As the crime world of Red Eye slips into chaos, legendary bounty hunter Tyrus Rechs finds himself trapped in a nightmare of his own making. With his ship seized and his crew likely dead, Rechs must navigate a world where Lizzaar death squads patrol the streets, zhee war parties prowl the jungles, the only law is survival… and the only hope is escape.

Getting off the distant planet won’t be easy. Those with functioning starships are long gone, and Rechs’s only chance lies in the Beast Games—a gladiatorial bloodsport where slaves and desperate men fight for the promise of freedom. But the Games are rigged, the owners treacherous, and every victory only paints a larger target on his back.

As Rechs fights through deadly matches and deadlier ambushes, he’s unaware that something more than the jungle’s predators stalk him. Surviving bounty hunters sent by the crime lord Zauro will stop at nothing to claim their credits, even if it means following Rechs into the depths of hell itself.

From arena death matches to desperate raids on slaver vessels, Rechs must use every trick learned in centuries of war to stay alive. But when predator becomes prey, and the hunter finds himself hunted, even a legend can bleed.

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Finishing out the trilogy for REC-TEAM Pelican, Wreck Jumpers 3 sees Mack and his team of Wreck Jumpers still in the cold…but not out of the fight!

Gaining intel that a high-value target is aboard a luxury starliner, REC-Team Pelican hightails it to intercept. Dropping in system, they arrive to find the starliner crashed, enemy combatants swarming the vessel, and thousands of people in need of rescue from the ocean swallowing the ship. And while the REC-team works to avoid dangers at sea, their enemies close in for the kill. Can the team accomplish their mission and save the passengers? Or will their creed to bring the heartbeats home take a back seat to finally exposing the cabal that forced them into hiding?

Oceanic and sub-surface adventure sets the stage for the Wreck Jumpers’ most daring mission. With no allies in reach and enemies at every turn, it’s time for the Wreck Jumpers to accomplish the ultimate rescue…their own.

WHEN WE STARTED

When we started this series in the Order of the Centurion book, Callsign Valkyrie, Jason put a little tag at the end and asked if folks wanted more of the REC-Team’s adventures. And now with Book 3, we have a Mack and the Boys running the most important rescue of their careers.

The cool part about writing the book and pouring that research into the trilogy was all the cool aspects of the job. We had a pipeline to a couple of PJs (pararescue jumpers) and even had a TACP (Tactical Air Control Party) weigh in on the team’s Tackle (TACL - Tactical Air Control Legionnaire).

So as we round out the trilogy to book 3, here’s a little reminder of what the PJs do, where you can almost imagine them in a set of leej armor.

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The boys are back and at it again! This time, their taking the fight forward!

After a high stakes takedown of a “Repub” starship, the legionnaires of REC-Team Pelican high tail it to Ankalor, one of the most dangerous planets in the sector. They’re in for a whole lot of Zhee and Wobanki and Bad Guys, oh my!

We got all the fun formats. Digital, audio, and dead tree!

Join us for the recues, stay for the KTF!

E-BOOK

AUDIO BOOK

Hard Cover Book

By Walt Robillard

When it came time to jump in and do an Order of the Centurion Book with Jason and Nick, I wanted to do something with the legion, but show off that not all special forces in the same service are the same thing.

For example, when we look at the army, we have the special forces who hold a certain job, the ranger regiment whose job differs from the green berets, and then guys like Delta and the Activity who are different still. But using our own military as a basis, we could assume the Legion itself would have unique job rolls that would differ from those who kick down doors in a Koob village or taking on Savage Marines.

Enter the Wreck Jumpers.

Initially, they were called Legion Recovery and Rescue Operations, which the legionnaires shortened to REC-Teams. Of course, like any service, this came with several nicknames. Rescue Rickies, Wreckers (which came from REC-R—RECovery and Rescue) and the one they preferred but often got in trouble for, was Valkyrie teams.

It was a nod and wink to our previous administration back then to show off how timid the government was, even though they held the leash on some of the finest war dogs ever trained. In the first book, the operators often get berated for using the term Valkyrie because the term dates back to a religious figure and the House of Reason’s Military Affairs Department didn’t want to offend anyone.

It was around 2020, and I needed a pitch to move Callsign Valkyrie forward, so I called my buddy Rob, who worked as a PJ.

“Hey man. I was wondering if I could pick your brain. I have a book to write and I want to make the main characters sort of like space marine Pararescue Jumpers. Could you help me smooth out the rough edges?”

His response was pure military pal. “Of course, bro. Not even a question, other than, how’d Army Monkey learn to write if he can’t read?”

Well, picking myself off the floor after that one, I wrote the book with Jason and Nick’s help (along with frequent check ins with Rob), and it got enough attention where Jason started asking folks if they wanted to get in on a Wreck Jumpers series.

All that to say, that’s where Wreck Jumpers started. And now we have three books in the launch window (one already being released) ready for you to ride along. But we thought we’d drop a note and answer a couple of questions.

Who are the Wreck Jumpers?: The book takes place in the Galaxy’s Edge universe. The Wreck Jumpers are a special operations group composed of two teams. The Alpha Section, which are spies, agents, and slicers who act to support The Bravo Section—Legionnaires with advanced medical and tactical training to support different missions than the line legions.

The wreck jumpers have three mandates that can launch a REC-Team.

• Rescue / Recovery of lost / downed personnel

• Recovery of mission critical intel or assets.

• Asset denial of critical intel or assets that can’t be recovered.

When does Wreck Jumpers Take Place?: After Legionnaire and before Kill Team. The events of the trilogy take place during a time the bad guys in the galaxy are setting things up for their big reveal, and the wreck jumpers stumble into the middle of it.

Do I have to read the original series to get in on this?: NOPE. We wrote it so if this is how you want to start, finish, or sample GE, we got you fam. No need to read the books before, but with all the links to Season 1 of Galaxy’s Edge… you’re going to want to.

Will there be any more Wreck Jumpers after Book 3?: That depends on you. If you like the books, leave a review. Recommend it to friends. Talk it up online. If it sells well, we can jump back in with a quickness as we have 3 more books outlined. But if you want to see Mack and his team of Wreck Jumpers get deep into the inner workings of GE, then please go out and let everyone know what you thought of the books.

