The 13th Star: An Action Adventure Sci-F Apocalyptic Novel (8 page)

“I believe my place is here,” Rettoul said. “The last years were hard, but I had a goal. Now I want to find my purpose in
educating the young to the heritage of battle, to the values that I brought from home and those I found here. Sir! I believe
in, and want to be part of, your army.”

“What you say is interesting. Tell me, what do you think of my assigning you to some outlaws? I believe you know them personally…”

“Outlaws?
Who I know?” he said, surprised. “I don’t know what you mean, but I’m here to do whatever I can for the army.” Rettoul didn’t
understand what exactly what Bar wanted, but he was already here. Any offer would be better than what he had left behind on
Falcon.

Bar walked around the desk and stood an inch away from Rettoul. “There’s a guy named Mattoui. You know him, I think. He’s
an interesting guy with just a little problem.” Rettoul glanced at Bar questioningly. “Since he returned home a few weeks
ago, he’s been making an incredible mess for the law man's. No one’s been able to control him after he discovered that his
home had been destroyed in the galactic battles. What do you think? Can you restrain him?”

Rettoul couldn’t help but grin broadly. He didn’t know if it was a real offer to restrain his good friend, or whether Bar
was linking them together to keep them both busy. But the mention of Mattoui’s name filled his heart.
I did well coming back here, he thought.

“I know him.” He smiled understandingly at the commander. “I would love to curb the guy.”

“Wait. There’s more,” the authoritative voice boomed again as the commander turned back toward his seat. “If you take responsibility
for Mattoui, I have a few more troublemakers I want you to take care of properly. How did you phrase it? ‘Curb’ the guy? Yeah,
I wish you’d restrain this pesky group. I have no idea how precisely you, or all these other soldiers, made your way back
here. What can I tell you? I don’t know if I’m happy about it or not, but here you all are. I have to take you back into our
ranks.”

“All of us? What do you mean?” Rettoul couldn’t follow the
chief of staff, who
sighed as if explaining it for the thousandth time and was about to lose his patience.

“Zoi, the dandy and chatterbox, is here. He’s a successful man who did a very good job in his service and was praised, but
he can’t seem to close his mouth. Apart from him, Berez the Terrible is also here. When they saw him in the uniform department,
they were scared stiff, since he’s about the size of an aircraft hangar. I don’t remember how I found a uniform that fit him
at the beginning of his training. I didn’t believe he’d become anything. What a challenge he was. I didn’t intervene because
I wanted to see what this big guy could get out of himself in his military service. You know what, Rettoul? He surprised me.
There’s something special about this giant.

“The last one, who arrived yesterday, is Thor. What a mess you men made after that event in the den! You probably don’t know
it, but since then the eyes of all the political and military leaders have been on you. And what can I tell you? You succeeded!
None of you knew you would be tested, and you proved that you’re human
beings first and only then soldiers. I’m glad you came, too, or I probably would’ve sent for you. Welcome back to our ranks.”

Rettoul was amazed. He’d expect finding his friends here, too—nor the praise, which included a blessing of success. His eyes
shone as he saluted and offered his hand to shake. The commander gave him a big smile. He didn’t know it was possible for
the army commander to look that happy.

“Well, let’s summarize. You and your friends are welcome here. Check with my secretary and she’ll connect you with the chief
warden. Your gang was locked up on base after they made a terrible mess that doesn’t befit their rank. Never mind—it might
be the result of recent years. I really don’t know. But they’re all good guys.”

The chief of staff paused. “You are dismissed.”

Leaving the great office, Rettoul didn’t know how to feel. He understood his friends had rioted, but didn’t know to what extent.
Since the commander had imprisoned them, they must’ve ravaged the place. But maybe the army commander wanted to test them.
In recent years, Rettoul had
heard of
the feats
and work of the chief of staff and he knew he could also do dirty things. But all this didn’t change the fact that he was
glad to have the meeting.

The chief prison warden led Rettoul to the cell. As an observer, the men might have been four friends relaxing in the home
of a pal—not behind bars. One teased each other, the third lay on his back, apparently thinking, and the fourth was reading
a
newspaper. Rettoul grinned, his soul immediately recharged. The quartet reminded him of the period when they were cadets.

