Gabriel Landowski

CHAPTER I

Private Kyle Evans had to wait for troopers to stow their gear before he could attempt to squeeze by. To load an infantry platoon onto a drop ship took time and the men were not in much of a hurry to be crammed in like sardines. One thing Kyle knew was the officers needed to take their time and load the men and equipment efficiently or there would not be enough room for everything.

Kyle shuffled down the narrow aisle past some more troopers, dropped a carry bag onto his assigned seat, and popped open the stowage compartment door. The space was slightly smaller than the combat pack it was designed to hold and it took Kyle three tries to force the bundle inside.

Another annoyance was trying to slide into the narrow restraint seat with the bulky pockets of his web gear loaded with projectiles and other items of necessity. Platoon Sergeant Rollins had ordered that troopers store their pack loads for the descent to the surface but everyone had to wear their combat vests on the way down. It seemed kind of silly to Kyle as the platoon was to deploy to a relatively passive urban environment where it was to act as a reserve for a military police force. There was no known enemy activity except for a string of protests, which amounted to nothing more than people yelling slogans through amplifiers and waving opposition banners.

Then again there was the old adage to 'train as you fight' but Kyle thought this was taking it a little to the extreme.

In his left breast pocket Kyle felt a copy of 'The Killer Angels' pressed against his chest as he shifted. He kept it inside the cover of a Bible and snuck it past the sergeants for reading during slow times while off duty. The use of the cover was as close as he was going to get to religion as he decided a long time ago that a belief in Mother Nature and Fate carried more weight with him than the vision of an almighty patriarch. He had been raised to do what he thought was right and help others whenever he could.

I mean, shouldn't that be enough? Besides, doesn't it make me more saintly if I don't expect the reward of an afterlife for all the good I do with mine?

Other troopers continued to shuffle by with their cumbersome loads and equipment swung over hunched shoulders. Kyle waited for the guys from the fourth squad to ease through before he squirmed to better adjust in the restraint seat. Although the combat armor he wore was clipped to him securely, Kyle tightened all the straps even more to make sure there was no trace of slack to be found.

This accomplished, he checked for secure closure on all the various clips to his combat vest worn over the armor. If the flying crate inside of which the troopers had been packed happened to make a rough landing, and they were forced to bail out, Kyle was not going to leave anything loose to get snagged. Two primary ways of dying were always unpopular with him: first to be drowned, and second to be burnt alive. Kyle offered up the suggestion to Fate that he would not like to experience either.

The air in the compartment was cold and crisp, which reminded Kyle of the hospital where he had received his medical checkup. It had a dry, purified quality that made a throat itch. He glanced up at the ceiling where long rows of ventilation inlets poured a fine mist down on the occupants. He briefly wondered what the weather was like on the planet to which they were about to make their Fold.

Kyle inspected the locked carbine in the holster to the left of his seat. The slot both protected the weapon and prevented it from bouncing dangerously around the cabin. Kyle cleared the weapon again for the hundredth time and made sure that no projectile had somehow magically appeared in the chamber. He recalled all the horror stories they were told as trainees about troopers who shot their buddy in the head with an 'unloaded' weapon. That was now a third way that he did not want to die.

Their issued carbines were brand new and Kyle admired his lovingly a he ran a finger over the stamped serial number. The shorter barrel and reduced weight of the weapon was a welcome improvement over the older and heavier training rifles from Basic. It occurred to Kyle that the platoon must be headed toward something real if they had been issued such new equipment.

They give you all this stuff for free and then you suddenly find yourself killing or being killed. It kind of bastardizes the idea of gift giving.

Rested against the seat, Kyle tugged down on the shoulder restraints that would hold him in place. Rollins would make spot checks soon, and if the man discovered the straps were not painfully tight he would immediately initiate 'corrective action'.

First, the towering man would plant his foot next to the shoulder of the offender in order to achieve optimal leverage. Next, he would grip the strap with both hands and apply substantial force to attain a 'sufficient hold' on the trooper. During training several men were reduced to tears and in one instance a guy passed out from the stress of the experience. He realized there was nothing more he could do, so Kyle placed his helmet on his lap and waited for the others to finish the load.

