lockdown…”
“And all the civilians will be secured in protected areas, behind armored doors, with independent life support.”
“Security guards will still be at risk.”
“Finally,” Wyatt scoffs. “Look at these lazy fucks.”
Voss smiles at that, for what it’s worth, and the sniper nods.
“Okay.” Voss rises from his crouch, considers the blast doors, the position of the aircraft in the bay. “Have the pilots move the skimmers. Park them close to the entrance, up against the wall to provide cover.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gojo, and the station guards, will take position at the monitoring station below ground. Tell Gojo to leave the elevator car at the bottom of the shaft, and manually cut the power to it. No system control over the hangar elevator. I want it offline until we decide to repair it.”
“And up here? It’s just us?”
“And your recruits.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Wyatt drawls. “Because we need the only three idiots who can’t shoot for shit with us.”
“Put one on the SAW.”
Wyatt’s expression sobers. “Sir?”
“Put the SAW on the catwalk above the skimmers, protected by double rows of diamond steel plate. Have the gunner keep the enemy off the elevators while you and I extract Petra from the ship.”
Wyatt frowns at the catwalk above the hangar’s blast doors. “And the ROE? Just, basically, anything that’s not your girlfriend…”
“Kill it.”
Wyatt grins. “Who says we don’t negotiate?”
Voss doesn’t reply, and a moment passes, its meaning is understood, the memory of a dozen times when it was bad, and the potential for this to be worse.
“Red Filter,” Wyatt says it in sing-song, making a mockery of the words. “Ain’t no struggle, nor strife, just pure enlightened souls, desperate to kill each other. You think they’re going to charge us for the damage we’re about to do to their pretty hangar?”
Voss nods, aware that he will undoubtedly be charged, by Wexler’s lawyers, and maybe Rhys Corp’s too, because twenty-two years of service is not enough to cover this bill. Risking BIOSTAT, and all its secrets, for a non-citizen, a smuggler, no less… All those presidential claps on the back won’t be worth shit, as was always the case, and he’ll be Earthbound within two months, maybe even cut loose.
Wyatt’s smile disappears, suddenly realizing where the joke has gone. “Hey, fuck them! How many years we’ve been risking our asses to protect their shit Earthbound? How many people have we lost? How many of us actually get to retire, actually see any of what they’ve offered us, med care and shit? How much money do they save when one of us dies?”
Voss doesn’t reply, knowing there are no good answers for that.
Wyatt jabs his finger toward the elevator in disgust. “How many boot kids did I repeat their promises to? How many of them died believing it? Now we can’t risk anything of theirs to save a civilian we painted a target on, for their sakes, in order to protect this business? Fuck them, sir. Dealing with shitheads is our business. We do what we do.”
Voss hears this and understands it for what it is, a brother’s unwavering support, pure got-your-back, in the face of whatever odds. “First Sergeant.”
“Sir.” Wyatt nods, expression still tight. He walks past Voss, heading toward the parked aircraft to kick his three recruits awake. “Wake up, pukes! It’s your lucky day. We’re going to hang one of you from the motherfucking rafters with a light machine gun. Excited? I know I am!”
Voss returns his gaze to the blast doors, allowing an image of that transport fighting the storm to take hold, merge possibility into reality.
A civilian we painted a target on?
No… a civilian I painted a target on.
Bring them up the canyon, Petra. I’m here. And I’m waiting.
OPEN AIRSPACE
OPHIR CHASMA REGION
MARS DATE: DAY 25, MONTH 12/24, YEAR 2,225
The transport tilts, all engines surging, like it’s off course
“And all the civilians will be secured in protected areas, behind armored doors, with independent life support.”
“Security guards will still be at risk.”
“Finally,” Wyatt scoffs. “Look at these lazy fucks.”
Voss smiles at that, for what it’s worth, and the sniper nods.
“Okay.” Voss rises from his crouch, considers the blast doors, the position of the aircraft in the bay. “Have the pilots move the skimmers. Park them close to the entrance, up against the wall to provide cover.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gojo, and the station guards, will take position at the monitoring station below ground. Tell Gojo to leave the elevator car at the bottom of the shaft, and manually cut the power to it. No system control over the hangar elevator. I want it offline until we decide to repair it.”
“And up here? It’s just us?”
“And your recruits.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Wyatt drawls. “Because we need the only three idiots who can’t shoot for shit with us.”
“Put one on the SAW.”
Wyatt’s expression sobers. “Sir?”
“Put the SAW on the catwalk above the skimmers, protected by double rows of diamond steel plate. Have the gunner keep the enemy off the elevators while you and I extract Petra from the ship.”
Wyatt frowns at the catwalk above the hangar’s blast doors. “And the ROE? Just, basically, anything that’s not your girlfriend…”
“Kill it.”
Wyatt grins. “Who says we don’t negotiate?”
Voss doesn’t reply, and a moment passes, its meaning is understood, the memory of a dozen times when it was bad, and the potential for this to be worse.
“Red Filter,” Wyatt says it in sing-song, making a mockery of the words. “Ain’t no struggle, nor strife, just pure enlightened souls, desperate to kill each other. You think they’re going to charge us for the damage we’re about to do to their pretty hangar?”
Voss nods, aware that he will undoubtedly be charged, by Wexler’s lawyers, and maybe Rhys Corp’s too, because twenty-two years of service is not enough to cover this bill. Risking BIOSTAT, and all its secrets, for a non-citizen, a smuggler, no less… All those presidential claps on the back won’t be worth shit, as was always the case, and he’ll be Earthbound within two months, maybe even cut loose.
Wyatt’s smile disappears, suddenly realizing where the joke has gone. “Hey, fuck them! How many years we’ve been risking our asses to protect their shit Earthbound? How many people have we lost? How many of us actually get to retire, actually see any of what they’ve offered us, med care and shit? How much money do they save when one of us dies?”
Voss doesn’t reply, knowing there are no good answers for that.
Wyatt jabs his finger toward the elevator in disgust. “How many boot kids did I repeat their promises to? How many of them died believing it? Now we can’t risk anything of theirs to save a civilian we painted a target on, for their sakes, in order to protect this business? Fuck them, sir. Dealing with shitheads is our business. We do what we do.”
Voss hears this and understands it for what it is, a brother’s unwavering support, pure got-your-back, in the face of whatever odds. “First Sergeant.”
“Sir.” Wyatt nods, expression still tight. He walks past Voss, heading toward the parked aircraft to kick his three recruits awake. “Wake up, pukes! It’s your lucky day. We’re going to hang one of you from the motherfucking rafters with a light machine gun. Excited? I know I am!”
Voss returns his gaze to the blast doors, allowing an image of that transport fighting the storm to take hold, merge possibility into reality.
A civilian we painted a target on?
No… a civilian I painted a target on.
Bring them up the canyon, Petra. I’m here. And I’m waiting.
OPEN AIRSPACE
OPHIR CHASMA REGION
MARS DATE: DAY 25, MONTH 12/24, YEAR 2,225
The transport tilts, all engines surging, like it’s off course
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