It won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, which is fine, because we just so happen to like coffee.

And just a call out to the man who Callsign Valkyrie was dedicated to. Air Force Master Sergeant John Chapman. He wasn’t a PJ, but we wanted to give the books the same grit, determination, and refusal to quit, even when the situation looked hopeless.

He inspired one of the key battles in the OotC book, and many interactions that ended up in the new series.

We hope you like it and that you’ll raise a glass to MSG Chapman after you drop a review to tell us how we did.

PICK UP BOOK 1 NOW!

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Malcolm "Mack" Baines and his Recovery Team are the best of the best. When a Special Orbital Assault Regiment School nestled inside an asteroid belt suddenly goes dark, Mack and his team of Wreck Jumpers are tasked with putting eyes on the target.

Their mission: recon the site and turn the comms back on.

Jump into Book 1 of the new Wreck Jumpers series by Jason Anspach and Nick Cole. This title drops on July 8, but savvy followers of the WarGate store know where to get the digital copy right now!

For those that want to get in on things early, you have the green light to drop into the store and pick up your digital copy of WRECK JUMPERS right now. Why buy direct? Well, unlike some digital e-tailers, when you buy from us, the book is yours. You own the file.

Stop on by to the WarGate Store or jump on over to audible to get your orders in for Wreck Jumpers dropping on July 8.

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Want to listen instead of watch? CLICK HERE

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GRAB YOUR BLASTER AND GEAR UP WITH HUNTER CHHUN AND TEAM RANGER AS SEASON 3 CONTINUES!

Who Knew the Truth?

As Chhun and his fellow Legion Adjudicators work to uncover the buried secrets of the time called the Troubles, the rest of the galaxy isn’t just standing still. Organizations both inside and out of the Republic make moves to prepare for their own futures. Planets build their own independent defense forces. Power brokers and criminal cartels arise with personal armadas. The Repub Navy seeks to prove itself just as capable even without the Legion. Piracy blooms.

For the Adjudicator and his team, the job only gets harder. Each snatch, grab, and interrogation grows more dangerous.

As stress and casualties mount, Hunter Team Ranger begins to splinter from within. Their pace is relentless, their mission seemingly unending…

… and now Chhun and his legionnaires are inserted on a hidden planet that is home to one of the Republic’s darkest secrets.

Join Chhun and Hunter Team Ranger in their mission to run the blasters, clear the corners, and keep the Republic from descending into chaos.

The galaxy is a dumpster fire, and the flames are out of control!

GET YOUR COPY HERE!

The long awaited continuation of Contracts and Terminations hits now on Audible.

LINE UP YOUR NEXT TARGET

The Hunter Becomes the Hunted.

The fearsome bounty hunter Tyrus Rechs has laid a careful trap to kill an elusive and powerful criminal known as Mister Zauro for crimes orchestrated on the planet Detron. But unbeknownst to the bounty hunter, another trap has been laid just as carefully ... a trap for Tyrus Rechs himself.

For Zauro is a Lizzaar, and Lizzaar crime lords are not without their defenses.

Rechs is mere moments away from finishing his termination when the counter-trap is triggered. In an instant the tables are turned, the hunter becomes the hunted, and it is Rechs who is on the run as he is battered by an army of mercenaries, assassins, and war bots led by a mysterious and ruthless killer named Mephisto.

Now Tyrus Rechs, the perpetual loner, must rely on a growing group of unlikely allies if he hopes to survive to see the end of ... Mephisto’s Game!

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After the Troubles, when the Galactic Republic had stabilized, not all the planetary members were happy the Republic had failed them a second time. From the rise of the Empire to the return of the Savages, some systems felt the Republic was demanding too much in return for so little protection and service.

Planets seceded, pulling with them any hope of protection via the Repub military. One planet in particular, Ulori, demanded their freedom from the Republic, sparking an investigation that saw Navy and Legion battle cruisers stalking about the system. The Adjudicators, legion special investigators charged with discovering the reasons for Ulori leaving, were called to determine if the claim for independence was in the Ulori’s “best interest.”

With so many worlds declaring independence, the galaxy saw a relentless pursuit to build private shipyards catering to systems without planetary protection. From small, heavily armed corvettes to full-fledged destroyers, the shipyards cranked out a steady stream of star worthy ships. Catering to the fledgling governments newly free of their Republic shackles, the independent shipyards built small fleets in return for a fortune in credits.

In The Betrayed, we see one of these shipyards hosted by the Night Market, on a planet at galaxy’s edge, Vulca Six. But unlike some of the mom and pop operations springing up around the sector, the Night Market syndicates don’t play using hope as currency. Armed with professional mercenaries, legion trained security, and staging their own small fleets of ships running cover, the shipyards on Vulca fully expect trouble from competing interests.

Including the Repub military.

As events spiral out of control when Hunter Team Ranger bang their boots onto Vulca Six, it’s clear to the Adjudicator that this will not be an easy takedown. 

Grab your gun belt and blaster and get ready to board the Tomahawk assault corvette with the team, when The Betrayed drops on October 25th.

Check out the first chapter of The Order of the Centurion: The Lost Legion before it hits the shelves on OCT 17, 2024!

1

Sergeant Carson Metzger fell flat a moment before the incoming artillery round went off. His Republic body armor was good, not great. There were plenty of gaps where hot shrapnel could penetrate and make his life miserable. Before he had joined the Republic military, he had assumed that artillery rounds killed with their spray of deadly shrapnel. That was true, but the concussion from the blast killed just as many warriors.

That knowledge couldn’t help him now; it was a momentary flicker in his mind that he wished he hadn’t remembered.

Ever since their drop on Frixon, things had been… chaotic. Combat was always a blender set on high and mixing mayhem and madness with death and destruction. This landing was a little more tumultuous than usual. Most of the members of his unit, the Republic Army’s 444th Infantry Division, summed it up with a short phrase: “The frellin’ Frix.”

