to be clambered playfully over, which they did often. And when they needed to rest there were many nooks and crannies large enough for them both to sit in together.

On occasion they were joined by Twitch when he grew bored of sitting in on David’s lessons with Doctor Sparks, in which he was progressing well. David was finally able to gain some practical experience too, as a few of the hospitals and surgeries in New Swansea had consented to the mustelid participating in some basic procedures, so long as he was under the watchful eye of Doctor Sparks. David had excelled at everything, mainly thanks to his devoted study of the theory. He had completed nine month’s worth of study in just the four.

Twitch was also having occasional lessons from Scott. Whenever they could get back to the spaceport and use the facilities there they did so. Scott was still instructing Twitch in navigation using the simulators. Come the end of the four months, Scott informed Rhys that he felt confident Twitch could safely navigate inter-planetary journeys within the same system.

Finally, Rhys got the call he had been waiting for. He was summoned back to the spaceport to receive a communications from Terra. He knew the message could only be from Admiral Garter, and he could only hope it was good news.

Nervously, Rhys searched out Captain Penklis, whose opinion of Rhys had not changed in the slightest over the preceding months. She had developed quite a pleasant rapport with all of the Harvester’s crew, with the notable exceptions of Rhys and Twitch. She was never openly hostile to the mustelids, but not once had she been particularly friendly either.

She directed Rhys to the communications room, but did not join him inside. She shut the door behind him, leaving him alone. The projection screen was lit up on the far wall, displaying what appeared to be someone’s office. Rhys stood in front of the sensory apparatus and waited for his presence to be recognised.

He cleared his throat, and Admiral Garter came into view. The admiral looked much older and wearier than the last time Rhys had seen him, haggard even, like he hadn’t been sleeping properly.

“Captain Griffiths, it’s good to see you well,” the admiral said with a slight nod of his head. “And might I add that it’s pleasing that I have heard absolutely nothing of your activities on Cymru. I trust this means that you have been heeding my advice and keeping out of trouble.”

“You’ll find no repeat of Mount Cotton here, Admiral. I’ve barely stepped foot inside the spaceport since coming here, and have kept to my own business,” Rhys replied, which drew another approving nod from the admiral. Though he was itching for news from Terra, Rhys refrained from bursting out with the questions he wanted answers for, contenting himself with twisting his tail while he waited for Admiral Garter to begin.

“Truth be told, Captain Griffiths, there is remarkably little for me to tell you at this point in time. Ceres has once again come under attack, though this time the new defences had been put in place. It took some reinforcements from Terra, but we were able to repel the CGP offensive. Your friend Captain Uwele was one of those who came to Ceres’ aid.

“However, all this has only set back the hearing on your case. Chancellor Roberts deemed it more important to begin an inquest on CGP movements so far into our territory. I believe it will still be another month at least before we hear anything on your particular matter.”

“Another month, Admiral?” Rhys repeated, barely able to believe. He had hoped that the agony of waiting would be over quickly, but it would be some time yet before he knew if he was able to continue his career.

“I am doing all I can to speed things along, but this is quite unprecedented. Matters are proving a little more troublesome than I had anticipated,” Admiral Garter said. He looked over at something beyond Rhys’ limited field of vision. “I warned Captain Penklis earlier, but I shall inform you too. We have received intelligence of CGP movement within the Sirius System. We anticipate an assault on the Denitchev mines within the month. I have given Admiral Hedges of Celta permission to utilise your talents if required.

“You say you have barely set foot within the port; I’d recommend re-familiarising yourself with your ship. Reports say this could be a major offensive, and we believe there could be a traitor or a spy somewhere within the system. I don’t know how long this has been going on for, but coded communication has been intercepted on Cymru, possibly bound for Alpha Centauri. Be alert Captain Griffiths, and please, continue to do nothing rash.”

“I understand Admiral. And may I speak to you about a personal matter?”

Admiral Garter removed his glasses and placed them down on his desk. He clasped his hands together. “Do go on,” he said.

