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RP-1, also known as the “responsemobile” by some members of the team, was ready for orbital insertion.
“All team members secure, Commander,” Kiseleva called. “Now pack us up-“
“And ship us off to hell!” the rest of the team cheered.
The mood was light, positive, Pirra thought. Like this was a weekend trip.
She didn’t like it.
Orbital drops were a very real scenario that they trained for and practiced often.
But it was always risky. The spaceplane would get hit with temperatures of nearly 2000 С, and if anything went wrong, that would ruin anyone’s day.
The main hangar had been emptied of other personnel and the air removed. The main doors opened, and the automated systems lifted them up and out.
Once they were free, the system plotted their course and they began moving.
Pirra went onto a private channel to Craton command.
“Captain, requesting permission to perform a Hazardous Drop drill. We rarely get to practice under real drop conditions,” she called.
In the background, Jack Lal was leading the rest of the unit in a spirited, and highly inappropriate espatier song that involved a lost lover, a dead ship, and some kind of alien blob.
“This is Captain Jaya,” the response to Pirra came. “Permission granted, Commander. I expect your team to perform admirably.”
Pirra felt a thrill of amusement go through her.
They were just about to hit atmosphere when she turned on the all-unit channel.
“Team, we’re going to be running a Hazardous Drop simulation on our way down. As of this moment, we are under fire.”
The singing stopped, and the simulation began. Warnings popped up in their HUDs of missile locks, of incoming hostile drones, and of enemy forces on the surface prepared to do anything to make sure they did not land alive.
“Countermeasures activated!” Kiseleva called. “Registering equivalent-level weapons technology.”
“We’re boned,” she heard Guoming mutter.
“Do not begin defeatist talk,” Kessissiin said sharply.
“Quiet,” Pirra said. “Work the problem. Are countermeasures working?”
“We have become effectively invisible to the missiles,” Kiseleva said. “Until they launch the next batch.”
“Starting remote hack attempt,” Jack Lal called. “Attempt one failed. They have a good firewall, we’re not going to get in it in time.”
“We have dumb-fired weaponry coming up from the ground!”
“Begin evasive maneuvers, they have a good idea of our way down, I want to make it as unpredictable as possible.”
It was a risky move; the ship had high tolerances that could handle these maneuvers, but there were still great forces on a ship that was going through an atmosphere, and this was a denser-than-Earth atmo. Going too strong on a maneuver could cause the ship to tumble like a leaf in the breeze. They could get out of such a tumble, but they were not going to take a risky path just for this fictional scenario. While it did move somewhat to give them the sensation of altering course, it kept it within tolerances.
“Plasma shell forming,” she heard called. “We’ll be losing sensors soon.”
This was the most dangerous part of a combat drop. Such a thing was, in reality, near suicide. An enemy below would just be able to bring too many weapons to bear, they’d have too little ability to maneuver, and even if they did one could not realistically dodge a smart missile.
“Dropping a spare fuel pod,” Kiseleva said. “We won’t be able to lift off, but it’ll provide some protection.”
All simulated, Pirra knew. But the feed of the pod dropping, just before the plasma shell around them got too intense to make such a move safe, came up in her visor. For the sake of seeing how it was projected to perform, she kept the simulation going.
The fuel pod had chambers, which it would dump at intervals. The fuel ignited instantly as it hit the pod’s own plasma wake from the drop friction, and created a literal wall of fire.
An enemy on the ground would have a hard time seeing through it. They wouldn’t be able to get a precise lock, and anything else they sent up would be just a shot over a large area.
It was not a bad plan, she thought. The computer gave it a 42.8% chance of getting them down in one piece.
“Coming out of silence . . . now!” Jack Lal called. The feeds cleared up, and they saw the ground. Fire was coming in wildly, but quickly began to home in on them.
“Point-defense cannons firing!” Kiseleva called. “We’ve got friendlies above us in upper atmo, they’re dropping fire-“
Suddenly everything went red.
“We’re hit,” Pirra said.
“Breaking up,” Kiseleva said with a sigh.
“We’re all dead,” Jack Lal added. “What was it?”
Pirra checked. “Lucky shot, actually. Ah, well, that’s how it goes sometimes.”
Their actual flight was going quite smoothly. The shaking had mostly stopped, and Pirra twisted in her seat. “Good job, everyone, that was as good an attempt as I’ve seen.”
“Someday,” Kessissiin said. “Someone will come up with a good way to land troops under hostile fire.”
“Unlikely, I think,” Kiseleva said. “The odds are just too stacked. You can only overwhelm such defenses, try to give too many targets. The question then is how many you are willing to sacrifice?”
“Look, guys,” Lal said, raising his hands for silence. “The answer is obvious. If we just paint big smiley faces on the bottom of the ships-“
The ship lurched, hitting a pocket of turbulence. Lal drew in his arms, too fast. He yelled out, as everyone was thrown hard in their seats.
“Jack!” Pirra called. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I just elbowed myself in the head . . .”
Pirra whistled out a Dessei curse that she knew would not be translated for the others. “I really shouldn’t have to say this, but everyone keep your limbs down until the ride has come to a complete stop. Now, don’t guess, anyone – is he okay?”
Kiseleva was studying a readout. “Med scans suggest a mild concussion. We can deal with it on the ground.”
Jack made another joke at his expense, and Pirra sighed. Hopefully, this had been the extent of drama for this mission.
Other Terrestrial 
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