For almost an hour the platoon sat locked in place, slowly losing a battle of wills with the restraints that dug relentlessly into collar bones, shoulders, and necks. Kyle thought of several ways the military could have made the whole experience more tolerable. Unfortunately, the Machine either never had the same thoughts or simply disregarded them. Somewhere on the other side of the compartment a trooper cried out in agony as a squad leader heaved with all his might. The others grinned and chuckled at the pitiful cries of the abused.

I don't know what they're grinning about, any one of them could be next!

None too soon, an announcement began the safety briefing and the fifteen minute countdown to Fold commenced. The Rosalie, a midget carrier in which they were loaded, would soon perform a wonder of science and disappear from space to emerge in another galaxy many light years from where they had started. The whole process was instantaneous, but the thought of traveling the fabric of the cosmos stabbed him with slight apprehension.

Kyle could not turn his head any reasonable distance to either side while in the seat brace. The idea was to prevent the helmet and neck from whipping around during evasive action or high friction reentry. The immediate effect was to help smother the occupant with a sense of immobilized claustrophobia. Somewhere off to the left Rollins could be heard talking. A cry of pain and anguish sang out and had the desired effect as every trooper still to be inspected tightened his straps yet again. The troopers gritted their teeth under this new level of self-inflicted torture as beads of sweat formed on their brows.

When Rollins did come into view Kyle noted their new team leader in tow. The look of focused attention made it clear that Corporal Rey was dedicated to mastering his new trade. Kyle studied his face and wondered where the soldier was from or what it was that made him volunteer for military service. From what was known of him, most troopers thought he was okay compared to the other corporals, if a bit of a nerd.

How long will it to convert this guy into a professional tormentor like the rest?

The duo finally arrived at the trooper seated to the left of Kyle and everyone in the vicinity fell silent. The natural tendency was to drop the head, almost as if in prayer - which may or may not have been answered. With the blown air overhead Kyle strained to hear the muffled conversation that took place, but made no effort to make eye contact. This was to be avoided at all cost as sergeants and corporals would tend to feel the need to 'train' troopers who eyeballed them. Worse case scenario was the junior leadership who knew you by face and/or name. Then you were automatically volunteered for every detail that needed to be done. Kyle had already lived his own personal hell of continuous Charge of Quarters and Dumpster Duty during Basic.

To his great relief, Rollins simply passed by with Rey in tow. Rollins talked about the effects of loose straps on the human spine and thumped a heavy fist against the shoulder plate of Trooper Chen to the right of Kyle. The soldier only grimaced, with a barely audible grunt. The sergeant then made a point to check for give on the body armor as Rey watched intently. Kyle felt slightly irritated at the man-handling, but some trainers felt that the hands on approach helped a trooper to learn better. Kyle figured it was just an excuse for the instructors and junior leaders to act like sadistic bastards.

When the countdown reached five minutes, the Load Master plugged into the announcement system at the head of the troop bay and officially conducted the Pre-Fold checklist.

"Fiiiive min-ets!"

As per training the troopers echoed the words in a loud and thunderous voice to ensure that all were alert and paying attention.

"FIVE MINUTES! FIVE MINUTES! FIIIIVE MIN-ETS!!"

It was a simple, fast, and effective way to get everyone on the same page and ready to go. If at anytime a trooper had or saw a problem he would shout out a 'no go' command and sergeants would crawl over the problem in a matter of seconds to resolve the issue.

"Ensure restraining straps are tight and secure!"

The imprisoned troopers replied in a unified roar.

"ENSURE RESTRAINING STRAPS ARE TIGHT AND SECURE!!"

All the men heaved senselessly at the straps which had cut into them for the past hour. Fortunately there were no issues thanks to the tedious pre-inspection conducted by the junior leadership. Someone joked about messing with the Load Master, but an senior technician who stood nearby told the offender to knock it off.

"Check your assigned equipment!"

"CHECK YOUR ASSIGNED EQUIPMENT!!"

The troopers reached over feebly to tug at their carbines, or special gear around them, to confirm that it would not come free. Kyle reached over with his right arm, barely able to reach his weapon, which did not budge in the slightest.

"Sound off with equipment check!"

