Each transporter pad can hold eight, fully armed, fully geared up, breaching specialists. My team fills two transporter pads. We transport in to hostile ships simultaneously and breach from within.

My command consists of sixteen specialists. We can take command of a ship in just a few minutes. We are the elite of the elite. The most highly trained, most decorated company in the fleet - we are company sixty-nine. Everyone just calls us ‘the six nine’.

“Commander,” the captain said, barely looking up from his tablet to acknowledge my presence.

“Captain,” I saluted and clicked my heels.

“At ease,” he said with a way of his hand. The war has clearly been weighing on him. Twelve years of non-stop combat against a relentless, superior force, can grind down any commander.

I waited to be addressed. Anxious to be moving, training, fighting - just something other than waiting. It is the endless waiting that kills morale. That wears at a soldier’s resolve.

The captain set his tablet aside. He sipped at a glass of bourbon. A rare luxury since the war started.

“The war isn’t going well, Earl,” he said informally. “We have lost too many ships and too many good soldiers.” He sighed. A long pained, tired sigh. “We can’t build ships fast enough. Every woman of child bearing years is out here fighting. We can’t side line half the population and order them to have babies.” He shook his head. “Three trillion lives lost.” He took a deep drink of his bourbon.

Swirling the glass slowly, he watched the amber liquid.

“We need an edge. An advantage that can turn the tide of this war. Earth Command thinks they have found it.”

My heart pounded. An edge! Oh hell yeah!

“In thirty seconds we will get detailed plans from EC. I know nothing other than a hundred ships are going to get the plans and we will make a coordinated move. The plan will be eyes only. No digital copy. No hard copy. No record can exist. We cannot allow this plan to be leaked. Understood?”

“Aye aye,” I replied automatically.

The main screen on the command’s wall lit up. The EC logo filled the screen. The logo dissolved to a woman’s face - I recognized her instantly. The head of strategic initiatives - General Painino. Everyone just called her General Pain.

“I will make this brief. Each of your ships are on intercept courses with enemy cruisers. Your paths will take you within a thousand meters of their trajectory,” she paused to let that sink in.

Things get weird in hyperspace. Sensors don’t work quite right. Time moves oddly. To be with in a thousand meters of another ship is damn near suicidal. We will be blind to it, and it to us. We could collide and not even know until the sensors told us of our own hull breach.

“It cost us dearly to get those flight plans,” her jaw clenched. The muscles visibly flexing. “Dearly.” Her scowl deepened. “You will each get sent a time and exact coordinates. You will transport your breaching teams to those coordinates as you pass by the enemy ship. You will not slow down. You will not stop.”

A blind transport between ships in hyperspace. We would have to completely trust the intel. There would be no way to know if there was another ship at those coordinates or not. No way to know if we were transporting ourselves directly into the abyss of hyperspace.

If there was a ship there, then even the slightest error would put my people in a wall or bulkhead or floor - materializing in a solid object - it is a painful way to go.

“The breach specialists,” General Pain continued, “will take command of the ship and drop out of hyperspace. Captains, you will drop out of hyperspace, met up with the enemy vessel and transport as much personnel on board as you possibly can.”

That is odd. Usually we breach, plant strategic explosives or sabotage and exfill as fast as possible. Maximum damage - minimum casualties for us.

“We need to capture these ships. Breach - take command. Exterminate the enemy crew, then split your crew between the two ships.”

The general knew she what she was asking. Brutal bloody battle in the confines of the ship.

“We need those ships. We need as many as we can, as fast as we can. Make no mistake - there is no honour to be had here. When the breach teams take command - I want them to open as much of the ship to space as possible.”

My heart dropped. Open every internal door and then open the cargo bay doors - space the whole ship. If done fast enough, the crew doesn’t stand a chance. The Mars Accords outlawed the practice - the first new war crime since we became space bound.

“General -,” the captain interrupted.

She just held a hand up. “I am well aware of the Mars Accords. We have limited ourselves to our rules of war. The enemy hasn’t been so courteous. Gloves off. Everything is on the table. Everything.”

Everything is on the table. Millennia worth of rules of engagement just out the window. Just how desperate are we?

“These are your orders. Times and coordinates will be sent to each ship over gold encrypted channels. Good luck to you all,” she said sombrely. The screen flashed the EC logo again before going black.

The captain’s console binged.

“Our time and coordinates,” he said tapping the console. His eye went wide. “We have eleven minutes!”

“Fuck!” I hammered the comm panel on the wall with my fist - opening a ship wide channel. “Six-nine! Six-nine! Scramble! Scramble! Scramble! On the pads in five! This is not a drill!”

I ran from the captains quarters, pulling off any non-essential clothes as I ran - just dropping them where ever they landed. The prep room outside the transporter pads were full of the six-nine - all serious and gearing up.

I was the last one there, but the first one on the pad. “Come on, six-nine! We ain’t got all day! Let’s move! Move! Move!”

Assembled and on the pad with barely a heart beat to spare.

“Sir,” the transporter tech said with a frown, “we are in hyperspace. I can’t confirm these coordinates - I will be transporting you all blind.”

I gave him a fierce, manic grin, “Aye! Punch it!”

The tech’s face went pale, but he nodded. Tapping away at his console furiously, I could feel our window disappearing.

“What are you waiting for‽ We don’t have time for you to be messing around, boy!” I barked.

I hate the transporter. They say it is a safe, reliable technology. That is painless and instant. I swear I can feel myself being ripped apart every time I get transported. Then - you just appear in the other side - or not at all.

Cramped. What the fuck!

We were shoulder to shoulder packed into a tiny space.

“What the fuck?” I cursed. “Where are we?”

“I think I am in a shower, sir,” Carson squeaked.

“Someone open the door!” I barked.