Master Sergeant Sevin took a deep breath. “No sir.”
“Very well. I’ll be going now.”
“On your feet!” They stood at attention.
Captain Rothschild stood, knocking over his camp stool as he did so, “Carry on.” He waved over his shoulder as he exited the tent.
“Take your seats.” Sevin waited a few seconds before saying, “Damned punk officer. So you want to be one of them?”
Galen shrugged. “I move to adjourn this meeting and go eat chow.”
Master Sergeant Sevin nodded. “I don’t care what you do as long as you’re ready to roll out for extraction at ten hundred hours.”
Galen stood in the hatch of his Hornet and watched the assault boats land. They came in low, their rounded snouts tilted upward as perforated drag flaps dangled from their extended wings. The formation of six boats seemed to hover as it approached the task force. The dust blown up by the boats suggested there was a downward angle to their engine thrust. Galen noticed thrust deflectors changing the angle of their engine exhausts. The boats extended their landing gear, eased to the ground and rolled to the pick-up point. The dull grey exteriors were streaked with black, the result of partial oxidation of the outer ablative coating. Only the parts of the retractable wings not exposed during high-speed atmospheric entry were still a bright, shiny silver color. Finally the boats stopped in a long line.
“So what do you think of those boats?” Sergeant Boggs stood in the aux gunner hatch, his helmet off.
“Kind of ugly,” said Galen, “A cylinder with wings sticking out of the top center, a bubble nose with tiny windows across the top, a big ugly rudder and stabilizer section mounted right above the cargo ramp in the rear. The Liberator is a good bird, but it’s damn ugly.”
Master Sergeant Sevin’s voice came over the turret auxiliary speaker, “Wagons ho!”
Galen put on his helmet and connected the commo cord. The Hornet was already moving. Six tanks, first and second platoon, drove up the ramp of the first boat. Galen’s platoon boarded the second boat, followed by the two tanks of headquarters platoon and a single infantry carrier. Galen checked his status screen and groaned. “The Captain is on board with us.”
Sergeant Boggs said, “He won’t bother us.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He’ll go strait to the cockpit and sit around with the pilots.”
Galen said, “Won’t he oversee the tie-down?”
“No. He’s allergic to work.”
“Whatever. Dismount and secure this vehicle.”
Lengths of chain attached to the deck were all along the cargo hold. Galen took one and passed its loose end through the towing shackle on the left front corner of his tank. The loose end had a hook on it and he attached the hook to a turnbuckle bolted to the deck. He hand-tightened the turnbuckle and left it for the loadmaster assistant to tighten with his wrench. Galen got to the left rear corner too late to help Sergeant Boggs and Trooper Jones secure it.
“That’s it, Chief. All four corners secure.”
“Thanks, Jones.”
The Captain and Lieutenant strutted by, the junior officer carrying a black briefcase. Neither seemed interested in their surroundings.
“I’m going to check the officer’s track,” said Boggs.
Galen followed Boggs to the end of the boat. The infantry carrier was parked and the assigned driver was struggling with a tie-down chain. Boggs pushed him aside.
“Like this, Trooper. Put the loose end through the shackle, back to front, take it down and hook it here to the turnbuckle. Then take your dick beaters and twist it as tight as you can.”
Sergeant Boggs and Chief Raper glared at the task force commander’s driver as he secured the other three corners of the infantry carrier. When the troop opened the door built into the assault ramp at the rear of the vehicle, Galen saw two Sergeants and a Chief sitting inside.
Galen stuck his head in the hatch. “What’s going on? You troops think you’re too good to help tie down?”
The Chief and two Sergeants looked at him in surprise. The Chief swiveled his computer operator’s chair away from his terminal and faced Galen. “Who are you?”
“I’m a professional, that’s who!” Galen looked at them. Soft and kind of fat. “Never mind.”
Sergeant Boggs walked with Galen back to their own vehicle, mounted up, closed the hatches and waited for liftoff. The boat trundled along the ground for about five minutes. Galen became concerned.
“Sergeant Boggs, what’s taking so long to get airborne?”
“They have a huge runway. Hundreds of kilometers of dusty flat open plain to use. The pilots aren’t in a big hurry to get off the ground.”
“Why not?”
“Saving fuel and reducing wear on the air frame. They want to stay on the ground to build up enough velocity to get above stall speed without using thrust deflectors or running the engines to full throttle.”
The boat lifted from the ground. Galen heard the landing gear retract. The boat tilted its nose upward about ninety mils and increased thrust. Galen felt the boat lurch and then heard the sound of hydraulic servo motors running for a few seconds.
“What was that?”
“We hit mach one. The wings retracted to reduce drag and allow the boat to go faster.”
The boat tilted about forty more mills upward. Soon it lurched and ran its wings in all the way.
“Mach two?”
“Yes. Now we’re a missile. The rudder and stabilizers are now the wings.”
“How come you know so much, Boggs?’
“I started out as a loadmaster assistant.”
The boat left the atmosphere before reaching mach five. After half an hour, weightlessness let Galen assume the boat was in orbit. Jostling and a metallic clang let him know the boat had docked in a ship’s landing bay. Galen popped his hatch and looked around the cargo bay. Tank crews were floating from their vehicles to board the passenger compartment of the ship.
“Guess it’s time to get on the ship.”
Boggs and Jones took off their combat suits, stowed them in the Hornet and floated off. Galen thought about staying in the tank but didn’t know if it was authorized. He took off his combat suit and secured it in the tank and made sure the turret and driver’s hatches were closed and then made his way to the ship.
“Second deck up,” said the steward.
Galen made his way to the center of the deck and then floated two decks upward. The ship’s decks were built perpendicular to the thrust, for ease of movement during the artificial gravity of acceleration. Boat decks were built lateral to the thrust, for easier loading and unloading while on-planet. Galen didn’t like either, didn’t like space travel at all.
“Over here, killer.” It was Master Sergeant Sevin. Sevin, Childress, Tad, and Dawson sat in chairs bolted to the floor around a table. There was one seat open so Galen floated over. He stowed his assault rifle and field pack under the seat and strapped them in.
“So you’re a sleeper,” said Sevin.
“Yes. The jump puts me in a virtual eternity, complete sensory deprivation for what seems like forever.”
“Me too. I went through it once. That’s enough for one lifetime.” He handed Galen an auto-injector. “Anyway, let’s get down to business. Our next objective is Rochelle. The planet has four major continents. The fleet ran the raiders to ground and the indigs report they’re on just one continent.”
He touched a control on his edge of the table and the surface displayed a topographical map of a continent surrounded by ocean.
“Indigs?” asked Galen.