Hard Drop Read Online Free PDF

had to be torture.
    Tyco watched as a handful of troopers downed small grey pills. Reflex enhancers, double and triple doses in some cases, he had seen it before. Tyco didn’t trust them, didn’t trust anything that could wear off mid-mission, but some of the troopers swore by them, and he knew better than to gainsay their preparations now.  
    Glancing down at the readout on his wrist monitor, Tyco breathed a sigh of relief, calming the accelerating drumbeat in his chest and focusing on the mechanics that would see him safely through the next thirty seconds. It was time.  
    Without turning, he raised five fingers in the air, preparing to count down as he had seen the Captain do on the Huxley years before. He folded a finger. Four. Three. Two. One.  
    The door slid open, revealing the launch bay at last. It was a deceptively small chamber hanging in open space, its floor crisscrossed by a grid of metal restraints. The bright green planet below shone through brightly, shimmering ephemerally around the forty-one drop pods hanging in the thin air. The first time Tyco had stepped out onto the metal decking, he had been surprised to find his helmet misting as the tears formed in his eyes. Even now, the sudden shock of beauty was magnificent and startling, and he had to force himself onwards, towards the pod racks ahead of him. In these cramped, howling confines, there was not a second to lose. With a last look at the world below, he lowered his head and bulled his way across the metal decking towards his pod.  
    The thin atmosphere of low orbit rubbed the air electric. Flames sprung up and danced on every surface, licking across the brushed metal of Tyco’s suit. He ignored them, pushing on insistently, hoping the greenhorns behind him would take their cue and follow. There was no hope of coaxing them on at this point: the roar of the wind tunnel created by the wide-open drop bay was deafening, even through the thin glass of his helmet. Any attempt to use the comm would be futile. To a novice, the short walk across the open bay was a fiery, deafening hell, but Tyco knew it was only the calm before the real storm that awaited them below.
    Tyco threw a quick glance over his shoulder, checking in on his unit. The greenhorns had fallen behind, wasting precious seconds staring down at the planet, or at the flames playing on their suits. Poke was laboring, pushing past the others, fighting the slow roll of the cruiser as he came. It was hard work, very hard until you got used to it enough to take it in stride. The second wave of veterans which Tyco had placed purposefully behind the greenhorns pushed through the younger troopers, forcing them forwards along the ramp to keep them moving. Ringo’s proficiency with hand-to-hand combat, derived from a childhood of bar fights and usually turned against enemies, was equally devastating – and effective – here. Even encumbered by his atmosphere suit, he plowed through the slowing greenhorns, the force of his motions rippling ever farther through the ranks. Poke stumbled forwards and caught himself against the safety bar, dragging himself forwards hand-over-hand on while trying desperately not to look down.  
    Tyco was nearly at his pod when the flash planet-side caught his eye. Too bright to be an impact, the rising smoke trail surged upwards with horrifying speed. Tyco recognized it with instant dread: it was a rocket, planet-to-orbit, standard defense model. The kind that wasn’t supposed to exist on this planet, or the cruiser would never have come this close to the planet surface, and their mission would never have been ordered. Admiralty intelligence at work, Tyco thought, and tapped his comm, turning to wave furiously at the troopers behind.  
    “Incoming! Let’s move, troopers!” Despite the din, the screamed instructions were obvious. The bright missile contrail speeding through the sky was large and growing, its light grey smoke standing out against the planet below the