“We have to exchange our uniforms, get new ID cards, check out of the barracks, put our civilian items and ceremonial uniforms in storage, and pick up a new field kit from the armory.”
“A new field kit?” said Galen.
“Yeah. Turn in the Mandarin standard issue and pick up the assigned gear for the contract we’re joining in progress.”
“Good. I can use a new foot locker; mine has a bullet hole in it.”
Galen and Tad wore full combat gear and had their new rifles slung over their shoulders as they approached the front gate.
“Hey Chiefs, you can’t go down town dressed like that!”
Galen didn’t know this gate guard. “We have to be here at thirteen hundred to catch our ride to the spaceport.”
“Well you’re early. Have a seat inside while you wait. You might block traffic standing out there.”
They entered the guard shack and removed their packs and sat on the bench built into the back wall.
“That’s some nice gear you got there.”
“Yes,” Galen leaned his rifle against the wall.
“Nice weapon.”
“It’s a good rifle, fires semi-auto or three-round bursts, caseless ammo. The forward tube magazine holds ninety six slugs. The solid propellant feeds up through the stock. When the bolt rides forward it scrapes off a chunk of propellant, picks up a slug and jams them home into the chamber, smashing the propellant tight in behind the bullet. The battery in the handgrip supplies a spark to ignite the propellant. When the bolt is sent backwards by the expanding gasses, it works a cam gear that drives a small generator that recharges the battery. However, the battery holds enough juice to empty the magazine twice, just in case the generator goes out.”
“Very sophisticated. How well does it shoot?”
“Maximum effective range of twenty-two hundred meters, with a ten centimeter drop at fifteen hundred meters on Mandarin. Might do better under less gravity or thinner air. Not bad for a seven millimeter assault rifle.”
“That scope built-in or was it a custom job?”
“Built-in at the factory. Automatic bore sight too.”
“What else did they give you?”
“Just the regular stuff. Regular old pistol, combat knife, field pack...”
“Where are they sending you?”
“Recon armor, a contract to wipe out some raiders near some new colonies.”
“Ah, you’re going to the Rim Job!”
Tad joined the conversation, “The what?”
“Raiders are harassing colonies at the edge, or rim, of the galaxy. The Rim World Confederacy hired the Panzers for the job of getting rid of the raiders. That’s why we call that contract the Rim Job.”
A heavy-duty truck pulled up to the gate. The guard checked the driver’s credentials, raised the barricade and let the vehicle enter the compound. “Chiefs, your ride’s here.”
Galen and Tad left the guard shack. The truck made a U-turn and stopped facing out. The driver leaned out and said, “Chief Raper, Chief Miller?”
“Yes,” said Tad.
“Climb in back.”
They did. A canvas supported by steel bows covered the cargo bed. A canvas curtain hung over the front, shielding them from the wind. They sat on the troop seats opposite each other, towards the front to get a smoother ride. The truck bed was empty except for them. As the truck picked its way along the pedestrian-choked streets of Xongxong, Galen leaned back and dozed off. Two hours later they were at the spaceport.
“Let’s go, Chiefs! Your ride is right there!” The loadmaster pointed at an aerospace transport. Galen and Tad climbed out of the truck and walked across the tarmac, following the loadmaster.
“Nice ship,” said Galen.
The loadmaster spoke over his shoulder, “Not a ship, an aerospace transport. A boat. To be a ship it has to be capable of unassisted interstellar travel.”
The boat was seventy meters long. The fuselage was narrow at the front, a point spreading out to a horizontal oval ten meters wide at the tail. Thin triangular wings started at the midpoint of the fuselage and widened to five meters, stopping abruptly a meter before the tail. Three sets of paired wheels thirty centimeters in circumference were the landing gear. A gantry led to an open door in the fuselage, right in front of where the wings started. They ascended the stairs of the gantry and entered the boat.
“Right there.” The loadmaster indicated two seats in the back. There were about twenty other Panzer Brigade mercenaries seated on the boat. Galen and Tad sat, put their packs under their seats and laid their rifles crossway on the floor. Tad used two straps on the floor to secure the weapons against the frame of the seats. The loadmaster checked to make sure their gear was stowed properly. “Good to go.”
The door sealed and Galen felt the pressure inside the boat increase a little. The boat taxied, turned, and then accelerated down the runway. Galen felt himself pressed into his seat. The nose of the boat lifted and Galen noticed the sound of servo motors retracting the landing gear. Then BAM! The boat shot up at a sharp angle, its mighty engines thrusting at four Gs as the aerospace transport shot out of the gravity well of Mandarin. Tad grunted.
The boat went into orbit and rendezvoused with a transport ship. The boat docked in a bay and a docking clamp secured the boat and a boarding collar sealed the area around the boat’s door. The loadmaster confirmed the seal and then opened the door. Galen’s ears popped as the air pressure dropped slightly. Weightlessness bothered him and made him feel like he was falling. Tad helped him float off the boat, down the docking tube and into the ship’s passenger area. Galen could have made it on his own but was glad Tad chose to help him. Tad had no problem with zero-G. The ship steward pulled himself along the seats. “We got any sleepers?”
“Right here,” said Galen.
The steward handed him an auto-injector. “At five minutes before jump, stick this in your thigh. It’ll knock you out cold for an hour.”
Galen nodded and put the auto-injector in his left breast pocket. He strapped himself into his seat. Tad did the same. The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, “We will do a one-G burn for ninety minutes and spend three minutes in zero-G at the turnaround and then a one-G burn for ninety minutes as we decelerate to the jump point. Remain seated during the zero-G portion of the flight. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” said Tad. “Three hours in this bucket?”
“It’s a lot shorter than the last trip.”
“That was on a comfortable commercial transport.”
“When it comes to space travel I prefer brevity over accommodations. They could put me in a sardine can if the trip only took a minute.”
“I forgot you hate space travel.”
“Yes, I hate space travel.”
The ship started moving, easing into one-G acceleration. “Tad, how fast do you think we’ll be going?”
“Huh? Oh, I don’t know.”
“Figure, a one-G burn for ninety minutes.”
“Acceleration of eleven meters per second per second, that’s five and a half meters the first second…hell, I don’t know.”
Galen thought for a moment, “About forty thousand meters a second velocity after the first minute?”
Tad yawned, “Forty klicks a minute. Twenty four hundred kilometers per hour. Hauling ass.”
“That’s just after the first minute. How about after ninety minutes?”
“About two hundred klicks per second?”
“No, the acceleration is constant but the increase in velocity is exponential. It doubles over a given interval.”
“Whatever. I’m sure the pilots can handle it.” Tad leaned his seat back.
“Fourteen, with twenty four zeros behind it, kilometers per hour velocity.”