pursed and he lifted his hand-held and blinked at the screen. “Your unit has level eight. Bunk assignment fifty-two high.”
“Great. Thanks, doc.” A top bunk, damn it. The way her day was going, it hardly surprised her. Her duffle waited for her in a locker by the med bay door. She’d stashed it there seven months, three weeks and two days ago. A prime minister’s girlfriend. Go figure. Amanda shrugged again, retrieved her bag and prayed the C-smokes she’d stashed inside still tasted as good as she remembered.
“Alpha one to landing party, eta?” The voice on the comm rattled with terror. It made Commander Wells’ reply sound like polished steel.
“Twelve minutes at this trajectory.”
“They’re taking us apart, Commander. The last charge took out the minister’s wing. Three floors in rubble and only twenty percent of the ceiling intact.”
“We’re full out, Ambassador.” Wells kept his voice icy, but Amanda saw his cheek twitch. This news didn’t please him. “Do you have a status report on the minister?”
“A detachment was sent to escort him to his private bunker. We’ve lost contact and—” The singing of laser fire hummed over the line. It echoed through the shuttle interior. Wells growled and slammed a fist into the console. “Damn!”
Amanda leaned her head back against the transport’s padding and watched him fume. Beside her, Hicks chuckled and adjusted the dial on his heavy rifle, tweaking the charge and making the gun whine.
“Stop fiddling, Hicks.” Wells didn’t even have to look. He’d learned them, learned the whole unit faster than anyone had expected.
Opposite Amanda, their youngest member clutched his straps with shaking hands and whispered his personal, pre-battle mantra. The habit had earned him the moniker Chicken and though he’d disproved the label repeatedly in the field, the name stuck. That’s how it went with mercs. Even their nicknames were unflinching.
“You tuned, Man?” Hicks’ fingers twitched toward her rifle, but she stilled them instantly with a look. She’d been Man to the unit since her first kill and they’d probably carve it into her helmet after they’d pried if off her corpse.
“I’m good. I’m all good.”
She wasn’t, though. Despite her nickname, Commander Wells had somehow managed to stir in her something she’d almost forgotten was possible. He ran a tight ship, orchestrated a grueling training schedule and oozed business-like authority in all things. Still, one look from the boss and Man quickly reminded herself that she was a woman. She clutched the assault rifle in her lap and glared at Chicken for no good reason.
The transport banked, pressing her against the padding again, then dipped forward as they began the real descent toward the planet’s surface. Verilan Beta was a shithole, but an affluent one. The political environment changed like the air fronts constantly shifting on the planet’s shorelines. What little segments of land were available on Verilan constantly passed from one set of dictatorial hands to another. The resources abundant in the planet’s oceans funded the constant fighting and rapidly increased the wealth and status of whatever warlord currently sat on top of the mountain.
That distinction currently fell to a prime minister with a taste for exotic concubines.
Wells leaned forward and peered at the transport’s viewer. Amanda couldn’t catch his expression, just the stiffening of his spine and the edge of exasperation in his voice. “It’s a bloody war zone down there. That section.” He pointed a decisive finger. “Land this bird in the palace courtyard.”
“We’ll likely add to the damage, sir.”
“Good.” He sighed and ran his hands along the console. “If the idiot had waited for us, he wouldn’t be in this fix…and we’d have a much easier job at hand.”
“Not to mention fewer casualties,” Hicks muttered. He meant it only for the unit, but their new commander had
“Great. Thanks, doc.” A top bunk, damn it. The way her day was going, it hardly surprised her. Her duffle waited for her in a locker by the med bay door. She’d stashed it there seven months, three weeks and two days ago. A prime minister’s girlfriend. Go figure. Amanda shrugged again, retrieved her bag and prayed the C-smokes she’d stashed inside still tasted as good as she remembered.
“Alpha one to landing party, eta?” The voice on the comm rattled with terror. It made Commander Wells’ reply sound like polished steel.
“Twelve minutes at this trajectory.”
“They’re taking us apart, Commander. The last charge took out the minister’s wing. Three floors in rubble and only twenty percent of the ceiling intact.”
“We’re full out, Ambassador.” Wells kept his voice icy, but Amanda saw his cheek twitch. This news didn’t please him. “Do you have a status report on the minister?”
“A detachment was sent to escort him to his private bunker. We’ve lost contact and—” The singing of laser fire hummed over the line. It echoed through the shuttle interior. Wells growled and slammed a fist into the console. “Damn!”
Amanda leaned her head back against the transport’s padding and watched him fume. Beside her, Hicks chuckled and adjusted the dial on his heavy rifle, tweaking the charge and making the gun whine.
“Stop fiddling, Hicks.” Wells didn’t even have to look. He’d learned them, learned the whole unit faster than anyone had expected.
Opposite Amanda, their youngest member clutched his straps with shaking hands and whispered his personal, pre-battle mantra. The habit had earned him the moniker Chicken and though he’d disproved the label repeatedly in the field, the name stuck. That’s how it went with mercs. Even their nicknames were unflinching.
“You tuned, Man?” Hicks’ fingers twitched toward her rifle, but she stilled them instantly with a look. She’d been Man to the unit since her first kill and they’d probably carve it into her helmet after they’d pried if off her corpse.
“I’m good. I’m all good.”
She wasn’t, though. Despite her nickname, Commander Wells had somehow managed to stir in her something she’d almost forgotten was possible. He ran a tight ship, orchestrated a grueling training schedule and oozed business-like authority in all things. Still, one look from the boss and Man quickly reminded herself that she was a woman. She clutched the assault rifle in her lap and glared at Chicken for no good reason.
The transport banked, pressing her against the padding again, then dipped forward as they began the real descent toward the planet’s surface. Verilan Beta was a shithole, but an affluent one. The political environment changed like the air fronts constantly shifting on the planet’s shorelines. What little segments of land were available on Verilan constantly passed from one set of dictatorial hands to another. The resources abundant in the planet’s oceans funded the constant fighting and rapidly increased the wealth and status of whatever warlord currently sat on top of the mountain.
That distinction currently fell to a prime minister with a taste for exotic concubines.
Wells leaned forward and peered at the transport’s viewer. Amanda couldn’t catch his expression, just the stiffening of his spine and the edge of exasperation in his voice. “It’s a bloody war zone down there. That section.” He pointed a decisive finger. “Land this bird in the palace courtyard.”
“We’ll likely add to the damage, sir.”
“Good.” He sighed and ran his hands along the console. “If the idiot had waited for us, he wouldn’t be in this fix…and we’d have a much easier job at hand.”
“Not to mention fewer casualties,” Hicks muttered. He meant it only for the unit, but their new commander had
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