“I received a letter from Captain Lee. It was placed in my quarters aboard the Harvester, back at Mount Cotton,” Rhys said, but Admiral Garter raised a hand, cutting Rhys off.

“In your quarters? Who had access to them?” the admiral said sharply.

“No one. They were locked. No one could get in without my fingerprints,” Rhys said slowly, before understanding suddenly dawned on him. He looked down at his hands, the hands that weren’t truly his. “Except for Lieutenant Hall, that is.”

The admiral’s expression was grave. “This proves nothing, but I fear your first officer is either the CGP spy, or that he at least knows their identity. I’d recommend keeping a very close eye on him, Captain, and I needn’t tell you not to mention this to anyone else.”

“Understood, Admiral,” Rhys said. He felt a little sick. He didn’t want to be mistrustful of Twitch, but he had to admit that the situation was looking suspicious.

“But tell me of this letter, Captain Griffiths.”

“It spoke of Aaron’s reasons for leaving TIE,” Rhys said quietly. He gently brushed his tail with restless fingers.

“And they were?” Admiral Garter pressed, leaning forward in his chair a little.

“Mustelids, mostly. He, like I do now, believed mustelids to be unfairly treated. He, however, didn’t think he could change the attitude of people within TIE. He said that alone wouldn’t be enough to force him away, but he also mentioned that he believes us to be on the wrong side in this war. He said TIE only started fighting because of greed, and while the knowledge of this has been lost, he no longer felt comfortable fighting for our cause.”

Admiral Garter sat back again and raised his hands to his chin. “An interesting point of view, though I’ll admit not necessarily incorrect.”

“You think he’s right?” Rhys asked, shocked by the admiral’s point of view.

“Not right as such,” the admiral replied. “But I do understand how he came to such a conclusion. This war has been going on for so long, it’s no wonder the catalyst has been lost in history. They are no longer relevant to our time.”

“But do you believe we’re on the right side?”

“That is not my decision to make. I fight for TIE because my father fought for TIE, and his father before him. My son, too, fights for TIE. Right has no place in war. There is only wrong.”

“So you want it to end?”

“It will not happen in my lifetime, but yes, I would like to see an end to the fighting.” He held up a hand to prevent Rhys’ next question. “I will speak no more on the matter. Stay out of trouble Captain Griffiths. Think no more of Captain Lee’s letter. It should not be relevant to you.

“Over and out.”

The projector went dark as the link with the admiral was cut off.

Rhys felt rather numb. He had hoped for good news; been braced for the worst. He hadn’t expected Admiral Garter highlighting Twitch as a possible CGP spy. He also hadn’t expected a complete lack of updates from Terra.

Captain Penklis hailed Rhys as he left the communications room, but he ignored her. He knew what she wanted to talk about; the potential CGP attack. It was a familiar situation Rhys found himself in: preparing for a CGP assault was one of the last things he had ever done as a human. This time though he didn’t find himself trapped in a derelict spaceport without the means to defend itself. He wasn’t even expecting to witness the brunt of the attack. Cymru was practically worthless in a military attack.

Rhys found his way to the training room, where he looked in on Scott and Twitch. On one side of the room was a set of desks facing a presentation theatre and on the other was a scale replica of a standard Spaceways ship bridge. This was the basis of the state of the art simulator that New Swansea boasted. It was able to produce a vast array of scenarios to test a trainee in any of the varied roles of the operations crew.

Twitch was perched on the edge of the navigator’s seat, while Scott stood directly behind him. The mustelid was clearly deep in concentration as he made his calculations, adjusting a number of scales and figures on the screen in front of him. Scott gave no input or suggestions as Twitch worked, until, with a bright smile, the mustelid declared himself finished.

The simulator screens burst to life, plotting out the course from the information Twitch had inputted. The journey had been planned from New Swansea to the Moscow spaceport on Terra. Everything looked to be calculated to perfection, until...

“Looks like we’re going right through the middle of Sol,” Scott observed.

