-December 21st, 3246-
"We ain't leaving Ryss."
"You're fucking joking, right?"
Sergeant Ryss responded, even though Moore's strained face made it clear that he wasn't. They had reached Centerpoint easily, and gotten rid of responsibility for the Boarders crew as swiftly as possible, but that still hadn't solved the issue of reaching Fyra proper.
"They don't have any long-distancers, only got a few Drakkens, and a squadron of fighters, they're keeping those for local and it's not like we can fly any of 'em."
"What about another blockade runners? Or resupply ships."
"After that last disaster, we're done. No more resupply missions. From the scattered messages they're getting, it looks like blockade running is going to be out of the question, the Shviri are pulling their cordon too tight."
Ryss pinched the bridge of his nose, none of the commandos had slept in forty-eight hours, and Moore could feel it taking a toll on him. The rest of their squads were sleeping in place, braced up against