seconds, just long enough to take in one deep, burning breath, and to lift a faceplate to wipe stinging sweat from bloodshot eyes and to try to get the slightest hint of an almost imaginary breeze.
"When we said we'd follow the colonel to Hell and back, I never thought he'd take us up on it," Mort Jaiffer complained during one of the longer breaks. Echo had closed to within three hundred meters of the nearest enemy positions.
I know what you mean, Joe Baerclau thought, but what he said was "Save your air. We get up this next time, it's going to start getting even hotter."
"I'd feel a lot better if we had the tropical forest to go with this tropical heat," Mort said. "A little shade would be welcome, and trees would give us better cover."
This time Joe didn't say anything, didn't bother to voice his thought: This isn't the tropics; it's damn near polar. He didn't have to voice the thought. It occurred to Mort as well. Mort was too educated to miss something that obvious. He had also paid attention to the prejump briefings.
What happens when we do go closer to the tropics? Mort asked himself. If it's this miserable here...
He wiped sweat from his face and lowered his visor. He had taken a drink before talking. He was thirsty again, or still, but decided not to use any more water at the moment. He had little enough left, and there was no telling how long it would be before there might be a chance to refill canteens. Being left without water for any significant time would be suicide in this heat. Literally. He shifted his position just enough to let him look over the crest of the rock he was behind. He tried to remember just what path he had chosen for himself before going down this time. He didn't want to have to think about where he was stepping when they started out again. He would be looking farther ahead then, mostly at the enemy lines.
At least we don't have to worry about mines or booby traps, he thought. The moss was surety for that, along with the strafing runs that the 13th's Wasps had done. If there had been any explosives planted, the cannon fragments would have detonated them. As long as they stayed on the stretches of rock that had been cleared of moss, they would be fine—that would keep them clear of the slick growth without worrying about explosives.
We just have to worry about cover, and not hitting a patch of that moss and breaking our butts.
"Check your weapons," Joe said over the platoon channel. "Wire and juice."
Mort automatically complied, even though he was absolutely certain that his Armanoc was ready to go. He had already looked several times. That too was automatic. Mort spoke to Wiz Mackey, the only man left in his fire team since Mal Underwood had been evacuated. Wiz confirmed that he had a full spool of wire and one hundred percent showing for his rifle's power pack. Then Mort switched channels to report to the squad leader.
"Wiz and I are set, Ez," he said.
"Take it easy then," Ezra Frain replied. "I just got the word. We're going to have another ten or fifteen minutes here. We're waiting for the other units to get in position before the attack. We're all going in at once. When we start this time, we keep going until we get there." Or until we can't go any farther was the unspoken qualifier.
—|—
Blue eight, Will Tarkel's fighter, lost power without warning as Blue Flight was heading east for another strike against the Schlinal defensive positions. Both antigrav drives quit at once. There was no time to attempt diagnostics, scarcely time for one try at restarting the engines. The Wasp had the glide characteristics of a six-ton rock without power. There was no possibility of landing one safely without the drives. Will managed to eject behind the 13th's line. His fighter's momentum carried it almost to the first warehouse in its path. It crashed about twenty meters short.
A squad from Echo's 4th platoon picked up Will Tarkel within two minutes after the escape pod landed.
Zel
"When we said we'd follow the colonel to Hell and back, I never thought he'd take us up on it," Mort Jaiffer complained during one of the longer breaks. Echo had closed to within three hundred meters of the nearest enemy positions.
I know what you mean, Joe Baerclau thought, but what he said was "Save your air. We get up this next time, it's going to start getting even hotter."
"I'd feel a lot better if we had the tropical forest to go with this tropical heat," Mort said. "A little shade would be welcome, and trees would give us better cover."
This time Joe didn't say anything, didn't bother to voice his thought: This isn't the tropics; it's damn near polar. He didn't have to voice the thought. It occurred to Mort as well. Mort was too educated to miss something that obvious. He had also paid attention to the prejump briefings.
What happens when we do go closer to the tropics? Mort asked himself. If it's this miserable here...
He wiped sweat from his face and lowered his visor. He had taken a drink before talking. He was thirsty again, or still, but decided not to use any more water at the moment. He had little enough left, and there was no telling how long it would be before there might be a chance to refill canteens. Being left without water for any significant time would be suicide in this heat. Literally. He shifted his position just enough to let him look over the crest of the rock he was behind. He tried to remember just what path he had chosen for himself before going down this time. He didn't want to have to think about where he was stepping when they started out again. He would be looking farther ahead then, mostly at the enemy lines.
At least we don't have to worry about mines or booby traps, he thought. The moss was surety for that, along with the strafing runs that the 13th's Wasps had done. If there had been any explosives planted, the cannon fragments would have detonated them. As long as they stayed on the stretches of rock that had been cleared of moss, they would be fine—that would keep them clear of the slick growth without worrying about explosives.
We just have to worry about cover, and not hitting a patch of that moss and breaking our butts.
"Check your weapons," Joe said over the platoon channel. "Wire and juice."
Mort automatically complied, even though he was absolutely certain that his Armanoc was ready to go. He had already looked several times. That too was automatic. Mort spoke to Wiz Mackey, the only man left in his fire team since Mal Underwood had been evacuated. Wiz confirmed that he had a full spool of wire and one hundred percent showing for his rifle's power pack. Then Mort switched channels to report to the squad leader.
"Wiz and I are set, Ez," he said.
"Take it easy then," Ezra Frain replied. "I just got the word. We're going to have another ten or fifteen minutes here. We're waiting for the other units to get in position before the attack. We're all going in at once. When we start this time, we keep going until we get there." Or until we can't go any farther was the unspoken qualifier.
—|—
Blue eight, Will Tarkel's fighter, lost power without warning as Blue Flight was heading east for another strike against the Schlinal defensive positions. Both antigrav drives quit at once. There was no time to attempt diagnostics, scarcely time for one try at restarting the engines. The Wasp had the glide characteristics of a six-ton rock without power. There was no possibility of landing one safely without the drives. Will managed to eject behind the 13th's line. His fighter's momentum carried it almost to the first warehouse in its path. It crashed about twenty meters short.
A squad from Echo's 4th platoon picked up Will Tarkel within two minutes after the escape pod landed.
Zel
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