Republic infantry divisions were numerous and often seen as expendable. Ask any R-A grunt if even the Legion saw them as anything except fodder, and you’d get one, universal answer: Hell no. But if there was an exception, the 444th—“Three-Fours”—was different. They were fighters. Survivors. On Durral II, Okem, Ramstein, and half a dozen other worlds, they had fought with precision that garnered respect.

And they had lived to tell the tale.

The reputation afforded to a Three-Fours trooper was one of the things that Metzger loved about being in it. He had tried to join the Legion, but had failed the murderous selection process. He strove to be the best where he landed. Partly for himself, because that’s the kind of man he was, and partly to maybe one day prove the Legion wrong for telling him he couldn’t hack it.

To rub their noses in it.

Metzger was aware of that particular weakness of his. He enjoyed rubbing it in, more than he did proving people wrong. His father had constantly chided him for it, as had his sergeants and superior officers. But a man can’t change who he is, and Metzger saw the frellin’ Frix as an opportunity to show that he was, indeed, one of the best of the best. Frixon would be added to the litany of worlds stitched on the 444th’s battle flag, and Metzger would be part of that story.

All that remained was the business of finishing the job, which proved easier planned than accomplished.

The dominant species on the planet, the Frix, had been chafing at Republic oversight of their manufacturing operations for a decade. During that time, reports had come back that they had been arming themselves, purchasing munitions and weapons—preparing for war. The House of Reason saw these efforts as a sort of bargaining chip to be expected. Lots of Republic protectorate worlds talked tough—it was part and parcel of being a planet on galaxy’s edge. But when the consequence of an open rebellion against the Republic was a visit from the Legion… talk was usually all it was.

This time, though, the politicians guessed wrong. Frixon was one of those disgruntled worlds ripe for manipulation by outside agitators looking to spread their own rebellion beyond the mid-core and throughout the galaxy at large. “Outside agitators” of course meant the MCR—the Mid-Core Rebellion. And that in turn meant… a fight.

Good. That’s why Metzger was there. He didn’t care about politics—he was a sergeant who knew what his responsibility was. He had just one job to do: stack ’em high and stack ’em deep.

But ever since he’d arrived on planet, he couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would fight for this place. Rock-sown deserts with massive buttes and stony plateaus rose up against a cloudless purple sky.

You fight for what’s familiar, he supposed.

When he talked to his LT about what a wasteland Frixon was, he was told they were actually landing on the planet’s garden spot.

If this is the lush garden spot, I’d hate to see what the rest of the world looks like.

Metzger’s unit had been held back as a reserve until this most recent clash, so he’d gotten plenty of time to take in the scenery and the locals. All the Frix he’d seen prior to this point, though, had been dead. They pretty much looked like the mission briefs said they would—thick-headed aliens capable of living in a wasteland like Frixon. They had gray hide—a sort of natural armor that could resist light-to-medium blaster fire. Thick, stubby fingers. Small, curved horns and a bony ridge that protruded up their thick skulls. Big eyes, each with two lids, one for normal wetting, the other for protection from the random straight-line wind gusts that were a hallmark of Frixon. Their bulk didn’t slow them down much; a Frix warrior could easily outpace even a leej on open ground.

Their native tactics were crude. If the MCR had done any training prior to helping arm the Frix, it didn’t stick. Where most enemies equipped with modern weapons attempted to do their killing at a distance, the Frix liked getting up close and personal, even when it wasn’t necessary. The armored Frix delighted in the charge, letting their thick hides and armor soak up blaster shots as they rushed in to stomp and shoot their foes at point-blank range. For the fire teams of the 444th, that was perfect—it meant their targets were coming to them, making them easier to eliminate.

The Frix attacked as though their hides were invulnerable, but something heavy like an N-18 or concentrated fire from a Miif-7 would take them down before they thought to fire a shot. The only problem was numbers. If enough charged so that some did get up close… from what Metzger had seen, they were brutal in-fighters. Best to kill them first—as it always is.

A Repub regiment had been garrisoned on Frixon with the idea that a military presence might somehow calm the situation. Maybe that was the belief of an R-A general, maybe the order of a politician—sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. For Metzger, this was a typical civilian political response—putting troops in danger to make a point. A regiment wasn’t enough to be intimidating. All the assignment had done was give the Frix a target, one they gleefully lined up in their scopes.

A minor policing incident was used as the impetus for the Frix to go after the garrison.

To the credit of the garrison commander, an appointed officer, the location of his base had proved defendable, but the siege that was laid on it was long and arduous. Surrounded in the rugged Blitzen Pass of the Pikes Mountain Range, they were being whittled down, bit by bit, each day. Someone had to come in, rescue and resupply them, and send a clear message to the Frix that further rebellion would not be tolerated. So the 444th were hot-dropped into the foothills. Their mission was simple: take out the Frix leadership, cripple the natives’ supply lines, and relieve the Repub garrison.

On datapads, it sounded easy. The problem was, the Frix refused to cooperate.

Metzger raised his head, looking out at the newly formed crater, smoke still rising from its blasted and scorched center. “Anyone have eyes on where that artillery is coming from?”

“This is Ringo 517,” a voice responded. “I just scouted the ridge to the northwest and have tagged all the enemy gun emplacements there. My data upload link to the battlenet is out, but I have what you need.”

Dropping down his HUD, a small holoscreen lowered from his helmet to feed data directly into his eye, he spied Ringo 517’s location on the battlefield map.

Five-One-Seven was an HK-SW—a Hunter-Killer Scout Walker, a mech that consisted of an elevated seat, a motivator unit, a power plant, and two bird-like legs. It was armed with only a pair of small blasters, hardly enough to make mounting them worthwhile but still something. The Republic military used them for scouting missions, and the pilots were considered a bit crazy—you had to be. Unlike the larger Hunter-Killer Planet Pounders (HK-PPs), the scout walkers didn’t have the firepower needed in a hot combat zone; they didn’t even have an enclosed cockpit to protect the pilot. Sitting up a few meters over the ground, running, they were often targeted. They might as well have been painted fluorescent orange with a big bull’s-eye on the side. But they were designed to move, and move fast. “Speed is our armor” was the oft-repeated tagline of mech jockeys and light repulsor tankers.

