"That's a big motherfuckin ship," Jeff said, looking at the huge behemoth of steel that rose more than sixty meters above him and stretched for more than two hundred down the loading area. Hell, even the tires on the landing gear were huge, each one more than three times as tall as he. The two massive front doors had been opened and a loading ramp extended from the inside, down to the ground.
"Shit, Waters, why don't you go lay under one of the tires when it moves and see how heavy it is too?" a voice said in his radio set.
That was Hicks of course, his nemesis from basic training. The two of them had managed to make it through the remainder of their training together, while assigned as squad mates, without entering another physical confrontation. They had been side by side as they'd learned to shoot their M-24s, to load and fire anti-tank lasers, mortars, heavy and light machine guns, and, of course, as they'd run for hundreds of kilometers, both in and out of the biosuits. Verbal confrontations, however, were quite another matter. It had become almost routine for them to badmouth each other at every opportunity. And when they found themselves assigned to the same squad after training, it only became worse.
"And miss out on seeing you get your stupid ass killed when you walk in front of a cannon or shoot yourself with your own fucking gun?" Jeff returned. "Naw. I can't die before that. My life wouldn't be complete."
"In your dreams motherfucker," Hicks told him. "If you think that I'm gonna..."
"Hicks, Waters," cut in Sergeant Walker, their squad leader. "Will you two shut the fuck up for once? Christ, all I ever hear on this tactical channel are you two flapping your goddamn lips at each other. Give it a rest."
"Right, sarge," Jeff said. "Sorry. I keep forgetting everyone else can hear us talking."
"Sorry, sarge," Hicks echoed.
"Why don't you two meet after training some night, go out to a fuckin intox club, and insult each other all fuckin night. Get it out of your system."
"Shit," said Hicks. "I'd rather smoke out with a fuckin Earthling."
"Amen to that," Jeff put in.
Walker shook his head in disgust, wondering what the hell kind of squad he'd been given to work with. He, like all of the NCOs and all of the officers of the 17th ACR, was one of the ones with combat unit experience (although no actual combat experience, since the MPG had never fought anyone before). He had been given a squad that consisted of three former gang members, three females (two of whom had never been in uniform before, one of whom had been a procurement clerk in supply), two men reassigned from non-combat branches, and only two others, the two corporals of the bunch, who had actually been combat assigned before. He was doing his best to get some sort of camaraderie and fighting spirit going but it was an uphill battle.
"Lets start lining up to unload these things," he told his group now. "Remember, they are to be driven slowly down the ramp and directly over to the staging area. This is not the time to play with them and see what all the neat little buttons do. You go in, you climb in, you start it up, and you bring it down. That is it. Is everyone clear on that?"
Everyone was clear.
"Let's start lining up then."
The unloading began a few minutes later. An entire battalion had been tasked with this particular project and one by one they marched up the steep ramp on one side and entered the bowels of the massive ship. Jeff was one of the first to go up. He stepped awkwardly on the steel grating, almost falling more than once. He was still not quite used to walking and moving in reduced gravity, particularly not on a sloped surface.
The inside of the ship was well lit in the cargo area, the power supplied by the auxiliary power unit, which was still running. The APCs were secured nose outward, up against the walls, two meters separating each vehicle from the sides, ten meters separating them from the next row, which left just enough of a corridor to maneuver and drive down. The corridor led to a series of ramps that dropped from one level in the ship to another. Steel locking straps held each of the APCs down.
"Waters," Walker told him, pointing to one, "that one is yours." It was a standard Alexander Industries APC, the WestHem flag painted just above the WestHem Marine Corps symbol.
"Can I scratch out that fuckin flag and that fuckin marine shit?" he asked, kicking at it with his feet.
"There'll be time for that later," Walker told him. "For now, just get in the thing and drive it."
"Right," he said.
"Be gentle with the controls," Hicks put in. "Pretend you're playing with your dick. I'm sure you know how to do that."
"At least I have a sex drive, dickweed," Jeff shot back. "I don't spend all day thinking about..."
"Enough of that shit!" Walker barked. "Waters, get your vehicle ready for transport. Hicks, you climb in the one next to him and keep your damn mouth shut about it."
Grumbling and groaning, but not saying much of anything, they went to work releasing the vehicles. It was a simple matter of pulling a lever where the strap met the floor and it was free. They folded them up and stowed them against the wall. They then climbed up onto the front of the vehicles, to the hatch that led to the inside.
"Don't run your fuckin armor into mine, Waters," Hicks told him as he put his feet through the hatch and began to drop inside.
"Wouldn't touch it with a five meter pole," Jeff responded, pulling open his own hatch.
The inside of the vehicle was spotlessly clean despite the fact that it had been sitting in storage aboard the landing craft for at least the last ten years with no maintenance of any kind being done. This was because the armor ships had been kept in vacuum, with no moisture or oxygen to cause the sorts of problems that they caused. It was, however, very dark in there, especially when the hatch was closed behind him. He turned on his combat goggles in order to see the controls before him. Just as he had been briefed in the training class on basic armor operation, he turned on the batteries and powered up the computer systems first and foremost.
The lights came on, allowing him to turn the goggles back off, and the two computer screens came to life with system status reports and command buttons. He opened up the view screens before him first, allowing him to see outside, and then took a look at the state of the vehicle on the screens. The fuel tank was completely full of liquid hydrogen to run the turbine engine, the oxygen tank was completely full of liquid oxygen to allow the hydrogen to burn, the batteries were at seventy percent charge, the computer systems were all operational, and the overall status was listed as within operational parameters. He then sat, breathing the air in his suit and listening to the mutterings of the other squad members while he waited for the command to start the engine and pull out.
That command came thirty minutes later, after a few insults between he and Hicks had been traded and they had been told once again to shut the fuck up by Walker. Jeff made sure that the transmission for the vehicle was in neutral and then pushed the tab on the screen for engine start. The powerful turbine engine ground several times and then lit up with a whine. The entire vehicle began to softly vibrate.