“Have you calmed down?” he asked.

Everyone exclaimed together, “Rettoul!”

The chief warden opened the lock and the ecstatic men jumped on Rettoul, knocking him over.

“Wow, you haven’t changed! And that uniform makes you look more and more like a general,” said Thor.

“You haven’t changed either—maybe lost a little weight,” retorted Rettoul. He looked around at them kindly. “Hey, guys. I
understand you’re not bored—because you’re busy driving everyone crazy!”

“Everyone?” said Mattoui. “Nah. That’s a total exaggeration. But you wouldn’t believe the uniformed animals wandering around
out there!”

“I believe you, I believe you. I went home and saw things I never thought I would see—not in my home, or anywhere else. I’m
so glad to see all of you. You have no idea how much I missed you the last few years, and the last month particularly.”

“You’ve become a diplomatic general,” Berez exclaimed excitedly. “What now? Have you come to bail us out, or what?”

“I came to take you in hand. We’re off to the barracks.”

“Barracks?” The four screwed up their faces. “What’s with that? It’s better here—at least there aren’t too many tasks, and
it’ll be over in a few days,” Thor said, nodding.

“They’re waiting for us to calm down. They haven’t realized we settled down as soon as we saw each other.” Zoi laughed.

“Barracks!” Rettoul repeated. “We’re going to the staff residence. That was my personal promise to Bar so he’d release you
on bail. I guaranteed you guys would come with me—to educate the younger generation how not to do the rubbish you did last
month!” And he winked at them with true affection.

There was something special in the work of the
quintet; something completely unlike the previous generations of
command staff on Kantara. There had never been a group of
commanders whose priority was to bring the soldiers home safely—not
only physically, but also emotionally.
The quintet saw their cadets as they themselves used to be and treated them accordingly.

Kantara’s Supreme High Command allowed them to develop a unique training program that had been approved last year. Under the
watchful and critical eye of the army commander and the entire High Command, the exercise began.

The division of labor was very clear: physical training was handled by Berez, who was responsible for the cadets’ abilities
and skills as fighters. Berez approached his task wholeheartedly and soon other cadets asked to attend his lessons as an alternative
to the Mayjing lessons. But the team maintained the cadets’ defined boundaries and didn’t
allow students in parallel courses to join. Their strong desire to prove themselves a complete success needed their focus
to remain solely on the group they’d been given.

Zoi—the champion marksman—did take on additional groups for a last training session at Bar’s request. His success was tremendous.
Shaky hands became stable, wandering looks became focused. His training methods were adopted by the other shooting instructors
and his name became known all over the base.

Thor was put in place as the personal coach of each cadet, a strong and important support role, both in practical terms and
in terms of morale. Each cadet had a few hours a week divided into two days, during which Thor became a personal trainer in
shooting, endurance, and tactics. He was the students’ favorite teacher and among them, they bartered “Thor hours” as a precious
commodity. If a student lost a bet, his “Thor hours” were up for grabs.

Thor matured among
the cadets and spent time with them that the faculty defined as student hours only. He was found at night visiting cadets
who’d cracked from homesickness, or due to the harsh conditions, taking the place of the mothers and fathers they missed so
much. Thor was the one to provide a supportive word, pat on the back them in encouragement, promise he’d prepare them to be
as good as the rest of their group, and perhaps even more.

At night you could see and hear the cadets imitate him—his clumsy movements, his bone-cracking embrace, the vocabulary understood
only by him and Zoi.

Mattoui took on teaching flight and airborne tactics. Not all the students took his courses but, unlike his instructors, the
cadets were exposed to him from the moment they were accepted to the course. Even cadets who didn’t complete the classes as
pilots, but as fighters, often joined his lectures. With his smile, he could explain to anyone how to operate the most complex
of vehicles and how to transport it to any campaign without being condescending.

Mattoui took the concept of returning home seriously. When his homecoming was thwarted because he’d lost his home, he realized
“home” was the one thing a person carried in his heart—not necessarily the place from which he departed. Mattoui taught the
value of home to his students and selected them carefully and uncompromisingly. Only those he thought could return the
vehicles
safely—
t
he ten very best—were selected to receive instruction from him.

