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The following scene excerpt is from chapter twenty-three, featuring First Lieutenant Tallia Vairyn in action
with her strike. |
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The crew shared a few awkward glances, and Tallia realized it was going to take a bit more than a few pointers from Dain to set them to purpose. She sighed and tried to sound as sympathetic as she could without diminishing her authority. “Look… I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. It’s a bat-shit crazy play. We all know that. But if the situation was reversed, and it were us down there, we’d expect them to come for us. And they would. Because that’s what soldiers do—cover each other’s ass. We don’t leave our brothers behind. Period. Roosh?”
“Ahroosh,” they all agreed with renewed vigor. Even Morrian chimed in, although Tallia questioned his sincerity. She checked the Bin’s status on the panel. They were bleeding speed and had already slowed to twenty-five hundred kimets per hour. They’d have to wait until they were below eight-hundred to bail out. The thin air would still hit them like a ton of tridantium when they stepped off the deck, but at that speed their armor would be able to handle the stress and keep the wind sheer from tearing them apart. Tallia banged the hull, calling for attention. “Everybody grab hold of something.” She waited for them to comply, hand hovering just above the big red button that controlled the debarkation ramp. A round of thumbs from the crew signaled they were ready and she punched it. The ramp lurched open with a metallic groan, followed by a howling sneeze, as the crew compartment lost pressure to the thin outside air. The vacuum created by the open tail section produced a strong rapid-pulse hum that could be felt as well as heard. Outside, the Bin’s thrusters roared in the night sky, struggling against the velocity of their descent and the downward pull of Delphin’s gravity. They’d slowed enough that the hull was no longer compressing the gases in the planet’s atmosphere, but the synaptic liner that melded Tallia with her armor reported there was still an extreme amount of heat surrounding the ship. The Bin’s contrail was dissipating, but was probably still thick enough to be spotted from the ground. “Phaed?” Tallia yelled over her shoulder. “Let’s go.” Ash tumbled out of the cockpit and pushed her way through the cabin toward the open ramp. “We’re all set. She’s on auto—should touch down about a half klim from the portal.” “Perfect.” Tallia turned back to the open tail section. Everything was in order. It was time to make her move, and yet she suddenly found herself frozen in place. The thunder of the engines, the heat, their insane velocity—it was overwhelming. There was a reason Storm Lords called them hell-dives, and the mind-numbing realization made Tallia feel like an impostor, projecting more confidence than she actually had. Think about it too much you’ll just end up wasting time, or worse, paralyzed. Tallia nodded, agreeing with the voice inside her head and decided it was alright to be afraid as long as she mustered the courage to do what needed to be done. She reposition the hab crate, then sent it down the ramp with an armor-assisted kick. It slid off the deck and into the murky ozone-seared contrail billowing from the ship. Tallia took a deep breath and spun toward the crew. “Well what are you waiting for? Let’s go, damn it. Move, move, move!” She waved them down the ramp, slapping each of them on the back of the helm as they passed. Ash was last to step up. She slapped Tallia’s helm first, flashed a raspberry tongue, and headed out howling like a banshee. Tallia shook her head. Crazy bitch. She punched the red button and followed as the ramp began to close. Morrian’s voice whispered in her head. You’re going to get us all killed. It was a strong possibility, but the alternative was unacceptable. Tueri regna. Tallia stepped off the deck and into the darkness. Surrender was never an option. << Back to Overview |
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