Metzger had heard a few combat sled drivers take the motto up as well. In all cases, it was the truth.

Ringo 517 was moving about three kilometers away, using a twisting and turning gully for cover. He was way out there, no doubt on a forward reconnaissance mission. Then the HK-SW stopped. And not the good kind of stopped. A flicker of crimson on Metzger’s tiny HUD feed indicated that either the mech was damaged or the pilot was injured. Maybe both. Usually both, because even when those things just tipped over, the pilots got their asses broken up.

Another explosion went off some eighty meters away, throwing dust and dirt into the stiff wind, turning it into an impromptu sandblaster. Metzger’s combat armor showed signs of the stiff winds and dust, with much of his camouflage pattern having been air-blasted off. In the back of his mind, he knew what was coming, but he didn’t dare speak it out loud. Maybe they won’t pick us for this.

It wasn’t fear talking—not fear of danger, anyway. Metzger was worried that he’d be called on to perform a recovery mission, which most likely meant missing the fight that was brewing.

The LT, an appointed officer named Dickerson, came on in Metzger’s right earbud, speaking through a micro-comm. “Sergeant Metzger, I need you to take three fire teams and execute a recovery and exfiltration. Get to Ringo Five-One-Seven’s position, pull his data core, and get him out of there. Pulling the core is going to take some time, but we need his targeting data for counterbattery fire on the enemy’s tubes.”

Dickerson was relatively new to the 444th but had done well so far. Replacement LTs could be walking disasters. Dickerson was not that officer. As Metzger’s buddy Welch put it, “It’s cute that he cares.” There was something to be said about that. Dickerson was meticulous and careful.

“Copy that.” It was hard to escape the feeling they had drawn a crappy assignment.

“Be advised, sat feeds show enemy grav armor operating in the grids just beyond your objective,” Lieutenant Dickerson added. “We’re painting two to three tanks—one of which engaged and took out Ringo Five-One-Seven.”

Oh. Well, sket. This might be interesting after all.

The excitement at getting in the fight was dampened as Metzger thought about the potential vulnerabilities such a small team would face. Surely the Frix knew that they’d downed a scout walker and that Repub procedures were to move in and try to recover.

Things could get ugly in a hurry.

Using his forearm control, Metzger switched comm channels to the tactical platoon—TAC-P—frequency. “Listen up, we just got our orders. We are moving to grid coordinates Golf-Sixteen-Eighteen. There’s a downed HK-SW there—Ringo Five-One-Seven.” He glanced at his HUD feed. “Our job is to get the pilot and recover his targeting data.”

“We can’t just remote transmit?” asked PFC Hoehn, one of the younger team members.

“Assume that if we could, we would, Johnny,” Metzger said, not truly believing it. “Either way, we gotta go in there for the pilot. Same as we’d want done for us. Now I want Charlie fire team to move fast and secure the hilltop to the south at the waypoint. You will provide overwatch for us. Bravo fire team, you will move to the east and take the high ground.”

Through a series of retinal focusing and defocusing, he highlighted the grid coordinates he wanted Bravo at and sent it to them, then continued. “I’ll take Alpha with me. We drop into the gully and move up on our target from the south. Be advised, enemy grav armor is operating in our battlespace. It’s old tech, but not so old it can’t kill you. Make sure each team has at least one anti-vic weapon.”

All three fire teams confirmed, and Metzger moved out from his position as Alpha formed up on him, moving fast and reducing their target profiles. He skirted around a thicket of brush-like trees, their sharp thorns scraping against his armor, managing to find his synthetic body suit and stabbing through it as he moved. On his tiny display, he saw Bravo moving quickly toward their objective.

Another artillery round went off near where he had been hunkered down just minutes before, throwing bits of blasted rock and sand everywhere. It was a good thing the Frix didn’t have enough cannons to deliver a proper barrage.

The squads continued to shift to the west, finally arriving at the gully. The creek cut into the sandstone rocks and was easily three meters down. It meandered through tight twists and turns, with a small sandy shore on either side. Metzger dropped down onto the sandbank and sank deep, up to his shins. Sket! He had learned his lesson with the local mud during the first few hours of deployment. Attempting to pull one foot out would only sink the other deeper. Instead he spread out his weight, dropped to his knees, and crawled through the khaki-colored sand until he got to a firmer bank. Glancing back, he saw the rest of Alpha working their way to firmer ground as well.

It was smoother traveling after that, with no hostiles to be seen until they’d crept deep into enemy-controlled territory, near the downed HK-SW.

Flashes of blaster fire abruptly darted both directions over the coulee, mostly from the direction where Bravo had taken position. Things had kicked off.

“Talk to me, Bravo,” he transmitted.

“Two squads coming from the north, converging on Ringo Five-One-Seven’s position. We are laying down suppression fire,” came back Corporal Shaneal’s crisp voice.

A crack and hiss, followed by a dull blast, this time hitting some forty meters off, showered down bits of stone even in the depths of the creek bed. The sound of it was different though. Experience told him it wasn’t artillery, but blaster cannon fire. “Where did that come from?”

Charlie’s squad leader, Delannon, came on. “Enemy grav armor, two vehicles, moving in from the north. We’re pushin’ forward of our position to get a shot at ’em.”

A check of Metzger’s HUD showed that Charlie was moving in quick short bursts, from cover to cover, to where they could be closer to Ringo 517’s position and possibly get a better angle. “All right, Alpha, tighten up on me, come on.” He moved quickly, priming his Miif-7—the R-A just called them “Miffies,” “Miffs,” or “sevens”—as he moved out, keeping low, rounding every sharp twist and turn of the gully with his blaster ready to fire. A gust of wind above, one of Frixon’s famous straight-line blasts of hot air, sent dust down on him and made an almost mist-like fog in the narrow confines of the creek bed.

As he rounded one twist, he saw that the coulee had opened up, the banks spread wide. It was almost open enough to be some sort of ford, except the east bank rose up several meters. And lying there, some thirty meters in front of his position, were the toppled remnants of the HK-SW. One blackened and charred bird-like leg was extended, twitching slightly; the other limb was blown out at the knee, the actuator still kicking out a thin wisp of white smoke. The lower part of the damaged leg was several meters away on the embankment, standing upright where the last footfall had come before its destruction.