From the back of the troop bay the last trooper in line sounded off with his number and slapped the arm rest of the trooper next in line toward the front.

"Fifteen Okay!"

"Fourteen Okay!"

The process continued until Chen sounded off and slapped the right arm rest next to Kyle who also called out.

"Eight Okay!"

He then slapped the arm rest of Buster to his left and the countdown continued until it reached the squad leader. At this point the squad leader sounded off, slapped his own opposite arm rest, and pointed a flat hand at the Load Master as a visual signal while yelling,

"All Okay Load Master!"

When all of the squad leaders had their hands held out, the Load Master quickly walked past and slapped them in a high five. With the ritual complete and no issues discovered, the Load Master stepped out of the compartment and the drop ship door was sealed. Moments later, the white light of the bay was switched to neon green at either end of the compartment. The troopers were now inspected and ready to roll. Kyle sat watching the mist of the air system, as it continued to descend from the vents. It had taken on the green glow of the compartment making for a surreal experience.

It's just like Yule - well, sort of.

Minutes later the announcement system blared into the compartment as the green lights switched to a warm yellow.

"Thirty seconds!"

"THIRTY SECONDS!!"

Kyle could feel his heart as it began to race and he tried to relax. He quietly reassured himself that he had finished Advanced Individual Training as well as Fold School . He had completed the mandatory five Folds necessary to earn his Military Occupational Specialty designation. What made him uneasy was a disturbing rumor that the platoon had never completed a single one.

The training classes stated that personnel could not feel a Fold as it occurred. Kyle was convinced that the process somehow irritated the fillings in his teeth, but others insisted that any such notion was purely mental suggestion. One guy claimed the rumor was true, and that the government had faked the training Folds to save on resources and money. Despite this, Kyle and a few others quietly congregated to compare notes on their corporeal experiences.

"T-minus Ten... Nine... Eight... Seven... Six... Five... Four... Three... Two... One..."

For one moment the Rosalie held a stationary position in orbit near the Forward Operating Base over the planet of New Rochelle.

"...Fold!"

In the blink of an eye the ship winked out of existence, and left only the glittering stars behind. Thousands of light years away in the orbit of another planet there was empty space. A brief flux and the midget carrier appeared with maneuvering thrusters springing to life.

Deep inside the bowels of the ship Kyle felt his teeth tingle, and he mentally cursed the naysayers. A light pressure pushed him to toward the front of the craft. He knew the troopers were loaded on the carrier with the drop ships facing aft. The acceleration lasted for almost a minute before it eased away. The roll of the carrier ceased as well which initiated the state of weightlessness. The trooper across from Kyle spat out a small bubble of saliva from his mouth and everyone watched it tumble away in zero gravity.

There was a brief announcement of a successful Fold and the yellow lights switched back to green. A moment later there was a loud 'thunk' from the hull behind his head followed by a slight shudder. The air flow above him continued to blow, but the rate was greatly reduced. The knowledge that the drop ships were leaving the carrier filled Kyle with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

Here we go!

* * *

On the bridge of the CVIS Rosalie, Commander Michael Milligan listened to the cross chatter of the bridge crew while reviewing a data pad held on his lap. The Fold had been uneventful and without any equipment failure or complication. Major Ayers led the drop ships toward the entry window of the planet and the last of the craft came into view off the port side. While everything ran smoothly, it was just a matter of time before his second in command appeared at his shoulder.

"Captain?"

Milligan smiled slightly to himself.

"What you got Pete?"

Lieutenant Commander Peter Freedman lowered his voice slightly and leaned in closer.

"Sir, we have not been able to locate the approach beacons for Watkins 6. We've rerun the possible encoded signal queries but received no beacon responses. It appears that they are not functioning - or are not there at all."

Milligan found this of interest, and pondered the possibility that the Flight Control Station over the planet had purposely switched off the beacons. He turned back to Freedman.

"So we don't have anything at all?"

His number two gave a short shake of his head.

"Not a thing. We've run an immediate diagnostic and system self-check which came back okay, so we aren't experiencing a mechanical issue on our end. The communications spectrum is completely blank, and the surface shows no sign of traffic. The only thing we're getting is the normal radio activity from the planet core and space."