“Aww, dammit,” Twitch said, biting his lip and delving back into his numbers and figures to try and find his error.

Rhys suppressed a smile. It didn’t make sense for Twitch to be the spy for the CGP, but Admiral Garter was right. No one else could have gotten into Rhys’ quarters to plant Aaron’s letter. Twitch had to be involved somehow.

A touch on Rhys’ shoulder distracted him. He turned to find that Captain Penklis had caught him with him. She gestured for him to accompany her into the adjacent room, another training room, but lacking the massive simulator that dominated the first. She shut the door behind them.

“Captain Griffiths, I know the situation is hardly ideal, but Admiral Garter strongly recommended using your skills. I have spoken to Admiral Hedges of the matter too, and he agrees,” she said, pursing her lips as she sat down at one of the many desks that occupied the secondary training room.

“Admiral Hedges is expecting an attack on Celta or the Denitchev mines within the week. I’m holding a meeting with Sergeant Benson of the ground army here in New Swansea to see what we can provide in terms of defence. If you could be present at 0800 tomorrow morning to provide input that would be most appreciated,” Captain Penklis said. Gone was her usual look of disdain when she spoke to Rhys. Now she was urgent and thoroughly professional. Now she suspected she might need the mustelid captain, Rhys knew the reason to be.

“I’ll be there,” Rhys promised. He held out his hand in a test of Captain Penklis’ sudden lack of disgust towards him. She surprised his by grasping his paw, albeit briefly.

“I’m sure Admiral Garter also mentioned his suspicions of a spy within our system. If you can help root them out too, you will do us all a favour. Without meaning to sound overly suspicious, I’d check your crew. We believe this spy only became active recently, and your ship was the most recent military vessel to arrive,” Penklis said.

“My crew is loyal to me, and therefore to TIE. You needn’t worry about them,” Rhys said through clenched teeth.

“It would still be prudent to check,” Captain Penklis pressed.

Rhys reluctantly nodded. “Very well. I doubt I’ll be able to control my crew’s movements as they have no official duties, but I’ll do my best to keep track of their whereabouts.”

“I can ask no more than that, Captain. I understand you know and trust your crew. I respect that judgement,” Captain Penklis said. “I’ll let you return to your leisure. Until tomorrow morning then.”

Once again Captain Penklis grasped Rhys’ hand before she left Rhys alone to his thoughts.

He was scared. He had elevated Twitch to first officer with no prior training or experience. If Twitch turned out to be the spy, then his position as captain would come under even greater scrutiny. There was no way his career would survive an attempted rebellion as well as harbouring and assisting a spy of the CGP.

With nothing more to occupy his time at the spaceport, Rhys returned to Avon disappointed and anxious. His talk with Admiral Garter was meant to ease his mind, not burden him with extra worries. He sought out Steph and lay down on one of the sofas with her and watched the football on the television. Rhys had no idea what two teams were playing, or even which planet’s league he was watching, but he was momentarily happy just being with Steph and casting aside his concerns.

“Anything interesting?” she asked him, stroking his head gently.

“Just telling me nothing had happened,” he replied, not wanting to burden Steph with his concerns. He closed his eyes and wondered if he couldn’t get a little sleep, where he wouldn’t need to think about a possible traitor in their midst, and the attack that was forthcoming within the system.

“Nothing’s better than something bad, I guess,” Steph said, focusing more on the sport than on the conversation.

“I guess,” Rhys said. He was getting quite sick of feeling so helpless and adrift of everything that was happening around him. He just wanted some control back in his life. He wanted to know what direction his future lay in.

Rhys returned to the spaceport early the next morning, leaving himself plenty of time before the scheduled meeting with Captain Penklis and Sergeant Benson was due to begin.

Rhys had not spoken to Twitch at all the previous evening, having intentionally retired to bed long before he had returned. He wasn’t sure if he could trust himself to face his doppelganger and keep any accusation out of his voice.

