Indomitable by W. C. Bauers Page B

PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD
    PUGILIST SEA, CORREGIDOR ISLAND WARFARE TRAINING CENTER
    Lieutenant Promise Paen stood near the rear of the forward compartment of the Maku-class light attack craft and watched the chronometer on the forward bulkhead wall tick down to “drop.”
    â€œTen mikes out,” she barked over a sea of noise: mechboots shifting on the deck plating, mechsuits jostling in webbing, raucous humor, and the hum of the LAC’s dual fusion engines.
    Promise strode through her Marines, steadying herself on the overhead racks as she threaded the aisle, to counter the rough turbulence battering the LAC’s hull outside. The maglocks in her boots were engaged to keep her anchored to the deck. A tropical hurricane had decided to vent its fury along their approach to Mount Bane, and the pilot had taken full advantage of the storm to mask the LAC’s signature from the island’s scanners, which meant flying through soup. After a brief, peaceful stint in the eye of the storm, they’d plunged into 150 kph winds that were giving the LAC’s countergravity matrix a workout.
    In the midst of a particularly rough patch, Promise dropped onto the empty bench next to Private Ed Kartoom, to help him fix a feed problem with his standard-issue FS-7.77 or “Triple-7” Carbine. Like all of her Marines, Kartoom wore the RAW-MC’s standard-issue Kydoimos-6 Mechanized Infantry Combat Battlesuit, or mechsuit: the interlocking plates of peristeel molded to the wearer’s body, flexed where necessary like the skin of a snake. Ergonomic compartments along the thighs and forearms housed spare cells, clips, throwing grenades, and snacks. An external mount on each hip took a sidearm. Every spare millimeter of internal capacity was crammed with enough tech to prosecute a small war.
    â€œIt won’t cycle, ma’am.” Kartoom stabbed the small display mounted to the carbine’s frame, directly above the trigger. “I’ve run all the diagnostics and can’t find the problem.” Kartoom looked about ready to break the carbine over his knee.
    â€œHere—hand it over. Forget the screen. Use your head for something besides a helmet rack.” Sharp words, she knew. She tempered them with humor and smiled at Kartoom as they bit into his hide. “See.” Promise popped the clip and pulled the charging handle. She saw the problem at once. “I believe you have a bad magazine. Uh-huh, like I thought. See, the casing is bent inward at the top where it fits into the mag well. It’s not seating properly, so your penetrators aren’t feeding up the ramp like they should. Toss it and grab another. Safety on, Private.” Promise pointed to her head. “Remember, tech is only as good as you are.”
    A bit farther down the aisle Promise spotted Private Mary Chang. Chang was looking paler than usual, and sweat dripped from her nose. “Chang, get your head down … between your knees. Now. ” Promise grabbed an empty crate from an overhead smartrack and tossed it on the deck, and then kicked it hard toward Chang. “Incoming!” Several outstretched boots quickly pulled back as the crate screeched across the LAC’s deck plating, showering sparks in its wake. Staff Sergeant Go-Mi stuck out a mechboot to apply the brakes while Sergeant Sindri pulled out a smoke and made a joke of lighting it. A ghost-stricken Chang lunged for the crate, cheeks bulging with spew.
    â€œNice save, Lieutenant,” said Staff Sergeant Go-Mi. “We’ve all been there, Chang. Hang tough. One day you’ll look back on this and laugh.”
    â€œAin’t that the tru uu —” Chang said before heaving again and again and again.
    â€œFeel better, Private?” Promise disengaged her maglocks and took a knee beside Chan, and then looked up into the young woman’s stricken face. She’d smelled worse in the barracks, which didn’t