Milligan put down the data pad and sat back in his command chair to consider the situation. The Flight Controller might have turned off the beacons, but there was no way to make the whole planet silent. With a population as large as the one on Watkins 6 it was impossible to eliminate all the communications traffic that could be emitted.

Unless there had been some sort of attack.

Milligan turned to Freedman.

"Any sign of hostile action?"

Freedman's brow furrowed as he shook his head.

"As best we can tell, sensors picked up a scattering of debris circling the planet. It could have come from a small installation, but there are no obvious signs of attack. The alarming thing is the planet itself. It seems devoid of any cities, ports, or technology."

Milligan sat up at this.

"None?"

Freedman shook his head.

"None at all, sir. Navigation is checking the calculations, but Lieutenant Green believes that this may not be Watkins 6. Right now we're running a confirmation using the Star Field Positioning system."

Milligan cocked an eyebrow.

"Green doesn't think this is Watkins 6? Then where in the hell did he Fold us to?"

Freedman only shrugged his shoulders slightly and looked perplexed.

Milligan turned back to the view of the planet and realized for the first time that he had no idea which one it was. The sphere shared many similar characteristics of the life-supporting worlds the Fleet visited, but the more he stared at it the less familiar it became.

Damn.

"Better reign in the infantry then and circle the drop ships back until we can figure this out. Tell Green I want to know where he took my ship and I want to know now!"

Freedman gave a short nod and floated past the bridge crew giving hushed commands. Green looked up with apprehension from where he stood over his technicians who furiously worked the computers.

Milligan had spent eighteen years in Fleet but had never been in a situation like this before. In all his time at the Academy there had been some theoretical vignettes which involved a breakdown of the Fold process, but they were mostly exercises to build confidence. With his nerves already set on edge, the burden of command caused a burning sensation in his stomach.

What have we gotten ourselves into?

* * *

Kyle closed his eyes, slumped in the seat, and tried to fall asleep to make time pass more quickly. The troopers had trained to remain strapped in place for upwards of four torturous hours but most landings took less than two. In training they had even undergone an endurance simulation for an insane eight straight hours while a computer faked a whole series of accidents and mishaps. Troopers puked or pissed themselves and then were forced to sit in their own emissions until the sequence terminated. At the end, the cadre opened the waist doors to the training facility and unmercifully hosed them down with ice water.

There was a sudden loud curse from up front. Kyle opened his eyes and heard Master Sergeant Holly as he conversed with the crew of the drop ship. Kyle strained to lean forward and could see the heads of the squad leaders looking to each other and then back to the platoon sergeant. Holly gave a curt acknowledgement before he swung the boom microphone away from his mouth and shook his head.

Kyle asked the second squad guys who were positioned closer to the sergeants,

"What's going on?"

They, too, tried to read lips or strained to hear over the rush of air from above.

"Not sure - looks like we're turning around and heading back."

Kyle looked at the faces of the troopers across from him and slumped back into the restraint seat to ponder.

What in the hell can we be going back for?

Another idea crossed his mind and Kyle fumed bitterly to himself.

This had better not be another fucking rehearsal!

As the idea became a possibility Kyle felt the drop ship tip up as it executed a turn.

Fuck the army.

* * *

Peter Freedman felt uncomfortable as he reappeared at the elbow of his captain.

"Sir?"

Milligan nodded his head for Freedman to continue.

"Sir, we have a problem. We're definitely not over Watkins 6."

At this Milligan looked up with anger and controlled his alarm.

I'll space that bastard Green!

"What the hell do you mean 'we're not'!?"

Freedman appeared to struggle under Milligan's fierce glare.

"We don't know how it happened, but the Fold placed us at the wrong location in space. I double checked Lieutenant Green's plots and the sequence logs to ensure the execution was correct. Somehow during the Fold our destination concentration was shifted and we ended up here."

Milligan remained silent taking it all in. Freedman continued,

"We're running a star match now and trying to determine exactly where we are, but so far initial stored searches are coming up negative. Positioning is running a series of theoretical plots to see if the computer can extrapolate where we are, but as of right now it appears to be uncharted space."

Milligan was dumbstruck.