Metzger focused his view on the cockpit. The pilot was bent in half at the waist where the walker had fallen and hit the sandstone embankment. Blood oozed through the gaps in his body armor, and the blown dust clung to the gore, highlighting the pinkish hue. His lips were blue and his skin pale. He hadn’t survived.

“Alpha, you have incoming grav tanks—two of them, moving from the west in echelon,” came Delannon’s voice. As Metzger and his team went low in the coulee bank for cover, Delannon’s voice rang out, “Missile loose.”

A high-pitched whooshing sounded as the shoulder-launched aero-precision missile streaked out overhead. There was a distant explosion, but Metzger’s HUD showed that the vehicle was still moving. The Frix tanks were built like their race—thick hides, dull brains. At least now the beast was on fire, though.

“No joy,” Delannon called. “I swear this whole damn batch is defective. Missile loose,” he called again as Metzger eyed his objective. Another missile whooshed over their position, followed by another blast. “Splash one,” came Delannon’s voice. “Second tank is going evasive. You have your shot now, Alpha.”

“Copy,” Metzger said. “Lobo and Preger—with me. The rest of you, provide cover.” He and his team dashed over to the fallen HK-SW, taking cover behind the extended leg.

Metzger skirted around to the back of the mech, to where the data core module was. It wasn’t big, but it was in a shielded box. A few hard jerks couldn’t pry it open, so he unsheathed his tactical knife, which he’d nicknamed Prick, from his right shin and used it for leverage. He longed for an audience he could crack a joke with about having issues taking his Prick out, but that kind of thing would get you mandatory sensitivity training in the R-A. At least if a point overheard you.

The module was a small cube, just under four centimeters in size. As he reached for it, Corporal Shaneal’s voice came over his micro-comm. “Alpha, you have an incoming grav tank, moving fast, coming from the west.”

Bastard doubled back on us.

“Target confirmed,” Delannon said.

Bursts of blaster fire filled the air over Metzger. He tuned it out. What mattered was the mission, and he trusted his brothers and sisters to do their jobs and protect him. Reaching down, he grabbed the module and pulled, but the small ceramic cube held fast.

Lobo and Preger shifted position, moving to flank the low portion of the ford, should the grav tank make that approach while the rest of Alpha held back near the canyon-like portion of the gully. Metzger hoped the tank would do its fighting at distance, but he also knew the Frix loved it up close and personal.

“What’s goin’ on, Sar’nt?” Lobo asked.

“Stuck,” was Metzger’s one-word answer. The cores were supposed to slide right out, provided you had the proper clearance code. Metzger had that, but something about the crash or attack had locked the damn thing in place.

A massive roar of the grav tank’s cannon confirmed that the fight was getting close. A flash of yellow light from the tank tore out toward Bravo.

“Redeploying,” called out Corporal Shaneal.

Another AP missile streaked overhead.

“Last round, downrange,” Delannon called out.

Metzger repositioned his grip and threw his entire body back, and the core finally yanked free. He fell against the embankment, and for just a moment he was staring at the bent and shattered body of the pilot.

“No joy!” Delannon called out. “Alpha, you need to haul ass.”

Cannon fire from the tank sent a large yellowish burst of energy-tinged death over Metzger’s position to where Charlie was firing from. He couldn’t see the results of the shot, but the explosion on the high embankment told him all he needed to know.

Pushing off the sandstone, he got to his feet and clipped the core to his shoulder armor. Suddenly Alpha opened fire, and he saw it—the Frix grav tank, roaring straight down the shallow slope from the west. It was a hulking thing, a gray monstrosity, boxy, with no sense of streamlining at all. Its turret was wide but not tall, mounting a massive blaster cannon that was slowly traversing as the tank headed right at him. Smoke rolled from the top right side, probably from one of the aero-missile hits that had failed to take it out. It made a throbbing sound, low and deep, as the grav units and inertial compensators were still in operation.

Typical Frix—charging at us like herd animals.

Metzger’s mind instantly crunched the math of his predicament. Climbing up the embankment was no good, nor was trying to duck behind the fallen walker for cover, given its lack of armor and the firepower of the grav tank coming at them. Lying flat risked being crushed under the tank; a cruising grav tank exerted enough downward pressure to crumple even the best leej armor, and he wasn’t in leej armor. The low-tech crap the Republic gave the infantry regiments would break apart at the seams.

That left a dash upstream as his best option. His legs were already in motion by the time his brain arrived at that conclusion. He had to get out of the path of the approaching behemoth. Alpha’s blasters were ineffective against the tank, and Metzger hoped they knew that. He hoped they were just valiantly attempting to draw the tank’s attention away from him for the sake of the mission.

He splashed in the shallow creek as he ran. The mud and the knee-deep water slowed him.

Metzger caught a glimpse of the tank starting to bank, slowing as much as it could. Was it trying to chase him down, or did the driver realize he was about to slam into the embankment and was trying to avoid it? The laws of physics were the wicked mistresses of grav tanks. As it turned, the inertia still carried it toward the embankment, arcing toward Metzger and his team. Preger dove for cover off to the side. Lobo hesitated, only for a moment, but it was enough for the tank to clip him mid-arc-turn. Lobo’s body was thrown over a dozen meters into the embankment, and his body armor made a sickening crunch.

Metzger was running as Lobo flew; there was no option left. A part of him believed he would get clear of the tank before it slammed into the embankment. What he felt wasn’t quite glee, but the euphoric exultation that he had acted fast enough. In his mind, he was going to beat the fast-moving tank. He was pure self-confidence.

He was wrong.

Metzger could feel its presence the moment before it collided with him. There was just enough time for him to turn and face the hulking enemy vehicle as the tank’s armored front stabilizer slammed into his right leg, pushing him into the sandstone embankment.

The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he panic-gasped for air. Pain, excruciating, crimson-flared, engulfed his body. There was an instant crunch, crack, the distinctive sound of bones shattering. Metzger didn’t fall—instead he was standing, his right leg pinned by the grav tank into the wall right at his hip.