The port was almost completely deserted, with only the skeleton night crew present, which consisted of a single communications officer and three security guards hired from the local ground army. None of the guards bothered him anymore; they were used to his unconventional appearance for a captain now, though they had tried to stop him on a number of occasions when he was new to the port. He even knew their names now; Corporal Foreman was the nightwatch commander, with Privates Nilesh and Saunders under his wing.

Movement caught Rhys’ attention. Doctor Sparks had sidled out of the communications tower and was making his way back across the grounds. Though he waved in Rhys’ direction, he didn’t stop. Rhys had no idea why his ship’s doctor would be in the port’s command precinct, but he thought  nothing further of it as he saw Captain Penklis approaching with a middle-aged man in full army uniform.

“Captain Griffiths, glad you could join us so promptly. Shall we begin matters in the briefing room?” Captain Penklis said with the shadow of a smile. The man Rhys assumed to be Sergeant Benson simply frowned in greeting.

The briefing room was a compact space at the base of the communications tower. Apart from a projection screen, a few chairs, and a small desk, the room was otherwise empty. Captain Penklis took her place behind the desk, and gestured to Rhys and Sergeant Benson to take a seat.

With a low hum, the projector lit up and displayed the TIE insignia on the white wall behind Captain Penklis.

“Gentlemen, we have confirmed reports of CGP ships en-route for the Sirius system. We believe they’re bringing five ships with a carrying capacity of several thousand men. Clearly they mean to land and assault their target on foot, which would appear to rule out the mines as their destination,” Captain Penklis said. She turned to Sergeant Benson.

“This moves the focus of the battle to you, Sergeant. You have a better understanding than I of the capacity of Celta’s barracks. Spaceways cannot afford to send any men to Celta, but can the ground armies?”

Sergeant Benson didn’t answer immediately. He tapped the back of the chair in front of him with three fingers as he calculated some sum in his head. “I think Celta can fend for itself. At most, Cymru could muster up about a thousand men to send in such short notice, but with Captain Griffiths’ ship being the only available transport at the moment, there would be little point in raising Cymru’s armies.”

“So we do nothing?” Rhys said.

“There’s little point. Celta can rouse an army at least double the size of the CGP’s attacking force, and can transport its men to any part of the planet within hours. It will take us a day or two to gather a quarter of that force and get them to Celta,” Sergeant Benson said. “Plus it would leave us horrifically undermanned should a breakaway assault come for Cymru.”

“And the Spaceways garrison is significantly larger than here. I must agree with Sergeant Benson here. It makes more sense keeping our forces here, but perhaps consolidate them at New Swansea just in case they’re urgently required on Celta,” Captain Penklis added.

Rhys shook his head, uncomfortable with the decision. It didn’t make sense holding back part of their strength. It was clear that the CGP would try and take Celta, therefore it made the most sense to station the largest force possible to defend it.

“I understand your concerns, Captain Griffiths, but if Sergeant Benson has faith in Celta’s defences, then I will not argue with him,” Captain Penklis said, obviously noting Rhys’ reaction.

“Celta will hold firm without us,” Sergeant Benson assured the captains.

“I must trust your word, Sergeant. I admit I know little about the state of affairs in this system. I am uncomfortable with this plan, but I concede and respect your judgement,” Rhys said with a nod of his head in the sergeant’s direction.

Sergeant Benson flashed a smile at Rhys. “Besides, there’s nothing on this planet the CGP wants.”

Someone knocked at the door.

Captain Penklis frowned at the interruption, but opened the door nonetheless, revealing a sheepish Twitch. He quailed slightly under the stern glares from Captain Penklis and Sergeant Benson.

“We might have a bit of an issue,” the mustelid said.

“What issue would that be, Lieutenant Hall?” Captain Penklis asked suspiciously.

“The CGP ships are a lot closer than Admiral Hedges realised. They’re not about a week away. It’s more like seven hours,” Twitch said quietly. His ears were pressed against his head.