Rettoul assumed the final training and practice of Mattoui’s ten selected representatives. To him, being able to come home
was significant, but one couldn’t forgo tactics and maneuverability. The hours spent with Rettoul quickly become hours of
heritage and focus. He planted something of his soul in each cadet to the point that they became his younger brothers.

Sometimes bitter disputes were heard between Mattoui and Rettoul regarding one cadet or another. Rettoul’s personal demands
sometimes contradicted Mattoui’s training, but neither one gave up. As part of a summary meeting held twice a week at the
end of a dinner shared by all five of them, they would raise the issue in dispute and the rest of the team expressed its opinion.

Rettoul was also responsible for the curriculum and the connection to the High Command, including the
chief of staff
. Rettoul developed the training program and curriculum, but the senior staff didn’t approve. They didn’t believe in a different
system—only the one familiar and known for years. Rettoul, however, insisted on his system. He assured the other instructors
that all the processes, all the results—everything that occurred under his control during the course—would be completely transparent
to all, and they’d be entitled to respond and comment. He further promised that he’d take on the most problematic group of
cadets, the one that no one else wanted, whose grades were expected to be the lowest in
the
bunch. He’d
supervise them and, at the end of the training period when presenting the data, he’d alter and replace his approach at the
request of the senior faculty if he hadn’t met the challenge—to position his pupils at the top of the cadets’ groups.

They were called “the magnificent five” by everyone. All eyes were riveted on them, especially those of cadets who weren’t
lucky enough to enjoy their guidance, obviously jealous. The other instructors also visited and examined all their actions.
Some awaited their failure and others suffered for not being part of the quintet. But no one could ignore them.

The end of the course arrived and students from all the groups in the camp presented the skills and abilities acquired. The
students of the quintet were hugely successful. The scores were so high that even their human, reasonable failings were no
longer visible. The five demonstrated it was possible to get high results in another way, too.

The camp Steering Committee sought to expand the scope of the training, so the five trained additional teams in their methods.
No one had any doubt because they’d succeeded in the past, and apparently not by chance. The five saw humanity and friendship
as a key to success.

Their success soon led to a rise in the administrative and command hierarchy. Four years after Rettoul became responsible
for the once-troublesome bunch, the quintet became the most senior staff in the camp. The only camp staff of higher rank were
Bar and his deputy. Those men both occasionally expressed skepticism about the training process, but they couldn’t argue with
the results, especially when accompanied by such great admiration and respect by the students, as well as other training teams.
Many cadets clamored to enter the quintet’s training, as they now only taught one course a year. The other unfortunate cadets
considered themselves lucky if only they met or heard the quintet.

Rettoul, their idol, had something indescribable—some said charisma, some said a halo. Modestly, amiably, and professionally,
he inspired every student and instructor, or even a person he’d just met, to want to be near him.

As the main contact person between the quintet and the senior command staff in the camp, and the entire galaxy, Bar wondered
how he should relate to Rettoul. His success left no doubt that the decision Bar took years earlier was correct. However,
he sometimes felt that Rettoul had somehow won the prestige that should’ve been his—as if Rettoul, with his tremendous success
and complete identification as the senior instructor in the camp, was a threat to Bar’s existence and presence.

Mattoui was in love. He’d met Tamar on a flight when he went on a private, two-week tour of the galaxy. He thought he’d get
away for a bit between courses and see the world. For some reason he felt empty, as if drained. He hoped those two weeks would
recharge his energy. None of the five knew what awaited them after the next course, or the one thereafter, and so on. They
simply functioned from one to the next. Something broke in Mattoui.

Tamar was beautiful, as only women who are not aware of their beauty can be. Her long curly hair was in a thick braid, her
honey brown eyes heralding love and wisdom. Her face was unblemished, as if the sun’s rays had never caressed it, and her
lips were as red as a rose. Her neck was long, like her body, and she conveyed nobility that couldn’t be attributed to anything
in her family history.

