35
The Hegemony landing craft was a bare-bones thing, with full cocoon-like seats that kept everyone locked in place, which was good since the craft was juking like a crazed bird in a cage as it plummeted to the planet’s surface.
Rev braced himself into the seat, just wishing the damned thing would get on the ground, and fast. He didn’t know how long he could last before spewing despite the max dose of antiemetics coursing through his body.
The intel was that all the Centaurs were located at the main emitter site, three terrain features away, and that there were no defenses anywhere near. But the Dixmude’s commanding officer was taking no chances on losing his landing craft, programming the AI to use a high-avoidance path in, which meant not even the AI knew what it was going to do. Each juke and jive was a result of a random chance-generated course correction.
Rev had felt exposed during his last insertion, but in retrospect, he’d rather do that than experience this torture.
Maybe they want to piss us off so much we’ll be mad enough to take on anything.
Another especially hard lurch hurt his side, and Rev shifted his weight to brace himself better. Combat casualties weren’t supposed to happen during an insert.
But mercifully, the craft’s flight smoothed out as it flared for a landing. The back ramp hissed as it broke the seal, and the seats relaxed, releasing them. The petty officer’s image on the monitor shouted at them to get off.
Rev ran his hands over his kit, making sure nothing had gotten knocked off in the descent, then followed the rest of the team and the Sapper’s second squad off the craft.
“Good riddance,” he said as he stepped off into the too-harsh sunshine.
He was immediately hit by the smell of lavender, but not really. It was like lavender-lite. Lavender was a favorite of the terraforming companies because it put out high amounts of O2. There was still a lot of it gone wild on Safe Harbor, but the smell of it there was stronger, more robust. Maybe it had something to do with the lower atmospheric pressure.
Above the lavender patches rose Roher’s patented TD420s, better known as “fart trees,” a common sight on their projects. A GMO cross between bamboo, larch, and the areca palm, they provided good O2 production. They also had the ability to survive in nutrient-poor soils and an extremely fast growth rate.
With no other trees in sight, the valley looked more like some sort of plantation rather than a still-wild planet.
“Well, that sure sucked,” Corporal Dean-Ballester said as they hurried out of the lift zone.
“I thought I was going to hurl that Last Breakfast they gave us.”
“I think Nix did.”
Rev looked over to where the sergeant was running along with them. He didn’t look covered in puke, but the craft had some righteous suction going on, probably for that very reason.
“Waste of a good steak and eggs if he did,” Rev said.
At a hundred meters, the team went to one knee and looked back. The landing craft had shielded drive nozzles, but they could still cook someone too close to them. The craft jumped up in the air and climbed, one of the four that had brought the entire Raider and Sapper platoons down from the Dixmude.
All around them, hundreds of craft were in the process of landing and taking off. The Centaurs might not have weaponry in the area, but there was no sense in testing that by trickling in. If this valley was covered, then they were just going to have to overwhelm them with sheer numbers.
But as Rev watched, no landing craft or shuttle was falling in flames. Maybe Intel got it right for once.
“OK, gather up,” the lieutenant yelled. “Top, give me a head count.”
Master Sergeant Rzyko was the Second Team leader, but like the lieutenant was dual-hatted—in his case, as the platoon sergeant. He got the thumbs-up from each team and reported back to the lieutenant.
Rev wasn’t sure who would have gotten lost since the last head count inside the landing craft, but it was just SOP, he guessed. Probably a good idea getting into the habit if they have to evac like they did on Preacher Rolls.
Don’t even begin to compare the two, he scolded himself. Bad juju.
Rev had never considered himself superstitious, but two years now in the Corps, and some of that was rubbing off on him.
“OK. We’ve got two hours before we step off, but that time’s going to go by quicker than we think. Let’s break out the disks, and I want everyone to get the feel of them. I don’t want to look like drunken idiots to Second Battalion, right?”
Neither did Rev. Second Battalion was the disk battalion, with each Marine trained in riding the disks into battle. Like all DC Marines, Rev had ridden them in training, and he’d had simu-time on them, but nothing beat practice. And while some of the Frisians had their scoots, others would be on the disks for their very first time.
And the task force commander knew that as well, which was why all the other Marines except for armor and mech would be screened by Second Battalion. If the Centaurs had a surprise up their sleeves—if they even had sleeves—the screen would be best trained to react.
“You heard the lieutenant,” Top said. “Fifth Team, you’re up. Second, get ready. The rest of you, we’re not out for a stroll in the park. This is still bad-guy country, so provide security.”
Tomiko raised her eyebrows at that. They were in the middle of a task force. If the Centaurs hit them, the real flank security would encounter them first. But you don’t argue with a master sergeant, so they dutifully spread out and faced outboard. Behind them, Fifth was breaking out the disks from where the landing craft had dumped them.
“You ready to ride those flying saucers?” Tomiko asked him.
“We’re almost two hundred klicks away? Damned skippy I’m ready. Better than walking, right?”
“I guess so. Just hope I don’t fall off in front of those Second Battalion Marines.”
Yeah, me too.
* * *
Rev stood, feet shoulder width apart, with his right foot slightly in front of his left.
This is easy. Just like riding a banana board back home.
The lieutenant gave the command, and not quite as one, the platoon lifted off the ground.
“Lord help me,” Sergeant Nix muttered.
“Ain’t no thing, Sergeant,” Tanu said, shifting his weight to spin the disk like a top.
The sergeant just shook his head. Nix had a Silver Nova as a private from the Torsiar Incursion, so he wasn’t some lightweight. But to say he was uncomfortable on a disk would be an understatement.
Rev wasn’t entirely comfortable himself, but not like the sergeant. Disks took controlled movements of the feet to move, and the less-skilled drivers tended to bob, sway, come to complete stops, or even move in reverse. With the Disk Marines from the battalion flying screen, he didn’t want to look like a drunken idiot. But as he’d told Tomiko, two-hundred klicks was a fair hump, one he really didn’t want to make. With the tanks and mech-heads moving out as well, if they didn’t fly, they’d miss out on the battle.
Not that they’d fly right up to the emitter station. The disks themselves were moderately shielded, but long before a Centaur could drop it, the lightly armored Raiders would be fried.
The current plan was for the platoon to fly to an assembly area forty-three klicks from the enemy where the terrain would still give them cover and go the rest of the way on foot.
The lieutenant gave the signal to move out, and Rev leaned forward just a bit, pressing down with the ball of his right foot. The disk complied, and he started moving forward. They might not be the Marine Corps Disk Drill Team, but they got it done. Even Sergeant Nix.
Off to their flank, Rev could see the Bravo Company Disk Marines gracefully fly along. In the unofficial hierarchy of the Corps, Raiders might rate a little higher than the Disk Marines, but Rev felt a twinge of jealousy watching how smoothly they picked up speed. His competitive nature drove him to match them, and he concentrated on the impulses he was sending his disk. Theirs had been detuned, so they were more forgiving, but still, his disk snaked a bit as he flew five meters above the forest of fart trees.
His focus was on flying, but he knew that all around him Marines and soldiers were maneuvering forward to surround the Centaurs. In four short hours the battle would commence.