Blood Impulse

Part 11.3 - CABIN RESCUE

Homebound Sector, Haven System, Ariea

Atmospheric entry was smooth with Don Jazmine at the helm. Despite his smuggling origins, he was one of the finest pilots in the fleet. He flirted with anything that moved, but tended to be harmless overall. The handsome pilot looked to Zarrey, who sat beside him in the copilot's seat. "ETA is three minutes, sir."

Zarrey nodded and made the announcement to the entire strike force. "Wake up, you lazy spacers! You've got three minutes to check your gear and your attitudes. We touch down and do this right. No hostile moves, but if they start shooting, shoot back."

The Marines in the back of Zarrey's Warhawk started checking their weapons and protective gear as the pilots tightened up their formation. Zarrey pounded on his chest to assure himself that his vest was still underneath his uniform, then absently checked the number of rounds in the magazine of his pistol.

Out the window, thick, gray clouds churned below them, hiding what he knew to be the flat, agricultural lands of Kansa. Galhino had been quick to brief them on the current conditions of the region before the strike team flew out. A storm was brewing in the atmosphere, and situated in the northern hemisphere, it was autumn.

The tallest of the Kansa National shipyards' towers were poking through the gray mist, tattered flags still flying on the tips. Galhino had briefed them on that too, as a notable hazard to the pilots' route. The shipyards were abandoned now, and had been for fifty years. The Singularity herself was the last vessel to have been launched from the facility. After her departure, Kansa's secondary source of income, shipbuilding, had become extinct. The country had promptly fallen from the fourth-poorest on the planet to the poorest, where it had remained for the last five decades.

Galhino had warned them they might see deterioration in the local infrastructure, but it had been a useless warning. Beyond the needle-like spires of the shipyards, there was nothing to see, just the haze of clouds.

The same was true from the ground. The stratus clouds were thick and dismally gray. Colonel VanHubert assumed from the moment he heard the approaching engines that Reeter was coming for a surprise visit. It was annoying, but not unusual. He turned to smile at Ron Parker with bad intent. Reeter would be pleased to have caught that traitor.

Ron Parker did not dare move from where he'd fallen to his knees, hours before. The bruises on his cheeks ached when the wind hit them. From the way VanHubert was glaring at him, the father knew there was more to come. Tears slid down his face, their saltiness stung in the cut on his cheek.

Anabelle was draped across his arms, breathing shallowly. She had not opened her eyes again since that morning. Without medical treatment, she likely would never open them again.

He heard the sound of approaching engines, but he didn't care. It was over. His daughter was dying. This was all for nothing.

The approaching spacecraft lowered themselves from the clouds. Tendrils of water vapor spiraled off the reconships' black hulls. Ron blinked. Those aren't Rhinos.

"Shit!" VanHubert shouted over the scream of the engines, pointing to the Marines on the perimeter, "Arms up! That's the enemy!"

The men on the perimeter raised their rifles as the black ships landed. Ron saw them flick the safeties off. The enemy? He looked to the Marine whose rifle was trained at his head. "What's going on?"

Zarrey's strike team filed into place, surrounding the Olympia's forces the way they had the cabin. They were light on their feet, alert, but they made no hostile move. The Marines took up an indomitable attention across their chests, helmets on, visors down. As rowdy as they often were on the ship, the Singularity's forces always did their job, and they did it well.