Uncharted space is nothing new with these drives but how did the Fold miss its mark? More importantly, the question is whether we can make a Fold back. I don't like this - I don't like it at all.

Milligan knew that in the past when Fold technology was first pioneered there were a number of test ships that never returned for reasons unknown. Over the next century research had perfected the technology into an art form. Nevertheless, there had been situations where ships came out of Fold a few hundred meters from their mark. Nothing in known history had ever redirected the concentration of a Fold, especially that of a ship the size of a midget carrier.

Milligan felt a cold stab of pain in his chest.

This might be a natural phenomenon but it could be man made. Heaven help us if this is a new enemy capability!

Milligan turned to Freedman and made his best effort to contain his concern, but failed to do so for the most part.

"Secure all drop ships. I want that star match on the double. Tell Watch to keep their eyes peeled. We're dealing with an unknown situation here, and I don't want to be surprised by anything sneaking in under the scopes. Triple check that Navigation did not screw up the Fold. Let me know the instant the plot is checked and the drive passes a complete diagnostic."

Freedman appeared startled as Milligan rattled off the list but quickly recovered and departed. His orders to the bridge had a sense of urgency and a slightly higher volume to which the crew instinctively responded. Milligan began to scan the field of stars before him, and searched for some hint as to what they had stumbled into. The twinkle of lights did not reveal their secret.

What the hell is going on here?

Tense moments ticked by with a number of the drop ships returning to their assigned bays. Milligan could still see the last of the flight on its way back from the planet which hung in the distance. The current speed at which they traveled would bring them home to safety in the next few minutes.

Freedman reappeared and handed Milligan a data display.

"Sir, based on the initial readings there is a huge energy wave fading rapidly which originated approximately at the time of our arrival. I don't know how it was accomplished or what caused it, but it appears that our Fold destination was indeed hijacked..."

"Contact!"

The bridge fell dead silent as the Watch station made the call. Milligan spun around to the officer on duty who furiously adjusted the display screen before her.

"What do you have?"

Her mouth was a thin line of concentration.

"Sir! Contact bearing sero-three-sero mark sero-four-six, range five kilometers. It's a class three signature and unidentified with no transponder. The active scan detected its propulsion burn as it moved to realign on us."

No transponder and masked to sensors except for a propulsion burn signature. Could be a craft coming in blind in order to fool our sensors. For all I know I'm sitting right in the center of a civilian glide path!

Milligan weighed his options and decided on caution and the preservation of his ship. He turned back to Freedman and ordered,

"Secure the ship and sound Battle Stations."

"Aye, aye sir!"

The overhead speakers blared with Freedman's amplified voice,

"This is the Bridge - all hands to Battle Stations, this is not a drill! All hands Battle Stations, this is not a drill!"

The entire bridge scrambled; Milligan turned back to the main view and watched as the last of three drop ships closed the distance toward them. He cursed under his breath.

Damn hot shot pilots always have to make a race out of things! They've managed to string themselves out but good.

He turned back to Freedman and inquired,

"How long until they're inside?"

The second in command looked out the main screen at the small craft as they barreled toward them.

"At least two minutes."

Milligan cursed under his breath again.

I'm not going to expose this ship to danger trying to slip them inside.

To Freedman he ordered in a low tone,

"They're not going to make it inside the protective envelope in time. Tell them to hold off and wait at a safe distance until this is concluded."

Freedman nodded his head and turned to Communications.

"Tell the remaining Zulu elements to hold at heading three-sero-sero mark three-sero-sero, range of two thousand meters, until further ordered. Let them know that we're activating our protective envelope and are at Battle Stations."

The officer nodded his head and pointed to a technician who began to hail the ships.

* * *

Kyle continued to watch the troopers, who in turn watched Master Sergeant Holly grow more irate. Something had to of happened to piss off the seasoned veteran.

Without warning the cabin lights flickered to a harsh red glow. The drop ship rolled to the right and Kyle felt himself pressed against the troop seat. The maneuver was much more aggressive than the previous turn. Somewhere off to his right a trooper complained softly to his buddy but fell quiet as the weaving continued. It dawned on Kyle that this was not a drill.

Something is definitely wrong.