His eyes couldn’t avoid looking at the injury; the leg was nearly severed. The pressure of the tank pinning him to the wall was probably the only thing preventing him from bleeding out. He knew from experience that between the stone and the tank, his leg was pulverized into a meaty paste. It could be no other way.

A strange sense of déjà vu washed over him. Memories of Durral II returned, riding the pain he felt. He started to hyperventilate and pulled up his visor to get more air to fight the agony.

His vision tunneled; he struggled to form words. His gloved hands trembled in his sight—no doubt from the adrenaline surging in his blood and the realization of his predicament. He needed medical evac, and someone needed to blow this tank.

Alpha broke out from their position, swarming on top of the grav tank. Richards set up a hatch cutter, waited for it to slice open a small hole in the tank, then tossed a grenade in, screaming, “Frag out!”

Metzger heard the muffled blast from within the tank, and felt a bit of satisfaction knowing that the crew that had crushed his leg would meet their gods before he met Oba.

Smoke rolled out of the hatch, rolling over him and up the embankment. The tank was still hovering, still throbbing. The crew might be dead, but the repulsors were still powered. Their throbbing reverberated throughout his body. It was agony near the pulverized leg and up to the groin, but the pain was a reminder that he was still alive.

How the bulky vehicle had missed his left leg was a mystery. The grizzled sergeant wondered if he should consider himself lucky. A fresh wave of pain radiating from his lower body told him the answer: No! Hell no!

He saw Corporal Richards and waved the man over, growing agitated that the man wasn’t immediately in front of him—the pain making him irritable and ornery. “Richards—Richards! Take the kelhorned core and get it to the LT.” He fumbled to open the pouch as Richards got close. “Link up with Bravo and whatever’s left of Charlie.”

“Kark, Sar’nt,” Richards said, taking the core but never removing his eyes from his sergeant’s pulverized leg. “You gonna be okay?”

“You’re not if you don’t haul ass, kelhorn,” Metzger said as a cold sweat washed over his body. The pain radiating from the pinned leg made him feel as if he were on fire. Every muscle flexed as if to suppress the pain, a battle they lost. He felt light-headed. A part of him wanted to rip his helmet off, but he drove those thoughts down deep.

Richards took off, and Preger came up next to Metzger. “This is beyond what I can fix, Sar’nt. I called in for some help to get you unstuck and stabilized.”

Metzger shook his head. “Don’t worry about me, Preger. I’m not going anywhere. Check on Lobo.”

It was getting hard to form words through the pain.

“On it.”

Preger moved, and Metzger struggled to get air, despite attempts to slow his breathing. He looked down at the leg he knew to be a total loss.

What was it with that damned leg?

The sounds of battle bounced and roared around him as he slid into unconsciousness. The fight was still on. Somewhere out there, his buddies were mixing it up.

Gordon. Tang. O’Keefe.

I hope they’re doing better than me.

That was his final thought before the darkness overtook him.

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Out on galaxy’s edge, not everyone is packing a blaster or has access to a bot to do their fighting for them. Even in the places where lawlessness thrives like a cancer, the locals have ways of carving out justice when they need to.

In the often chaotic worlds of Sinasian space, the criminal elements hold as much power as the local governments. But where criminals closer to edge space might be more chaotic and random, the Sinasion crime lords prefer a more nuanced approach to their activities. Not out of fear of the law or whatever attention they might get from the Republic. The criminals in Sinasia chose to be more cautious in a place where the people they prey upon might just hire the shadows to kill them.

Brought along to the Sinasian cluster when colonists first left Earth, the ninja clans blended into the migrants making their ways to the stars. Hiding in plain sight, these familial groups of spies and assassins helped to build colonies that would eventually become the Sinasian worlds. They became laborers, doctors, and many other professions that would allow them to travel while not being noticed. The entire time practicing their true trade in secret.

Although trained in ancient martial arts perfected over centuries, the ninja clans also learned modern weaponry and tactics, even sending their children off to the Repub military. Those recruits would go onto proud military careers, bringing the lessons learned back to the clans to train the next generations of ninja in modern combat. From swords and poisons to TT-16 observation bots and modern blasters, the ninja became the stuff of myth and legend across the galaxy. A mysterious boogie man that could pass as anyone so they could get to anyone.

While the ninja has become a cultural curiosity in the Republic, they rarely travel outside of Sinasian space. First and foremost, the cost of hiring the mysterious killers is exorbitantly expensive. Why hire a human when a repulsor driven bot carrying explosives can do the job just as well? Then there is the finding of such clans and negotiating a contract for their service. It doesn’t help that the clans word the agreements to put the hiring party at the same risk as the ninja. Many a crime lord in Repub space have bankrupted themselves or been killed because of a failed mission. What started as looking to score style points by hiring the clans ended in disaster for the client when the ninja couldn’t accomplish the task.

The Sinasian home worlds are where the ninja really shines. Familiarity with the worlds and players, as well as blending in with the populace, allows the clans to operate with little fear of being discovered. In the low-tech worlds of the cluster, they shape events, spy on their neighbors, and keep petty criminals in check by savagely killing any who stray too far out of line.

In a galaxy of Gods and Legionnaires, the ninja exploit their place in media and legend to convince the people they are nothing more than a scary story told to frighten criminals. A story repeated through the underworld when one of their own is mailed in pieces to those who’ll spread the tale.

See the danger in the shadows in Chasing the Dragon!

As vast and unfathomable as the galaxy is, cyberspace can be just as deep. The virtual worlds and digital highways connecting them are incredibly complex, requiring specialized algorithms managed by artificial intelligence to run them. 

But as the AIs are purposefully limited to only handle routine problems that arise in the net, there is still a very real demand for coders.

Coders have become an essential part of everyday life throughout the Republic, such that even the least skilled among them can find work. From programming bots to setting up networks to link ship systems to their ports of call, a good coder can write entire strings of programming to make or break an operation.

