Tychus’s thoughts were interrupted as a suit of armor lurched out of the surrounding gloom. “Excuse me, Sergeant,” Speer said, “would you unload your troops please? I have a wide shot already, but I’d like to shoot something tight as they come up the ramp, so I can change it up later on.”
A moment of ominous silence passed as Tychus sought to control his temper and failed. “Are you stupid?” he demanded angrily. “Or crazy? No, you fekkin’ asshole, I won’t unload the troops! Now get outta my face.”
Speer had been on the receiving end of the sergeant’s wrath before and had a very thick skin. “Okay,” he replied cheerfully. “How ’bout a quick sound bite then?”
Tychus opened his mouth to release a blast of profanity that would take the finish off Speer’s armor, but the reporter was already backing away. “Just kidding, Sarge … just kidding,” the civilian said as he turned away from the ramp.
Tychus was still mumbling under his breath as he boarded the Sweetie Pie. Due to the jet packs on their suits, none of the soldiers could sit, but they could lock their joints and relax inside their hardskins during the trip.
Then it was time to give the kind of rousing speech officers like Quigby specialized in. “Okay,” Tychus said. “Remember the plan, watch your six, and don’t shoot Jimmy or any of the POWs. You got any questions? No? I’ll see you on the ground.”
The dropships were in the air five minutes later, running with the lights off as they turned toward the east. That was when the first part of the hour-long flight began. At that point each soldier was a prisoner to his or her hopes and fears as the dropship’s engines whined and the vessel bored a hole through the darkness.
All except for Harnack that is, who had convinced Feek to equip his armor with some unauthorized memory and a closed circuit playback capability. So while his comrades wrestled with their personal demons, Hank was watching a personalized video mix on his HUD and bobbing his head in rhythm to the music.
Tychus found out about the vid mix the same day he discovered Doc had been crab-free for twelve hours, that Ward had tiny pictures of his wife and children affixed along the upper edge of his visor, and that Zander was carrying ten grenades over his authorized load out. Weight a larger man wouldn’t have been able to get away with. What Tychus didn’t know was how many of his platoon would be coming back or why part of him cared.
After what seemed like an eternity the pilot’s deliberately neutral voice came over the comm channel in Tychus’s helmet. “We’re ten minutes from the drop zone … repeat, ten out. Give the KMs my best. Over.”
Rather than remain aboard the Sweetie Pie and supervise the jump, Tychus had granted himself the privilege of being the first person to drop, and therefore the first to land. Because if something went wrong, he figured it would go wrong right away, and he wanted to be there to deal with it.
After the long wait Tychus was conscious of the tension he always felt just prior to combat, but a sense of anticipation as well, since it would feel good to do something for a change. He was eager to find out if Raynor had succeeded in infiltrating the camp, and if he’d been able to warn the POWs. Tychus felt pretty good about the odds; knowing Jim, the poor bastards had been briefed, re-briefed, and alphabetized!
The thought brought a smile to Tychus’s face as the dropship entered a tight turn, the deck tilted under his boots, and the final seconds ticked away. “Three! Two! One!” The jump master brought her hand down and Tychus dropped into the abyss. The sun was busy shining on the other side of the planet, but two moons were up and casting a ghostly glow over the landscape below.
It was pitch black due to a high overcast, or would have been, without the technology that was available to him. Tychus was gratified to see both his night-vision display and a computer-generated terrain map appear on his HUD. He was slated to land on Hill Bravo. The movements were so automatic by that time that the glowing target seemed to shift toward him rather than the other way around. The altimeter unwound, the jet pack fired, and Tychus took hold of the weapon that was clipped to his chest.
His boots hit seconds later, as a green Kel-Morian turned toward the unexpected threat, and shook spastically as half a dozen spikes hit his chest. “Hello,” Tychus said to no one in particular. “That was for Captain Hobarth. No need to get up … I’ll let your boss know I’m here.”
KEL-MORIAN INTERNMENT CAMP-36, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II
The gently spinning world was black with occasional blips of light. Raynor was lost, and had been for hours by then. He was aware of a sense of expectation, however, although it wasn’t until he saw flashes of light on the surrounding hilltops and heard a series of resonant booms that he remembered why. The platoon was landing!
The next fifteen minutes were a mix of excitement and fear as Raynor heard gunfire, saw tracers pass within feet of him, and wondered if one of his squad mates was going to shoot him. Then he heard confused shouting and felt a series of jerks as he was lowered to the ground. Tychus was waiting in the glow created by four suit lights as members of the first squad gathered around. Was that concern on his face? “Enough hanging around,” the platoon leader said as he cut Raynor free. “It’s time for you to go to work.”
Raynor nearly choked as Doc gave him a sip of water. “It’s nice to see you, too,” Raynor said, once he had recovered.
“Boy, Raynor, you’re looking pretty sexy in those trunks,” Ward chided.
“I don’t want to look,” Zander put in. “I’ll never get the image out of my head.”
“What the fekk is this?” Tychus demanded, as he eyed the people around him. “A tea party? We have POWs to load. Get to work.”
As the others left, Tychus put a huge arm around Raynor’s shoulders and helped him walk. “You done good,” Tychus said gruffly. “Thanks to you the POWs are ready to go.”
Raynor stopped short and looked back at Hickson, who was being carried away on a stretcher. He was awake now, and even managed a wave.
Raynor gave him a nod, took a shallow, excruciating breath, and allowed himself to be led away. Just then three Hellhounds broke through the screen of Avengers circling above and blew one of the incoming dropships out of the sky. Huge chunks of flaming debris cartwheeled down and cut one of the buildings in two. That triggered a fire, which lit up the night. “Cap-One to Sierra-Six,” a voice said, as a second dropship went down. “I’m sorry to say that we have ten bandits at angels five. Your buses are turning back. They’ll try again later. Over.”
“Roger that, Cap-One,” Tychus said, and swore once the connection was broken.
“The dropships aren’t coming, are they?” Raynor inquired.
“No,” Tychus replied, as a Hellhound cut across the valley, guns spraying red death at the ground below. “They were forced to turn back.”
“I had a good view from up there,” Raynor said, as he jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. “The KMs have quite a few trucks on the base and some other vehicles, too. Let’s load ’em up and haul ass.”
Tychus frowned doubtfully. “To where?”
“The disputed zone,” Raynor replied. “It sucks, but it’s better than this.”
A series of rockets slammed into the camp as if to emphasize Raynor’s point. It was clear that the KMs planned to kill the POWs rather than allow them to escape. “Roger that,” Tychus said calmly. “We’ll give it a try. And find some clothes. You look like shit.”