Sergeant Benson leant forward. “That makes my decision so much easier. We’d never get our men to Celta in time. The attack would likely be over by the time our men could land,” he said, but Twitch hadn’t finished.

“That’s just the thing,” Twitch said, looking anywhere but the two humans and other mustelid. “They’re not attacking Celta. They diverted course. They’re coming here.”

A stunned silence fell, before Rhys broke it with an emphatic, “Shit.”

“Explain, Lieutenant. Where did you get this information?” Captain Penklis asked urgently.

“I was in the comms tower. They intercepted a message from the CGP ships, though I don’t know who the intended receiver was. Last I know your comms team was trying to notify Celta, but the entire planet is pretty much in lockdown as they prepare their defences. I don’t think they know about the change yet,” Twitch explained quickly.

Captain Penklis turned to Sergeant Benson. “How many men did you say the ground armies could get to New Swansea?”

“A thousand, maybe,” the sergeant replied. He was looking considerably less confident now, and had paled significantly. “Those craft the CGP have can hold a thousand men each, and there are five of them. They’ll overwhelm us before Celta even know we’ve been attacked.”

“That all depends on where they land,” Rhys said tersely. He motioned towards the projector, which was still displaying the idle screen. “You have a map of the local area on that?”

“Of course,” Captain Penklis said, and within a few moments Rhys got what he wanted. The port, highlighted in red, was surrounded by varying shades of green that denoted the surrounding forest. The city of New Swansea was visible in the north-west corner of the map.

“I think we can assume that they’ll land somewhere near here, as there’s nowhere else of note on the planet, certainly nothing that could hold a strategic advantage,” Rhys surmised as he looked at the map for possible landing sites. He addressed Twitch. “Have you been able to work out their course?”

Twitch shook his head vigorously, but as no one else contradicted his assumptions, he took them for being the best suggestion anyone had. The CGP would land in the outskirts of New Swansea within a few hours.

“There’s a clearing here that looks large enough for five ships to land. The ground is as flat as it gets around here, so that looks the most likely,” Rhys said, pointing at a large, light green area on the map roughly two miles to the east of the port.

Sergeant Benson stood up and approached the projector. “If we can get enough men, we might be able to launch a counter-offensive from these trees. We could hold them off long enough for Celta to realise what has happened,” he said, pointing at the thick forests either side of the clearing.

“If you think it can work, then make it happen Sergeant. Summon as many men as you can in the next few hours. Lieutenant Hall, can you work with Mr Scott and try and confirm the CGP ships’ trajectory. We don’t want to be caught out again,” Rhys said, taking control of the situation.

The sergeant saluted Rhys, double-taked slightly, and then said, “Of course, Captain. I’ll report back here in one hour.” Turning on his heel, Sergeant Benson brushed past Twitch as he left the briefing room with an air of confidence returning to him.

Twitch also scarpered away to find Scott, leaving Rhys with a grave Captain Penklis.

“Without reinforcements from Celta, I don’t see how we can win this,” Captain Penklis said, looking at the map and grimacing. “Even if Sergeant Benson is able to get a thousand men from the ground armies, he could still be outnumbered five to one. That’s not a battle we can expect to win.”

“Leave that to Sergeant Benson. You should focus yourself with preparing the defences of this port. Arm everyone who can wield a weapon, man every turret, do whatever it takes to fortify this place. Remember we don’t necessarily have to defeat them. All we need to do is hold them off until reinforcements come,” Rhys said.

“I wish I could share your confidence,” Captain Penklis said.

“Just a few minutes ago you trusted Sergeant Benson’ decision. Put a little faith in him again. If he thinks he can hold off the CGP for long enough, then I believe him,” Rhys said, placing his hand on Captain Penklis’ elbow. “We need a strong backline though, just in case. That will be your responsibility, Captain. Prepare the port, and return back here in an hour with a progress report.”

“Understood, Captain,” she said, before she, too, left the briefing room.