For the military, that may also include setting up security protocols and arming weapon systems with the latest in tactical acquisition software. Starships and freighters employ them for the same job, programming their onboard systems to protect the crew for when the need arises. Even pirates recognize the value of having a brilliant coder on board. With a swipe of their hands over the keyboard, a good tech plugged into the ship can dial weapons, co-piloting AIs, and work defensive systems to move faster and fight harder than the marks the pirates are trying to take down.

While the coders mostly work out in the open, the dark spaces between law and order where savvy criminals prowl the depths of the Night Market and the Dark Web is where the code slicers make their way. Where the coder builds systems, the slicer tears into them to snatch the treasure of stored information. Digital securing mechanisms tied to networks are easy pickings for the code slicer with a kicked up data-pad loaded with next-gen crypto-cracking algos. 

The slicer logs into the network running the target, and infects it like a virus, uploading tons of malware adapted code strings and hostile data hack equations. Within minutes, the systems fail, and the slicer leaves himself a backdoor into the system. As no one even suspects the slicer is on the digital scene, he’s free to upload new routines, giving whatever unit he supports unlocked doors, misdirected guards, and no surveillance. 

Find your way through the digital wizardry of coders and code slicers in Galaxy’s Edge.

JUMP INTO GALAXY'S EDGE

In a world where high priced bounty hunters are often required to mete out justice at galaxy’s edge, everyone is looking for a leg up on their competition. While some of these hitters work their skills in tactical reconnaissance or by wielding a blaster, the ones with staying power—real longevity—go for armor that is more than just for show. 

Since the time when mercenaries first struck out into the galaxy to the rise of the Bronze Guild, those that make their living by the pull of a trigger know that not every job lands them in hospitable places. Desert star ports, jungles full of deadly predators, and the occasional trip into vacuum are all reasons the best of the blaster-set run their missions inside of fully enclosed armor.

Now, the Legion is known for their distinctive plate armor and buckets, but rare is the hunter or merc that can front the kind of credits it takes to pick up armor like that off the rack. For most, armor is a piecemeal affair, where it becomes modified over time. 

Acquire a piece here, a new helmet there, and that once frumpy-looking blaster thug has a brand-new bang. Not to mention a look distinctive from other hunters just running a plate carrier with ablative armor that only covers their chest. 

We see this on more than one occasion in Galaxy’s Edge Season 1, where Wraith starts with a set of Legion armor signed out to him for his mission. Through grift and guile, Wraith augments the armor with state-of-the-art Night Market tech, which seriously cracks the volume on the already dangerous Legion tool. 

In Season 3, we meet Black Heart at the beginning of the book, a bounty hunter working a contract for the Bronze Guild. The leejes find the hunter’s fully enclosed environmental armor is more than just a set of plates to keep stray blaster bolts from ruining the merchandise. Through complex onboard AI suites, high gain communications systems, and more than a little Night Market wizardry, Black Heart’s armor is more akin to a Legion C2—Command & Control—armor than it is something the bounty hunter pulled off-the-shelf. 

As the most famous bounty hunter in the galaxy, Tyrus Rechs, often displayed, the armor was a great place to hide combat advantages that put them far ahead of the competition. The ancient Mark I armor had augments that saved the former general on many occasions. Legion command even copied some of Rechs’s tech and incorporated it into their own kit, by way of his notorious jump jets.

Dive deep into Galaxy’s Edge and see the black market armor for yourself!

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When we open the first pages of Season 3 Book 1, we see that the unified galactic Republic might not be so unified after all. Even the vaunted Legion has seen a fracture of its uniform whole, with sector commanders holding incredible sway over the units under their directive. 

Tensions mount when planets, once loyal to the Republic, decide to secede. Although the government politely tries to work out their differences with these independent systems, they still dispatch the Legion to “keep the peace during turbulent times.”

In the wake of governments seeking to go their own way after the Troubles that nearly tore the fabric of the Republic, the Legion created a new position to assess these tense situations. The Adjudicators were stood up to provide the Legion commander with desperately needed intel in order to frame their decisions. 

These individuals selected from the legion represent the pinnacle of what it means to be a Legionnaire. Given the authority to work across boundaries and the various sector commands, the Adjudicators’ prime mission is to seek the rot that caused the Troubles, and inform the commanders of their findings. By rounding up whatever players are still alive, they may yet find the key to restoring the Republic...

... Or finding that it can’t be saved and burn it all down.

Each Adjudicator is allotted nearly unlimited funding to wage their discovery campaigns, as well as putting together a team to see the mission through. The special Hunter Teams are composed of legionnaires and specialists for whom the impossible is just Tuesday, and failure is a word used by “other people.” These severe pipe hitters venture out on behalf of the Adjudicator to find mission critical intel that may yet keep the untold number of Repub citizens safe. 

See the first steps of the Adjudicators in The Wanted!

There are certain things that go unnoticed across the breadth of life that is the galaxy. Things that people take as regular parts of the scenery and not worthy of their full attention. Repulsor sleds in traffic. A guy walking by with a clipboard. The random beggar on the street asking for a spare credit chit.

Non-military bots in the Galaxy’s Edge universe are seen the same way, with the servitor models being the most innocuous. Everyday people haul their bots on the job with them, the machines holding countless repair modules, wiring diagrams, and specialized tools within their housing. In echelons of society where high financed businessmen need to digitally ink deals with alien species, protocol and translator bots serve next to their masters and are seen as no different from an expensive link device with those AI applications loaded in. 

Servitor style robots even find their way into war zones, acting as military correspondents. These combat camera bots report the news as it happens, allowing the local affiliates and intergalactic news agencies to superimpose the likeness of their favorite anchor onto that of the bot. 

While most of these bots can be ignored by the average citizen—walked right by as if they were just a traffic light controlling which repulsor sleds can move through the intersection—there are those on the edge that use them specifically because they go ignored. 

Observation bots meant to watch a specific intersection for traffic jams can be fed algos to have them scan and recognize targets of opportunity for the cartels. A small servitor droid can work its way around a bazaar, offering lizard stick samples to passersby, all the while never cluing the crowd that he was Death, Destroyer of Worlds, the gunnery bot belonging to the infamous Tyrus Rechs.