* * *

"Contact! We have a new inbound bogey bearing original contact location and closing fast! Looks like our primary blip launched a drone or missile at us!"

Milligan sat up in his chair and hit the auto lock which secured him to his seat while he shouted,

"Counter measures and defensive fire!"

As he spoke the point defense guns and counter measure launchers on the ship came alive. Flares streaked away from the midget carrier while guns hurled glittering specks into the path of the incoming object. Milligan tried to follow the reach of the guns and the trail of the flares.

Within a moment there was a flash that nearly blinded them.

"Incoming destroyed!"

The defensive guns ceased but the occasional flare continued to launch. Milligan began to speak but was interrupted by another flash - more than one incoming had been aimed their way.

"Counter Measures! Keep that screen up but pace it so you don't bleed us dry! Last thing I want is to give them a fire works show till we're empty and then have them knock us out. Helm, bring the ship to a head on alignment with the contact and keep our profile thin! Navigation, prepare for an emergency Fold on a reverse course plot!"

Freedman stood at his elbow and whispered softly,

"Sir, we still have those remaining drop ships..."

Milligan roared at him.

"I know! I know!"

Freedman visibly flinched then glanced at the crew around him. Milligan struggled to get his emotions in check before he continued in a controlled voice,

"I have no idea who is taking pot shots at my ship. I have no idea how we got out here in the middle of nowhere. For all I know these hostiles hijacked our Fold concentration and pulled us into an ambush. That's never been reported possible before, and Fleet will need to know about it. We're getting the hell out of here and will circle back with reinforcements as soon as we have a better idea about what happened!"

Freedman nodded his head but appeared hesitant before he turned and issued the order.

I know what you're thinking Peter, but you're not sitting in the hot seat. They can put me in front of a Board of Inquiry all they want later on but right now I'm getting my boat to safety!

Lieutenant Green called out from Navigation,

"Sir, we have the reverse plot entered!"

Milligan glanced out the main view as the defensive guns fired and flares launched from his ship. For a long moment he hesitated. A star winked out of existence as if something had passed in front of it which jarred him back to reality.

"On my mark!"

Heaven help me. Heaven help them!

"Fold!"

"Aye!"

A moment later they were gone.

* * *

Everyone in the drop ship paid intense attention to the front of the troop bay. The environment doors had closed between the troopers and the cockpit, and Master Sergeant Holly spoke into his microphone in a gruff and clipped manner. Kyle knew there was only one reason for the doors to be closed, which was confirmed a moment later by the pilot who came on with an announcement.

"We have a hostile contact making a run on the carrier. You boys get ready in case we need to do some flying."

Kyle went cold and tugged at his restraint straps for the hundredth time. He had not loosened them in the slightest since the launch from the Rosalie, but training forced him to recheck just in case .

What in the hell is going on here? This was supposed to be a cake walk deployment babysitting a bunch of whining city boys!

Glancing over at his carbine Kyle could see it was still held securely in the rack. He reached up and checked his chin strap and clipped his helmet to the seat headrest. He then hooked his wrists and ankles securely so no part of his body would whip around during the rapid maneuvers that were sure to follow.

Holly came in over the helmet radio on the platoon frequency.

"Listen up! The drop ships can do spins and whirls that would make a rollercoaster look like it's standing still! Unless you want to be scrubbing the insides of this vehicle and all the gear it contains, I strongly urge you to get a barf bag on right now."

Kyle, with his head locked in place, glanced with his eyes toward the sergeants and realized none of the trapped troopers wore the bags. The idea of course was that if a trooper heaved his guts the vomit would go through the one-way valve inside the bag and not spray across the whole cabin. Just thinking about floating globules of chunky barf was enough to make Kyle queasy.

He unhooked his wrist to pull the bag out of a slot in the seat and placed the open end over his mouth. A large elastic loop fit over his helmet and held the contraption snugly against his face. Now, if Kyle puked, the pleasure of the experience and the smell would be his and his alone to enjoy.

One more reason this is the greatest job in the universe!

As he thought about loose stuff flying around the cabin, Kyle also decided to drop his eye protection. He reached up with a quick twist, and the helmet visor dropped down to cover his eyes past his cheekbones. He hooked his arm back into the seat loop as he took another breath to calm himself.

