Five months. Five long months have passed since that day. Who could have thought at that moment that a rutinary patrol could end in such a disastrous way.
We took off from Manhattan's operation base, in a route that would take us, through the Trade Lanes, around our frontiers. We split into two elements of two, an escort fighter, and a bomber as lead per element, hoping that way to capture those who tried to dodge us: Terrorists, murderers, nomads. The first element, guided by our squadron leader, headed to Colorado. Reports from the miners, harassed by Xeno terrorists made us think one might be trying to detriment the mining operations in the rich asteroid fields of our allies. The second element, leaded by myself, headed to Texas.
In that place everything began. And in there it ended.
A radar spike, 14 kilometers away. It dissapeared. We're surprised, as we're in a Trade Lane, heading south towards Houston, but still far from the planet. We inmediately get out of the Trade Lane and I begin to think. Is it safe to split up? The first element is three minutes away. Naval fleet pilots, less than two minutes away.
'Patrol Four', take the vertical and go up, 15 kilometers. If you do not find anything suspicious, descend to -15 kilometers under the Trade Lane level. I will take horizontal, East, then West. In case of contact, report inmediately.
'Four', roger that. Moving up.
I move away five, ten, fifteen kilometers without any signal. My wingman tells me he has not found anything either, and we proceed to go opposite direction. Again, the search rutine. Five, ten... Contact!
'Patrol Four', it's 'Patrol Three', return formation. I've got an unidentified contact 12 Kilometers away from my position. Closure rate 50m/s, - 'Four' gets closer, up to 11 Kilometers to me.
Lock! Contact is not broadcasting any IFF, it's moving away. Initiating pursue heading West, follow me at cruise speed, and keep an eye on our backs.
Despite it's speed, the contact did not seem to be using cruise engines. Slowly, I was able to catch up with him. First, at 4,000 metres, I scanned him. My scanners were unable to identify neither the ship class, nor the cargo through it's shields.
Unidentified ship, here patrol group LSF-2, cut your engines immediately.
The ship halts it's engines, so I cut my cruise engines. Suddenly without any previous warning, a shiny ball of light separated from the main body of the ship. I am alarmed, but soon realize it is heading South.
'Four', it's 'Three'. The ship has launched some kind of object, possibly a beacon, heading absolute south. Make sure nobody gets close to us - After that, I talked to the strange ship by broadcast: - Attention, unidentified vessel, any further movement will be considered an hostile action and we will proceed to eliminate you. Identify yourself immediately!
If only I had paid more attention. The self-confidence, so useful during a combat, where faith on your reflexes, on your skills, can save your life against someone less experienced and more nervous, betrayed me. I only had a couple seconds to react, but it was already too late. That object I had wrongly called beacon, was heading towards me faster than the speed I would be able to achieve to escape. Hopelessly, I engaged thrusters, and prepared myself to shoot who, in that moment, I thought had killed me. Too late. A pain, similar to thousands of burning daggers penetrated me from the back. Pieces of melted clothing and plastics, before my pilot uniform, got inside of the woulds right after the metalic shrapnel released by the missile, and my ship's guts. With my last energies, I raised my head, and saw how the ship dissapeared as suddenly as it came less than five minutes ago. I managed to push the emergency radio switch, and left myself to die.
The resurrection
It took me four months to wake up for first time. I saw a white shadow, and I thought I had really died, and maybe another life was awaiting. As soon as the drugs stopped being pumped into my veins, a severe dosage of reality was put into me. The pains I had suffered during the attack were nothing compared to this. At that moment, there was adrenalin, there was rage, there was hate. Now, I only had this dullness induced by the drugs. And pain. An unthinkable pain. I heard the voices, doctors discussing I guessed. For first time I screamed. My eyes fully opened, tears falling over my cheeks, I noticed it was all my body which was hurting. Less than a minute after that, a nurse injected more drugs into my body. Pain, dullness, and finally, a sleeping without dreams.
Three weeks later, I was woken up again. This time, the only pain I felt dissapeared as long as I didn't move. I could barely move arms and legs, because of the time I had spent in bed (although, at that time, I wasn't sure about that detail). Second day after that, a LSF officer appeared, asked me for a verbal report on the subject that brought me there, appropriately recorded for further analysis, and left right after talking with the doctors about my future release from the hospital. Ten days later, I was freed, and began rehabilitation.
The opportunity
I received the notification after five months of rehabilitation. I could now walk, run, and lift weights. Although my physical status was a shadow or what it used to be, I could now keep up with normal life. It was a simple and official-looking communication, in which I was ordered to present myself in regional LSF offices in California, for desk job assignation.
Desk job. Compared with my former job in space, filled with dangers, the paradise. Compared with my former job, filled with emotions, a depressing cave in which I knew I would sunk day by day, till I would be too deep to be able to get out by myself. A month later, I took a decision. With all the money the insurance company had given me for the attack and injuries during service, I bought a second-hand freighter, and began a slow return to my old life, by something often considered trivial, but now the most important for me: beeing able to fly where you want, when you want. No more civilian transports for me. During work hours, I would work in my office, distributing arrest warrants, classifying reports... but on my free time, I would become myself again. Or, at least, I would try my best.
Three months later I applied for LSF combat ready status, and my reassignment to spaceborne fleet. I was accepted. And then, it all began, once again.
![[Image: dantri2.png]](http://img683.imageshack.us/img683/4320/dantri2.png)