Protocol droids accompanying an ambassador or state official can have state-of-the-art protection detail software added. These same sleeper security bots also have endoskeletons and drive motors far beyond the specs a typical protocol bot was ever meant to have. All so those willing to kill their protectee never knew the VIP was already well guarded. 

For more on the bots and their role in the galaxy, check out Contracts and Terminations!

After the Troubles, the giant dust up that set the Empire against the Repub and the Legion against everyone, the other military services saw fit to ramp up their own special operation’s program. The Marines pushed vast resources into their SOAR specialists and MARSOG units. Intel created better classes of agents with tighter reigns to prevent units like Nether Ops from forming away from oversight.

But the one area where military careers spent under the thumb of appointed officers bled into special operations was the Repub Navy.

Like the other Repub military services, the Navy saw a need to have its own special branch under its direct control. Forming the Navy Special Operations Command, the officers took qualified candidates from across the service to try out for the Special Teams.

One part marine, one part special agent, the Navy Special Teams have become the pride of Naval direct action missions apart from the legion. These operators enjoy the best in tech and gear on par with the Marines, and have the full support of the warships they’re deployed from.

But like all units the legionnaires refer to as, “basic,” they suffer a flaw in that their training and standards comes from the House of Reason Department of the Military, and not from their own command and training doctrine. This has led to some sensational headlines detailing shortcomings that wouldn’t fly within the hallowed command structure of the legion.

While the Special Teams aren’t common, they seem to grab more of their share of headlines due to antics committed while on mission. Blaster fight in an Ice Eel Taco Shop? How’s about running full tilt in a speeder through a busy bazaar while shooting at pursuers? Ever hear about the time the Team Guys were getting a manicure during a surveillance run, only to sprint out on the tab to take down the HVT?

There seems to be no shortage of headlines when it comes to the special teams. Read about them in the upcoming Galaxy’s Edge Season 3 Book 2: The Betrayed!

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Not everyone looking to help you is doing so because they want to see you do well. Sure, you might benefit. There might even be some part of the deal you made where things get better, but as the House of Reason demonstrated to the Republic at large, the majority of help you get in Galaxy’s Edge usually comes with a cost. 

Big gov isn’t the only place this happens in the story. On Kublar during the Troubles, we see a mercenary company operating in the fringe conflict between native Kublarens and the Zhee. The Black Leaf Company comes in during a time when the Republic is in shambles after the overthrow of the old gov in the wake of the war with the Black Fleet. They insert their teams across the planet, offering security and stability to regions neglected by an official government too busy rebuilding and rebranding to be of any help. 

As things “heat” up between the natives, the company comes in with an offer to help. They are willing to provide advanced weapons to the Kublarens against the Zhee insurgency, tearing the regions apart. That help comes in the form of the “Black Leaf Rifle” system.

The battle rifle is a sleek weapon firing 6.5mm kinetic assisted rounds at a speed of 2,500 MPH (3700 feet per second). Each magazine holds forty-five rounds of proprietary Black Leaf ammunition that, if the specs can be believed, will take down a fully kitted legionnaire. 

“That fancy armor won’t stand up at all.”

Black Leaf had manufactured thousands of the weapons to pass out to “friendly” Kublaren tribes in their bid to kick out the Donks from everywhere on planet, including the mortal coil. Shaped to give max ergonomics to the Kublaren body structure, the weapon was extremely easy to wield when firing in single shot, burst, or fully automatic firing modes. 

It didn’t matter to Black Leaf that the weapons fired depleted uranium rounds, which would cause health problems with prolonged exposure. Destabilizing the balance of power between the tribes by giving only certain clans, the rifles didn’t even appear as a blip on the company’s radar. What mattered was Black Leaf was there to “help,” and in doing so, they secured a victory against an invasive force for their “friends.”

Check out more of the conflict as it unfolded in the pages of Takeover!

While blasters maintain their place as the premier weapons in the Galaxy’s Edge universe, you can always count on a Leej to carry a good blade with him.

With technology on a level far beyond that of when the Great Uplift occurred, you’d expect a mountain of innovations for blades to have occurred since mankind left Earth. Surprisingly, after only a few upgrades to one of humanity’s oldest weapons, the blade has remained pretty stagnant in terms of R&D.

Leejes carry folding knives that are made of environment proof materials, running the gamut from manual opening to auto-deployment. The knives are much the same as they are today, except for what they’re made of. A good legion folder can last several lifetimes before it ever needs to be replaced, or at least, it did until certain government contracts skimped on parts for such a simple tool. 

Also, part of the required legion kit is the N-9 combat survival knife. This chonky blade can be seen on the cover of Prisoners of Darkness as a Leej is about to introduce a Gomarii slaver to a bad day. Made of rigorous materials and sporting a large cleaver like blade, the knife is one part cutter and one part chopper. The Wharncliffe style blade allows for deep penetration to stabs with vicious rending on the way out because of its prolific gut hook at the nose of the knife. The same hook can strip wire, which is something that Leejes often do while boarding ships for interdiction. 

Older, and not as seen anymore, is the ancient legion machete, carried by the bounty hunter Tyrus Rechs. The blade is carbon forged, with a diamond edge fashioned into a monomolecular edge running the length of the cutting surface. Backed by Rechs’s powerful assisted armor, the bounty hunter could take off the limbs of a legionnaire through their armored plates (which were designed for impact against blaster bolts). 

A final innovation to come about for the blade is the addition of Vibro technology. A reciprocating energy field surrounds the blade when activated, vibrating in and out of phase to increase the cutting capacity of the edge by a factor of a thousand. Ancient pirates used this tech to cut through star ship hulls, as well as the bulky armor worn by Repub Marines in the times between the Savage Wars. We see the Vibro-knife make a comeback in Wraiths kit on his mission to the jungle in The Wanted, where he easily cuts a path through the dense growth with the energy-based knife.

While laser and sonic scalpels and plasma torches have claimed the top spots as tools carried by spacers, there’s still room at Galaxy’s Edge for a Leej to deploy a good knife in a bad situation.

Check out the Vibro-blade cutting a path for Wraith to steal the shadows and the victory in The Wanted!