Alright you bitches - do your worst.

He expected the ship to start the spin-and-whirl routine at any moment, but was surprised to hear the engines simply shut down. A second later the cabin went pitch black with an alarmed chorus of muffled voices.

Master Sergeant Holly chastised them,

"Shut the fuck up!"

The startled troopers fell silent.

"Listen up! We are gliding dead to see if we can slip away from the mothers who are trying to kill us. You ladies keep your dresses on and your mouths shut! One word out of you, and I'll space the whole fucking platoon through the air lock!"

The message from the senior man was clear, as reflected by the absence of the usual piss-ant comments from the enlisted men. Kyle and the rest of the troopers sat in bound silence and waited for the engines to kick on, or the blinding flash and depressurization that would signal their demise.

I wonder if it is better to die in the explosion, or from exposure to depressurization.

He carefully imagined what both would be like and decided he did not want to find out. Glancing up he could make out the internal helmet clock and noted the current time. If the platoon was to sweat it out in the darkness Kyle would at least have an idea of the duration.

Not that we want to start setting any new world records...

* * *

The troopers continued to glide 'dead' for almost six hours after the Rosalie made the exit Fold. The rogue contact had broken off its attack and headed back out to open space at almost the same instant the midget carrier had disappeared. The drop ship pilot reported to Holly that the unidentified craft executed a Fold of its own, which left the three loads of troopers alone - isolated. Within minutes, the red emergency lights were on again in the troop bay and the men waited silently for the next hand of Fate to be dealt.

After another half hour passed, the troopers began to get restless and soon trips to the head were in demand. The white lights switched on as troopers started a rotation to the cramped closet taking turns to relieve their strained bladders and bowels. The process was made all the more fun by having to maneuver and perform their duty in zero gravity.

Several troopers found it hard to adjust to the altered equilibrium experienced with weightlessness and filled their barf bags with vigor. Others simply sat and talked in low voices or slept like babies. Kyle was still highly energized by the brief encounter and could not figure out how anyone could even think about sleeping.

The hours continued to pass without the return of the Rosalie and troopers began to get restless. The flight leader held a brief powwow with the ranking officer aboard one of the other drop ships and the decision was made to go dirt side. Those troopers floating about were pulled ungracefully through the air by buddies and guided to their seats where they strapped in. The previous lengthy inspection was reduced to a cursory check of personnel and equipment. Once the squad leaders were snug in their seats, Master Sergeant Holly updated the pilot and the drop ship began to accelerate.

Within minutes the thrumming of the engines grew into a roar and the craft began to vibrate violently. Kyle knew the drop ship was entering the atmosphere of the planet and that soon they would be on the ground. For what it was worth, the knowledge brought a small sense of relief - if they did not burn up on reentry. Then again, Kyle realized that he had no idea what to expect on the surface anyway.

The drop ships successfully entered the upper atmosphere and the pilots debated a landing zone. Because this planet was not Watkins 6, no one had an idea who might be on the surface. A cursory scan revealed no obvious urban areas or ports, only densely packed mountains sprinkled with wooded valleys. The most obvious feature was a large body that appeared to be an ocean but upon closer inspection proved to be a vast steppe. The large grassy plain was devoid of trees and went on for miles in every direction.

Taking into consideration cover and concealment the pilot led the flight into a deep mountain valley where there appeared to be water and sufficient forest. The infantry commander selected a landing zone and the ships all touched down with a jarring thud. Kyle, bathed in sweat, looked skyward and gave silent thanks to whatever divine spirit had brought him back to solid ground in one piece.

Once the troopers freed themselves and their equipment, they disembarked to a hastily formed perimeter. The sergeants yelled, cursed, poked, and prodded the troopers into place. Within moments the confused gaggle managed to expertly fade into the surrounding conifers.

With the infantry off-loaded, the flight leader ordered the drop ships to a hide position within communication range that had both orbital cover and concealment. A large cavern at the head of the mountain stream would serve as a perfect natural hanger.

