the jumble of men and then shot off to safety.
Peter
pressed a hand to his chest, where, beneath the combat suit’s hard
shell, hung a locket of soft, brown hair. My dearest Amber ,
he thought. If you ever pray for me, pray for me tonight.
Saul
floated over and took Peter’s arm. The platoon locked together,
hands grabbing elbows, forming a ring. All were quiet. Each man
soberly watched his visor and waited for the order to move out.
— — —
Somewhere
deep inside the Teisserenc Asteroid Belt was a Riel base. Where
exactly, or even how large, nobody knew, but the mission was to find
and neutralize it. Even if everything went according to plan, Peter
would never lay eyes on that base. His regiment, along with a
half-dozen others, was running a diversion far from the core
assault.
There
would still be plenty of action. Several outposts had been scouted
in this area, each protected on all approaches by missile turrets.
Peter’s platoon would either take out the turrets, allowing for a
naval assault, or they would attack the outposts directly. They had
trained for both, but would only now find out which. Either way,
there were a lot more Riel in this area than they could hope to
handle. Their orders were simply to fight until called off. Or, the
unspoken alternative: until they were all dead.
Back
on the base, Colonel Chiang San had called this battle “risky.”
“Don’t think of yourself as men or marines,” he had said, “but
as the last line of defense for the Livable Territories. Any man who
gives his life today does so to secure the freedom of his
homeworld.”
Peter
wasn’t impressed. He had no desire to die for his homeworld or for
the entire Livable Territories. But if he had to, he’d do it for
her. For Amber.
— — —
A
fleet of missiles trailed far behind the marine invasion force. It
had followed them here from the base and had taken up position just
beyond the reach of the Riel sensors. Most were armed with warheads
to strike as critical targets were identified, but a few—like the
one approaching—carried a more specialized payload.
It
wasn’t visible until it passed overhead in a great gray shadow.
And then it was gone, the blazing ring of its impulsor engine
shrinking away. The engine flared out, replaced by twelve smaller
ones as the missile broke into sections, each heading in a different
direction. Those sections divided again, spreading like intricate
fireworks, and the smallest ones exploded, scattering silvered
marbles. These were sensor pods. They flooded the area with
frequency-coded radar waves, indicating time and place of origin,
which allowed the marine’s combat suits to interpret their signals
directly. While the suits had their own sensors, using them would be
like wearing a neon target.
The
battle computer merged the gathered information into a single
picture, and a green-mesh diagram of the asteroids drew out on
Peter’s visor. This overlay, called his scope, blended with what
little he could see and, when he focused on something, gave him
information about its size, distance, and composition. Peter zoomed
his scope all the way out to get a view of the battlefield.
The
Teisserenc Belt stretched out for thousands of miles, like a massive
stone wall with the mortar removed. It was so calm, so beautiful.
Peter didn’t want to spoil the view by thinking about how many
Riel were hiding in there.
— — —
Orienting
in the three dimensions of space was far more complex than doing so
on the ground, and Peter was still fumbling into position when
Mickelson gave the order to move out. Their first target was a
missile turret a few thousand yards inside the belt, which was close
enough, Mickelson decided, to burn gas. It was a calculated risk:
their fuel was limited, like their oxygen and batteries, and once
they ran out, they would be stuck.
Mickelson
fired his rocket pack and flew ahead, diving below the asteroid that
had been their