Mutineer

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Captain Thorpe's baritone reverberated off the hard metal walls of the Typhoon's drop bay. Marines, a moment before intent on checking their battle suits, their weapons, their souls for this rescue mission, hung on his every word.

Ensign Kris Longknife divided her attention; part of her stood back, studying the impact of his speech on the men and women she would soon lead. In her short twenty-two year life, she'd heard a lot of fancy oratory. Another part of her listened to her commander's words, felt them roll over her, into her. It had been a long time since mere words had raised the hackles on her neck, made her want to rip some bastard limb from limb.

''The civilians tried to get her back.'' Kris measured his pause. He came in right on the downbeat. ''They failed. Now they've called for the dogs.''

The marines around Kris growled for their skipper. She'd only worked with them for four days; the Typhoon had sortied on two hours' notice! Captain Thorpe had gotten them away from space dock, short half the crew and without a marine lieutenant to command the drop platoon.

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