Hostile Destination
Julius gripped the indifferent steel of his assault rifle with resentment. Yet another drop, he thought. They would keep on dropping him until he died, or until his sentence ended. He considered gloomily which was likely to come first. Yet again he found himself on board an armoured personnel carrier intruding itself upon some worlds sovereignty. A black, angular shape stealing into night skies with questionable intent, and once more he was powerless to prevent it.
His eyelids descended heavily as he tried to comfort himself with thoughts of home. A brief smile shaped his lips as he remembered Naya, her subtle form dreaming on the stained mattress in their squat. Her sleeping smile and gentle movements under the old sheet, their lovemaking amongst the squallor.
His mouth twisted as his involuntary recall of the medivac team trespassed into his mind: the medics fighting to keep her heart alive against the overdose, Naya airlifted away in a stretcher. He cleared his mind with a grimace and sought for sleep.
The APC had a unique smell, of grease, oil and guns, that wouldn't let him forget where he was: On a reconnaissance mission to some, no doubt, bleak place full of aggressive inhabitants. Only the gentle vibration of the craft seemed to tug him gently towards sleep - yet couldn't quite get him there. He could imagine the APC's black nose ripping through this worlds' lower atmosphere, seeking out its hostile destination.
'What I wouldn't give for a hit right now' he thought, almost automatically, and surprised himself with this old lament. It was almost a part of him now, like it was written into his genes. A longing for the submerging seduction of Karna. He started to relive the feeling of its silver bliss soaring through his bloodstream, then shredded the thought from his mind.
'I always feel like this on drops' he growled to himself.
There was no point in even reminising, he was light years from the nearest hit. The Judistrate had seen to that, months ago, when he had torn him from his chemical escapism to the harsh bosom and aggressive rehab of the Punitive Corps, with one crack of his mallet. Anyway, he thought bitterly, he didn't want his old life back as sure as he didn't want his current one. His soul yearned for something else.
A heavy boot thumped into his chest plate.
'Dreaming of a fix, junkie?' A voice barked.
Julius sighed once more, a large figure stood before him. The trooper looked up into the glaring eyes of his squad-master, Warrant Officer Ivanic.
'You shit heads are all the same. Well, its time to get that crap out of your mind, or the only high you'll be getting is when the locals blow your ass skywards' he continued, then cackled.
Julius grimaced at the harsh sound of his laughter, it was like scraping metal.
'Not if I blast yours first, dickhead, that would be all the fix I'd need' he rasped back.
The squad masters' grating laughter grew louder as he walked away.
Julius turned to his right at the sound of somebody waking noisily. Rann sat there in his flight harness. He stirred and mumbled sleepily 'He's an asshole, Jules, don't let him wind you up.' Rann peered out through one half closed eye, a livid scar marked where some trauma had carried the other away.
'He's got judgment coming to him, don't worry about that' Rann continued 'now forget about him.' He yawned extravagantly and looked around as if he had just realised where he was.
'What shit-hole are we getting dumped on this time anyway?' he breathed.
'Jesus Rann, don't you listen in the briefings? No wait, don't tell me, you were asleep.' Julius grinned 'Its the same as usual, we've got to recon a city area to test the water for enemy presence, before command will commit regular troops to occupy.'
Rann laughed bitterly 'then they examine the bullet-ridden bodies of the punitive corps to see how hostile the natives are. Like you said, same as usual.'
Julius considered him for a moment, he really didn't like their current posting, to a carrier in orbit around a planet once called New Europe.
'Whats this planet called now' he asked.
'Who knows, some name they dreamt up after declaring independence from Earth and the holy autocracy of our God-forsaken church.' He said these last few words in a bitter whisper, 'Probably 'Freedom' or 'Liberty' or some such crap.'
Independance, thought Julius, he could sympathise with this world. Too bad they had collapsed into civil war as the two most powerful nations on the planet struggled for the reigns of power released by Earth, plunging the planet into two decades of devastation.
Earth now considered New Europe weakened enough to forcibly bring back into the fold and into the sanctity of its church.
Julius chewed on the idea of this world being compelled, like himself, to Earths will.
Ivanic's voice barked again, '3 K's from drop.'
He grimaced, this wasn't the time for such thoughts, he dismissed them from his mind and looked around to distract his usual pessimism.
Rann and Julius sat in steel flight harnesses against one wall of the APC, along with four other troopers. Another six sat opposite. They all wore matt black full body armour, that when helmeted, made them look like demonic insects, Julius thought.
The men opposite gazed through vacant eyes at the deck plating or the walls. Their slack faces void of any expression.
'I guess we all look a little like that,' Julius thought.
'Get your heads on troopers, one k from drop,' the squad master drawled.
'Dang, Was having such a great dream too, ah well, time to clock on lads,' sighed Rann as he and the other troopers lowered their helmets into place.
Julius gripped his harness, despite his many drops, the descent from the APC to the surface always made him sweat. A green light flashed its lurid colour across the room. He took a deep breath, muttered a curse and prised his grip from the harness to fold his arms across his breast plate. Then the floor beneath him suddenly retracted and air blasted like a malevolent tornado into the craft. Beneath his feet, only the vauge shapes of an unlit nightscape rushed past.
He swallowed hard and thumbed his release toggle, and plummeted from the craft.
He seemed to be suspended in a black void, the night was too profound to make out any features below him, but the fact that he was falling was made obvious when the descent rockets on his backpack ignited, making him jerk in his suit from the sudden decelaration.
He steadied his reeling head, flicked on his night vision with a thought, and scrutinised the swiflty approaching scene below.
It was much as the mission brief had described: a sprawling urban cityscape, unlit tenaments and high rises, the latter looming like black monoliths around him. There were no lights or movements to be seen.
He did'nt expect to see much activity, reports said this area had been effectively sanitised by chemical weapons during the civil war.
Then the harsh tarmac, blood red through his night vision, rushed up to meet him. He crashed into its unyielding surface and bounced, his armour absorbing the impact, then instantly came to his feet. Vivid blue splotches on his helmet HUD marked the heat signatures of the descent rockets of his comrades, they landed in a group around him. Julius did'nt take much notice, he had taken cover behind the rusted corpse of a car, his assault rifle pointed over its hood, and was scanning the street they had landed in.
Monotonous grey buildings ran down both sides as far as he could see, their original identities and purposes now torn away by decades of conflict. Shattered shop fronts displayed only darkness, and the fronts of some buildings had collapsed, spewing rubble onto the street.
His audio pickups detected no sound, just the stirrings of a mild wind.
The voice of the squad NCO, Sergeant Bastick, hissed over his suit comm to the squad, 'stop pissing about and spread out, spread OUT.'
Julius continued his visual sweep over the violated street, pausing for a moment to consider a childs toy rocket jutting from the rubble.
Then his breathing quickened, and he zoomed his suit vision onto a squat building far down the street. The lightless holes where its windows had been seemed to stare straight at him, but in them, he swore he could detect the faint blue glimmer of small heat signatures. they suddenly brightened.
'Shit' Julius rasped, then shouted 'The locals are home, lads and about to throw us a surprise party, take COVER,'
One of the heat signatures flared in his vision like a nova. Julius threw himself backwards to the ground as a hot object like a small star roared over him and slammed into a building behind.
The missile blasted the side of the building into the street where the squad were scampering for cover, flattening them to the floor.
His audio hadn't dampened the explosion enough, through the ringing in his ears he could just hear Bastick screaming 'get off the street, get off the street.'
Julius hauled himself up and started to move as the night erupted into weapons fire behind him.