The New Swansea spaceport was suddenly a hive of activity, so greatly contrasted to its usual, serene state. A claxon call had gone through the city, warning the citizenry of the impending attack. Though Rhys had been tempted to return to Avon and see Steph, he had resisted. He knew she would be kept safe by those of his crew who would not be assisting in the defence of the city.

Over the course of the next hour, the defences of the spaceport were one by one activated. On the outer walls of the port were situated half a dozen ionic turrets, plus a further half dozen capable of firing solid rounds, though the ammunition reserves for these were rather depleted.

From all the nearby army barracks, Sergeant Benson’ promised soldiers began to trickle in to New Swansea. They arrived at nowhere near the rate Rhys would have liked, but gradually they had increased to five hundred new reinforcements, with word coming of another four hundred at least coming from further flung locations around Cymru. Whether they would arrive before the CGP was another matter entirely, and Sergeant Benson had expressed his concerns of this when he returned to the briefing room after the allotted hour. Captain Penklis was already waiting for them, and Twitch arrived soon after, along with Scott.

Edgar Scott was the first to speak. “Captain Griffiths, your guess was completely correct. Based on their current trajectory, the CGP ships will come into orbit around Cymru in little over four hours, and can be expected to land somewhere in the vicinity of New Swansea less than an hour after that,” he said.

“Captain Penklis, how has your work gone?” Rhys asked of the human captain.

“We’re about as ready as we can be. If the ships pass within range, we may be able to fire off some shots at them as they descend,” Captain Penklis replied. “Beyond that, the walls are lined with some of the soldiers Sergeant Benson has lent me, as well as our own crew members. We should be able to hold them off for a little while at least.

“And we still haven’t been able to get through to anyone on Celta.”

Sergeant Benson spoke up. “You know that our numbers have been slow coming in, but while I’ve been waiting I think I may have developed a plan to hold up the CGP for as long as possible,” the sergeant said.

“We expect them to land here,” he said as he highlighted the clearing on the projector. “Before they have a chance to organise, we have a small attack group ambush them from the trees. We do not engage in direct combat. We skirmish, then retreat, then move in again. And so on. Hopefully this will keep them disorganised. They’ll be forced to move quickly.”

Rhys nodded. Apart from their severe disadvantage in numbers, he couldn’t see a problem so far.

“Eventually though they will organise. When they do, they’ll move for the port. If they capture that before our reinforcements arrive from Celta, then they’ll be bunkered in very tight. They’ll have full control over the defences of our base. They’ll be able to pick off any of our approaching ships very easily.”

“Couldn’t they just raise their shields as they land?” Twitch asked.

Captain Penklis shook her head. “No. If they take the port, they take our communications. If we lose that, then we can’t warn our reinforcements of any danger. There’s a chance they might as a precaution, but we can’t risk that happening.”

“It’s imperative we keep control of the port until Celta are able to provide assistance,” Sergeant Benson agreed. “This is why most of our defence will be focussed around keeping the CGP out of our walls. We shall have two other groups situated outside the walls to provide the skirmish attacks.

“Captain Griffiths, I looked into your file and saws that you received some training with the ground army in Cardiff. That makes you the second highest ranking commander on Cymru, so I’m putting you in charge of one of the ambush parties.”

Rhys blanched and staggered as though he had been dealt a physical blow. He put his hand out to support himself against a chair before looking up to Sergeant Benson.

“You’re putting me out in the field? Why?” he asked. But for the attempted rebellion at Mount Cotton, it had been a very long time since he had faced an enemy on the battlefield. Spaceways was very rarely involved in direct conflicts as space bound battles were rare, given the very nature of space, and the ships’ crews rarely participated in the grounded skirmishes.

“We need someone out there with an ability to command, as well as possessing a good head for strategy,” Captain Penklis said hesitantly. Rhys saw it for just a fraction of a second, but the look in her eyes told him the true reason for his selection: he was but an expendable mustelid. She was only being civil and friendly while it was convenient to do so.

Rhys ground his teeth. “Very well,” he spat.

“Do you want me to go over the strategy with you now?” Sergeant Benson asked.

