died instantly as did a third of the troops seated with their backs to the port bulkhead. Toba, Ibens, Ngugen, Al Saifd, IstaSa, PorloBa, BoroDa, and NomoKa—all dead.
SeebaKa, who was seated just aft of the impact zone, released his harness and lurched to his feet. Though conceived in Hudathan the words were not all that different from what a human might have said.
“What the hell are you waiting for? A full-blown holo presentation? Hit the dirt!”
Hudathan, human, and Naa alike released their harnesses, struggled to make their way the length of the steeply slanted deck, and headed towards the bright green lights. Due to the fact that the ship had fallen onto the port side that door was blocked. Thanks to the manner in which the hull had rotated, the opposite hatch was high, and very difficult to reach. A legionnaire boosted another legionnaire up, but he lost his balance. Both tumbled to the deck.
Private Lars Lasker solved the problem by triggering the belly mounted escape hatch and jumping up and down on the door. It gave, and he fell through the hole. Sergeant Quickfoot Hillrun pointed and yelled. “Move! Move! Move!”
Legionnaires poured out onto the ground, took defensive positions around the wreckage, and waited for orders. Wounded were dragged outside, carried beyond the reach of the potential blast zone, and given first aid. SeebaKa called for an air evac and was assured that it was en route. Once that was accomplished, it was a relatively simple matter to check with HorlaKa, confirm that the air shafts were secure, and send the report. Like so many of its kind the communication said nothing of the sacrifice required to make it possible. “Red Team is on the ground . .. The first objective is ours.”
The cabin had been designed for use by admirals and more than met Booly’s needs. He sat in an easy chair guarded by two stacks of printouts. One that he had read and one that he hadn’t. In spite of 18’s importance, the Confederacy covered a lot of space, and Booly, as Military Chief of Staff, had responsibility for the whole thing. That’s why he was busy scanning an intelligence summary on Zynig47
when the message came in. Tyspin chose to bring it herself. She entered without knocking, dropped into a chair, and offered the slip of paper. “Here, add this to your reading.”
Booty read the words, nodded, and handed the slip back.
“Casualties?”
Tyspin shook her head. “No data as yet... but Red One requested a medevac.”
“And Objective Two?”
“They’re tackling it now.”
Booly paused, imagined what it would be like to rappel down one of those airshafts, and grimaced.
“And Blue One? How’s she doing?”
Tyspin grinned. He noticed her eyes were rimmed with red. She hadn’t slept in days. “McGowan? Are you kidding? She was born ready.”
Booly nodded. ‘Turn her loose.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Angie?”
“Sir?”
‘Take a nap.”
The assault team was located on a plain just beyond the canyon’s mouth. A thin layer of snow covered the rocks, low lying vegetation, and the ground itself.
Four widely spaced piles of burned wreckage marked sorties by low flying Thraki aircraft. The balance of Blue Team was hunkered down, weapons scanning the sky, waiting for the next assault. The fur balls knew where they were, and, if it hadn’t been for the swabbies patrolling the airspace above, would have greased the entire force by then.
Captain Bethany “Butch” McGowan had been dirtside for more than eight hours by then. She cursed the cold, blew on her hands, and prayed for a green light. Every hour that passed meant that her troops were a little more tired. .. and a little more likely to make mistakes. Her force consisted of six quads, sixteen Trooper IF’s, twelve Hudathan “heavies,” and a mixed force of infantry under the questionable command of Lieutenant Jonathan Allan Seebo872. The groundpounders included more Jonathan Alan Seebos plus a platoon of legionnaires under Gunnery Sergeant Roily True Bear.
