The shadow belonged to Gian.
“I’m interrupting,” she said immediately, seeing Gabe’s reaction to her arrival.
Gabe put the notepad away and stood. “It’s alright. How’s the arm?”
She glanced down at the bandaging and burn patches, and then the singed portion of her uniform around it. “I’ll live,” she said.
“Something on your mind?”
“Yeah,” she replied, matter-of-fact as ever. “I was thinking about what you said earlier. That we had no way to signal Vectes?”
“From the look on your face, I’m guessing you’ve got an idea.”
“It was actually your idea, sir,” she said. “Sort of, anyway.”
Gabe raised an eyebrow.
Speaking quickly, the engineer outlined her thought. Gabe listened carefully. The gist was as simple as it was brilliant, and inspired by the trick they’d pulled in the Cathedral Cave on Knifespire. Much like using the antenna there to their advantage, Gian suggested taking apart several suits of Gear armor, and bridging their comms units together to boost the power.
In response to her proposal, Gabe reached for the buckle on his chest armor.
“Hold on,” Gian said. “To be clear, this is a massive hack. Have to take your armor apart. Pull some bits out, run some wires. Without the proper tools and a workshop, this might break your comms entirely, or leave them only semi-functional.”
Gabe almost suggested she use someone else’s, but then he realized what he’d be saying. That his life was more important than a lower-ranking Gear. It wasn’t, but even if it was, that would not be the best topic to bring up when morale was low.
Gian was way ahead of him. “Only a transmission from your rank will register with the listening post at Vectes. They don’t monitor enlisted frequencies.”
“Do it, then,” he said, and started to unbuckle the heavy chest armor.
“I’ll need another comm to link with yours,” Gian noted. “
Use mine.”
It was Wyatt, who’d strolled over from the work crew while Gabe and Gian had been talking.
“What?” Gabe asked.
“I caught the gist of her plan. Use my armor. I’m pretty good at not getting shot, and who knows, with any luck we’ll be back in Vectes without any more action to worry about.”
Gabe frowned.
“Besides,” his brother added, “a signal from my suit goes out on the spec-ops frequency. Believe me, we’ll get a response.”
Before Gabe could argue, Wyatt had his armor halfway off. He dumped it at Gian’s feet, then knelt and started helping her to remove the maintenance panels that protected the radio. Unable to think of a valid argument against this, Gabe left his armor with them and went to see how his Gears were doing with the shelters.
The sun was halfway between its zenith and the horizon when Wyatt and Gian came to find him. His brother looked thin and wiry without his armor on. Gabe barely recognized him.
“Well?”
It was Wyatt who answered. “Got a response from Hoffman himself.”
“How long until they send rescue?”
Wyatt scratched behind his ear. Gian was staring at her feet.
“This is not filling me with hope,” Gabe muttered.
“About that… uh… Hoffman has sort of a different idea.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“He said,” Wyatt replied, “he wants to talk to you.”
* * *
It was, in fact, both Hoffman and Phillips on the comm.
Gabe stood beside a palm tree and watched the waves come in as they explained what was going on.
But Gabe couldn’t get his mind off the only word Hoffman had uttered that really mattered.
Imulsion.
The rare, highly coveted fluid that fueled this war in both senses of the word.
“Imulsion, sir? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely sure, Diaz,” the man said. “A Recon flight detected a vapor cloud rolling out of that cave on Knifespire shortly after your team left. Whatever you did there, it seems to have uncovered an Imulsion source no one knew about.”
“Unbelievable,” Gabe muttered.
“Believe it, son,” Hoffman said. “What’s more, Recon also reports that the enemy are already moving more ships to the area. Clearly they know about it, too, and will do anything to get to it before we do.”
Gabe said nothing. What could he say?
“We’ve been on the line with Deputy Chairman Prescott already,” Phillips added, sounding a bit self-important. “This comes straight from him, Diaz. We need that island. Tell us you still have the resources to secure it.”
Retake the island.
Knifespire.
Gabe shook his head. “It’s… it’s impossible. We’re practically out of ammo. Half my people are carrying secondhand Gorasni weapons. Several wounded with us. There’s no way—”
For a moment, no one spoke. Finally, Hoffman broke the quiet.
“Okay, okay. Just hang tight. We’re putting a fleet together.”
“Everything we’ve got that can float,” Phillips added. “All our remaining patrol boats, and three Corvas. The choppers are dressed for sub-hunting duties but it’s what we have available.”
“As you know, the battlegroup is currently assisting in the blockade of Reinvar,” Hoffman said. “But I can assure you a large portion will be diverted here, given this find. It’s that important. In fact, one of the fast-attack boats, the CNV Defiant, is already on the way at maximum speed.”
Gabe rubbed his chin, trying to think. “This fleet from Vectes—” he started.
“They’ll pick you up on the way to Knifespire. Twenty hours from now, roughly.”
“My question was: why not have them go straight there?”
“Like it or not, you’re our expert on the place now, Diaz. You have the latest intel and know the current lay of the land. We’re counting on you to lead this effort and keep the enemy from securing the island. If we can keep them from digging in, we just might have a chance when the larger fleet arrives.”
“They’ll have a twenty-hour head start, sir. You and I both know that’s too long. It’ll be a massacre.”
“We have to try,” the response came. Simple, powerful, and terrible. “You know that as well as we do.”
Gabe could hear the dejection in his voice, though. Hoffman wasn’t happy about this, either. The fact was the UIR were in a better position, and would take this precious new Imulsion source easily. There was, it seemed, no way to prevent it. The COG had already lost.
But Gabe couldn’t help himself. He did see a way. Maybe. “I’ll report back in an hour,” he said. “There’s something I need to do.”
He signed off before they could argue.
Walking back to his Gears, Gabe envisioned the plan as he often did: like a tree, each branch a possible outcome that demanded a solution, all serving the trunk which began with the mission goal and ended with victory.
This tree had a lot of branches, and few he could see solutions for. Not when he started walking, at least. Yet by the time he reached his people, the plan was more or less fully formed.
And it started with a lie.
He looked to his Gears, and the Navy sailors, who had seen him approach and begun to gather around. Sensing news, expecting rescue. Not a fresh order to battle.
“I’m afraid I have to ask even more of you,” he said to them once they’d all gathered. Gabe Diaz looked his soldiers in their hard eyes. He owed them that much, and more.
Because that was the other thing about handing down orders. At some point you reach the last link in the chain. And from there only two things remained: action, and consequences.
He raised his voice.
“It seems a source of Imulsion has been spotted on Knifespire,” he said.
This sent a ripple through those gathered. Everyone, no matter their rank, understood the importance of such a thing.
“Every last ship Vectes has and more are on the way, but even that won’t be enough. It’s not rescue we’re waiting for,” Gabe said. “It’s our ride. We’re going back. In twenty hours a fleet will pick us up and take us to that island once again. This time, we’re going to stay.”