“Skirmish, retreat, delay. Nothing more to it than that,” Rhys growled at the sergeant, who seemed somewhat taken aback by the sudden venom in Rhys’ voice.

“Essentially, yes, that is all there is to it. I can lead you to the armoury to get kitted out if you wish,” the sergeant said, but Rhys shook his head.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, having already found the armoury on one of his idle days at the port. It was located on the boundary wall of the spaceport, near the small adjoining army barracks, and was used by both branches of the military.

“Then we appear to be as prepared as possible,” Captain Penklis said nervously. She looked around at the two men and two mustelids standing in front of her. “Captain Griffiths and Sergeant Benson, best of luck to the both of you. Mr Scott, if you could assist me in the communications tower, and Mr Hall, you can accompany Captain Griffiths out in the field.”

Rhys stared at Captain Penklis, incredulous at her decision to assign his first officer into the field, when the mustelid had no previous experience out there. Once again, Rhys could attribute the decision to Twitch being a mustelid, and therefore expendable in dangerous situations. However, Twitch said nothing about his new assignment, instead just standing in glum silence.

“Is there a problem, Captain Griffiths?” Captain Penklis asked, but Rhys shook his head and growled quietly, biting down on his tongue. Though he desperately wanted to say something, he was scared of provoking himself to anger. The words of Admiral Garter were still fresh in his mind; don’t do anything rash.

“Then let’s go and make our final preparations. Don’t forget to sync your comlink to the right frequency before you head out there, and I’ll be in constant communication with you to provide any updates we get,” Captain Penklis said, before dismissing the room.

Rhys stalked away with Twitch and Scott trailing in his wake. “I can’t believe her,” he seethed under his breath, but Twitch heard.

“We’ll show her. If she’s trying to get rid of us then she’s got another thing coming,” he said with a flash of his old smile. He spoke bravely, but the way his ears pressed against his head betrayed his fear.

“Maybe...” Scott started to say, but then he sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Something for later perhaps. You two stay safe out there, and I’ll do my best to keep Captain Penklis in check so she doesn’t send you off on any suicidal charges.”

“You keep safe too,” Rhys said as he and Twitch shook the navigator’s hand.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Scott mused as he turned to leave. “Why attack here? What could the CGP hope to gain by attacking New Swansea?”

Rhys shrugged. He had no answer for that.

Rhys slung an absurdly oversized ionic rifle over his shoulder, its barrel almost touching the floor. It was far too unwieldy, but it was the only choice of weapon available to Rhys, but for a diminutive phaser pistol that Rhys would never be comfortable with. Finding a suitable weapon was not the only problem facing Rhys either.

Standard issue for all army soldiers was a light and flexible body armour that was touch enough to withstand solid projectiles, while also being capable of deflecting energy ammunition too. Try as he might though, Rhys could not find anything small enough to fit Twitch and himself. Going out into the field unarmoured was not a prospect that attracted Rhys very much. Twitch was ill-amused by the idea too, but it looked like they had no choice.

Twitch quietly seethed, muttering things under his breath that Rhys couldn’t hear, and was quite glad of it. He had a fair idea what Twitch would be saying, and he didn’t want to raise the circumstance that he would actually be inclined to agree. TIE simply didn’t cater for mustelids, and he was beginning to see that.

They were soon joined in the armoury by Corporal Foreman, who excitedly greeted the mustelids. “So you’re joining up with the ground force for the day?” the nightwatch commander asked, initially greeting Twitch before Rhys stepped out from behind a rack of rifles.

“It would appear so,” Rhys said tersely. Any other time and he would have been amused by the corporal’s temporary confusion over his identical companion, but right now it just irked him.

“You know I didn’t believe it when Sergeant Benson told me you’d be my commanding officer, but here you are, the both of you. Must be two of the only mustelids to ever have fought for TIE, right?” Corporal Foreman said.

