Free Star Crusades Nexus: Book 05 - Prophecy of Fire by Michael G. Thomas Page A

Strike Group. Although she was proud of every one of them, the strain was beginning to show. There was always the terrifying thought in the back of her mind that something deadly could occur, and she would be left without any of them.
    Most of my family is dead. Spartan is still missing, and all my children are out fighting the wars of the Alliance. Just show me something, anything positive.
    She shook her head, trying to cast the thoughts aside.
    That’s enough...what now?
    Her diary showed a number of meetings with the commander of the newly raised Marine battalions and a PT demonstration in one of the many barracks on Terra Nova. None of it really needed her presence, but it was the best she could do until she was given the okay from the medics to return to her own unit.
    Okay, you have forty minutes before the introduction to the rookies; let’s burn off some of this fat.
    She was out of the room and in the gymnasium in less than ten minutes. It was a circular hall filled with weights, training mats, and machines for the military personnel to make use of in their off time. Like every one of the other marines, she had changed into her regulation physical training gear. It was nothing fancy and consisted of a plain green cotton t-shirt, green nylon shorts, black socks, and running shoes. Without giving the other marines a second look, she went through her warm-up and then moved to her exercises with the kettle bells. They were traditional training tools from Russia made from cast-iron and resembled an ancient cannon ball with a handle. They were heavy and different weights. She used the twenty-four kilo kettle bell, the standard heavy model used by the experienced marines. She had been working with it for fifteen minutes before stopping for a breather. Her body dripped with sweat, and she ached from head to toe from the exertion. It was the group of eight marines watching her that stopped her in her tracks. All were dressed the same as her, and none could have been older than twenty.
    “What is it, marines?” she asked sternly.
    “Sir, you’re Major Morato, second-in-command of the 17 th ?”
    She wiped her brow with the towel and then nodded.
    “Haven’t you seen the news?” asked one of the women, a scrawny-looking thing with short cropped blonde hair.
    “What do you think? I’m kind of busy.”
    She might have been forty-eight, but years of physically training with the Corps, a healthy lifestyle, and access to the best medical facilities in the Alliance had helped her maintain a toned body of a thirty-year-old woman.
    “Crews are being rushed to their ships. We thought you might know what’s going on,” the woman continued.
    Teresa walked to the water dispenser, took several sips, and then looked back at them. The look on their faces was an odd mixture of concern and also reverence. It was something she came across all the time on Terra Nova. The adulation of new recruits was a problem she and the other veterans of the Uprising were forced to endure on a daily basis.
    That’s right; to them you’re some kind of hero. Fools.
    “This is the first I’ve heard of it. Check with your sergeant. You might be needed.”
    Teresa was back at her room in half the time it had taken to get to the gymnasium. Everything was as she had left it, and then she saw it. For an outsider, the sight of her could easily have been a painting as she stared at the screen in her temporary office, her face showed shocked disbelief. She had been so busy at the gymnasium, she had forgotten to take her secpad with her; no wonder she had received no emergency messages. The message must have arrived at least half an hour earlier, and she cursed herself for missing it. She sat down and poured herself a glass of water while she waited for it to decrypt to her personal space. Teresa selected two separate video feeds, one for the Alliance News Network that was running a piece of a small space skirmish, and the second the official announcement