She was sitting two rows in front of Mattoui on the shuttle with her back to him. He hadn’t yet seen her face, but something
in her noble bearing and the color of her hair caught his attention. He deliberated whether to go ask something, or maybe
ask one of the shuttle staff to give her a present from him. Finally he decided simply to allow his distracted mind time to
enjoy the upcoming days. After landing, he remained in his seat for a few minutes. She turned around abruptly, her braid cutting
the air like a sharp saw, her eyes shining and her smile warm.

At that moment, Mattoui knew there would be no point to his vacation if he didn’t exchange even one word with her. The words
“to talk to her or die” flitted through his mind like a mantra, hitting him hard. His heart pounded, threatening to burst.
She
walked past him, smiled, and nodded at him as if she knew him.
Mattoui
felt weak in the knees, so he continued sitting while cold sweat covered him.

An attendant, whose name he suddenly couldn’t remember, turned to him with a smile, concerned. “Sir, do you feel okay?”

“I don’t know what I feel,” he replied half-heartedly and leaped out of his seat, hurrying to catch up with the beautiful
woman. She vanished and the trip became worthless for him. When he returned to Kantara, his mechanical actions were correct,
but his friends knew something was wrong. Rettoul checked on him frequently, but Mattoui was silent.

Two months later during a normal training day, one of the flight traffic controllers whom he spoke to regularly over the communications
network
asked
how he was doing.

“I’m fine,” he replied curtly. He knew the person only through their voice, having interacted for a year, maybe a little more.
Through the
network
connection he’d noticed she was a happy air-traffic controller, though they’d never met—nor exchanged more than a few polite
words. But he enjoyed hearing her voice.

“If I may, sir, you don’t sound like yourself. Since you returned from your vacation, you’re not the same.”

Mattoui said nothing. His friends made the same claim, but coming from her it sounded like real consideration. “I’m a little
tired. Thank you for noticing.”

“Sir, I have to pick up some things from the next squadron. May I invite you for coffee?”

“You’re funny.” He’d never received an invitation from a woman and it amused him. “No to coffee, but you can come in here
to say hello. Just so I know who the voice and concern belong to.”

Tamar didn’t intend her visit to be anything more than an expression of thoughtfulness. He seemed like an amazing man, but
the stories about Mattoui created a distinct distance between them in her opinion. As far as she was concerned, he was several
ranks higher.

Mattoui was stunned when she stepped inside his room in the squadron. He’d forgotten about the air-traffic controller who
was supposed to stop by and say hello. He didn’t make the connection, not even when she looked at him. Surprised by his silence
and his unusual pallor, she asked if everything was okay.

Mattoui was bewitched

Unlike Mattoui, Berez exchanged girlfriends at an alarming rate, sometimes not being able to remember who was who. His friends
said he should slow down, that some of them loved him, that he should find someone for a little longer, like a month or two.
Not, God forbid, a year or more. But Berez continued to woo girls eagerly and replace them with the same energy. As a ladies’
man and womanizer, his name was known far and wide and his friends couldn’t understand how women constantly fell into his
net,
ready to be the one for only a night. Beautiful women flocked around him, well-groomed, young, and smart. Almost every one
might be the perfect woman, but he wasn’t looking for perfection.

He wanted to find a girl who was not so pretty, not the one who’d just graduated or the one with an opinion on every subject,
but the one who’d want him. Not the famous Berez, but Berez the man who feared sleeping alone at night, who loved his friends
to death but wanted to return to a home filled with the smell of cooking, who longed for the one who wouldn’t answer his phone
call too quickly, but would let him wait a little. Not as a game, but because she had a few other important things to do,
and he was just one of them. Berez managed to mislead them all with his hidden soul.

Thor, like an elephant in a china shop with his clumsy movements, frightened almost every woman he approached. He yearned
for a companion—like the wonderful relationship between Tamar and Mattoui, which everyone envied. They were a beautiful couple
in every way and Thor, who knew that beauty was not his strong suit, sought someone who wouldn’t fear his size, someone who
would find his embrace enveloping and not suffocating. Thor was convinced that everything he said or did had deterred his
few previous partners. He stopped trying and his pain was even greater.