Twitch growled as he struggled to lift his ionic rifle. “Yes, isn’t it just wonderful? We should have a little party later, if we aren’t shot and killed first,” he said, giving up with the rifle and settling for a simple pistol instead.

Corporal Foreman wisely chose not to respond to Twitch, and instead silently readied himself for the skirmish, not even looking down at the two mustelids again. “Well, I think everyone else is already prepared,” the corporal said quietly once he was done. He left without waiting for a reply.

“You go on Rhys, there’s something I need to do first,” Twitch said as Rhys waited by the armoury door for his companion. Rhys, who was busy adjusting his receiving frequencies on his comlink, shrugged and left.

After making sure the captain wasn’t returning, Twitch raised his comlink to his mouth and spoke.

The rendezvous point with the remainder of the ambush party was just outside the spaceport walls, but Rhys hadn’t even reached them when Twitch caught up. He was out of breath and looked particularly flustered.

“What did you have to do?” Rhys asked as they passed through the gates. Activity was all around them as humans ran back and forth, trying to finish the defensive preparations. No mustelids were present: Rhys hadn’t seen a single one in the spaceport but for those on his crew.

“Oh, nothing. I’ll explain later,” Twitch said, somewhat distracted by the four hundred or so fully armed humans gathered by the edge of the trees, just outside the spaceport perimeter. There was a lot of noise as the humans chatted amongst themselves, seemingly with little regard to the dangers that lay just a few hours away, in orbit around the planet.

Rhys looked up. There was hardly a cloud in the pristine blue sky, a perfection of colour rarely seen on the more industrialised planets like Terra and Celta. He was not looking for such niceties though; he was trying to spot the impossible. Spacecraft could not be seen while orbiting during the day – it was tough enough at night, but Rhys was still determined. He could see nothing, not even a sudden flash of luminescence as the light from the twin stars glinted off the side of a ship. The five approaching spacecraft were still completely invisible from the surface of Cymru.

Sergeant Benson was busy splitting the humans up into two groups, for the primary and secondary ambush attacks. Corporal Foreman and Twitch were indeed placed in the alpha group, which Rhys was expected to lead.

The two groups were very unevenly distributed, with the alpha group numbering just one hundred men, with the remaining three hundred all forming up into the beta group. Sergeant Benson tried to explain this discrepancy by claiming they needed greater manoeuvrability, and therefore couldn’t be as large, but Rhys was far from convinced.

“So you’re absolutely sure you know what needs doing?” Sergeant Benson asked for the third time in a condescending tone that was only thinly veiled.

“It’s really not that complicated,” Rhys growled, bristling at the sergeant’s insinuations, as well as his continued omission of his correct rank, a favour Rhys had begun reciprocating.

“I just need to make sure. We are after all placing the future of the port in the hands of a mustelid,” the sergeant said, eyes wide and arms outstretched.

“What has that got to do with anything? In fact, no, don’t answer that, I don’t want to hear it,” Rhys snarled in absolute disgust, pressing a finger into the sergeant’s abdomen.

Sergeant Benson pushed Rhys away then brushed down his sleeves. “A little more respect to your commanding officer, thank you,” he said dismissively, looking down at the mustelid. “You forget you’re fighting for me now, you play by my rules.”

“No. I don’t fight for people like you. I fight for duty and nothing else,” Rhys said, working hard to suppress his fury.

“You fight for me,” Sergeant Benson said sternly, but Rhys chose to ignore him.

He had already learnt from his experience on Terra that he should not attempt to rationalise with men who were so blatantly set in their ways with regards to mustelids. Captain Rivers had been the same, as had Lieutenant Cooper and Mr Briggs. He had tried to reason with all three, and on every occasion the safety of himself, or those around him, had been placed under extreme risk. It had resulted in the death of a great mustelid. Rhys could not allow that to happen again.

He turned away.

“Alpha group, to me, now!” he yelled at a volume he would have been proud of as a human.

Reluctantly, those assigned to his group began to follow as Rhys led them into the forest, Twitch darting up to be by his side: the two mustelids leading the humans into battle.