As the last drop ship powered up and lifted off from the landing zone it blew one last annoying gust of needles and small branches. Kyle twisted onto his side from a position under a pine tree to watch the craft depart. Roaring away low over the tree tops, it disappeared after the others and a silence fell over the valley. Rolling back onto his stomach, Kyle scanned the terrain's natural features, familiarizing himself with his new surroundings.

Any time he tried to get settled in a sergeant shifted him to a new location. After being moved a fifth time it was well into the evening, and Kyle figured he would not be relocated. No sooner had he made himself comfortable, and then he was pulled through the forest to yet another location. By that time it was too dark out to see the terrain in front of him; even the ambient light was insufficient for his low-light visor to be of any use. For all he knew, Kyle was aimed at the rest of the platoon.

This is a hell of a way to fight a war. I don't know how it could get any worse than this!

It began to rain in a steady, penetrating downpour.

Great. Juuust great.

The temperature dropped noticeably and a biting chill began to set in. Reaching into his pack, Kyle freed a thermal blanket and a heavy wet-weather poncho to wrap around his back and shoulders. The ground was covered in a type of long conifer needle which provided a fair amount of insulation below him. The rain increased in intensity and it took no time at all for his exposed legs to be soaked to the bone. Several times Kyle watched his own breath appear as he exhaled, and his hands and feet ached in the harsh conditions.

During the course of the night it became extremely difficult to relax. Even after being relieved from watch Kyle found it difficult to sleep. The time was spent wondering who attacked them and whether or not enemy infantry would be deployed against them. The main question on his mind was why the drop ships had not left them in the city where they were supposed to be.

One rumor had it that the Rosalie had been destroyed, but once Holly caught wind of the scuttlebutt he personally made the rounds to eliminate it. He clearly stated that the ship had made an emergency Fold back to New Rochelle and was mounting a relief expedition. He also made it clear that any talk to the contrary would result in his boot up the ass of the offender. A veteran of almost three decades, Holly knew the effect on morale and discipline that wild imaginations could cause.

Kyle thought about the ammunition stored in the pouches of his combat vest. His temporary team leader had made the rounds earlier for an equipment check and handed him a full load of projectiles. This was in addition to the initial load he had originally drawn. The weight of the additional ammunition felt weird against his body and he wondered if the sergeants would be passing out the grenades and mines next. He then thought about nervous troopers handling the ordnance in the dark and decided it was a bad idea. The last thing he wanted to do was die from some other idiot getting excited with an explosive device. This became the fourth way he did not want to die.

Kyle loaded a brick of projectiles into his carbine but did not chamber the first round. He was still deathly afraid he might accidentally shoot someone and the unloaded chamber provided another layer of safety. Granted, it also slowed down his reaction time to a potential enemy attack. Nevertheless, at that time, shooting a friendly was more of a possible risk.

The password and counter password were circulated and then changed again an hour later. Someone quipped that the newest combination was 'we're fucked'. Kyle grew angry at the reckless behavior and refused to pass it on.

Dip shits - this isn't a game!

As the night wore on Kyle rotated into and out of his watch with his battle buddy. Sanchez was from a different platoon entirely, as was the squad leader that checked in on them. In the hectic shift of the perimeter he had been easily separated from his team. All Kyle wanted to do was stay dry and in one place. The last thing on his mind was to wander around looking for his buddies.

The pine needle bed remained comfortable with the thermal blanket and poncho keeping his torso warm. With the adrenaline gone and the warmth of his bedding, staying awake was the current challenge. As he started his next hour-long watch, Kyle did his best to shake off the drowsiness as he stared out into the dark forest beyond.

He tried to scare himself into remaining more alert by pretending the worst was about to happen. Kyle silently berated and reminded himself of the importance of doing his job. The enemy could walk up to his position, kill him in his slumber, and then begin to systematically eliminate the rest of the squad.

The woods to his front remained quiet and unchanging; the unsubstantiated fear had done little to get his blood pumping. He knew that he would catch hell if he allowed himself to lapse in a moment of weakness just to catch some shut eye. Even the threat of an enraged Holly discovering him lacked the expected incentive.

And that guy scares me worse than the enemy!

Minutes later, and despite his best effort, Private Kyle Evans committed the most basic crime a soldier could; he fell fast asleep.

* * *