Breaking Ranks

Samantha: Fallen Angels

I had been watching when it happened, the battle scene below me a good deal more interesting than the stored programming of 21st-century visual entertainment. I had seen, scanning through a magnified feed, the first blossoming spark, the rush of orange, the black smoke that peeled up. It was a bonfire; already blazing away, and with quick motions a dozen laborers with crude metal tools transferred the burning pitch-coated missiles onto the curved metal plates of their siege engines.

I had even opened my mouth to sound the alert when the alarm began, the sharp-eyed observer spotting it and hitting the alarm.

"Those dumb bastards," Potter said next to me. He had been sitting on a chair beside me, watching his own display of recreational sparring. Potter had quickly changed over to the feed and now shook his head in wonder.

I knew what he meant. Uncontrolled fire in an oxygen-rich environment was extremely dangerous. And more importantly, it was against Regulations. How hard could it be to just simply trust in the Twelve and follow Regulations?

"Time to earn our pay, people," the sergeant said as he got up. We had all been seated together on call, along with three other squads. This was going to be quite the entrance.

"We're taking one of the bots with us. He's already loaded with fire suppression gel."

It was a quick run to the locker room where we strapped on our armor with quick movements. Sergeant Gunnarson had timed us just yesterday, had us doing drill after drill of just putting on our armor ever since we'd finished our patrol. In the canteen I had heard the jokes the other squads had made, how we were so stupid we needed training on how to dress. I had had my own opinions about the drills as well, though I had kept them to myself. Even so, we were armored and equipped in a flash, the sergeant already heading to the deployment tubes.

Sergeant Gunnarson's fingers flicked over the number pad in a flash, the door beeping as it creaked open. He glanced back, then squeezed through the hatch and we ran through the narrow corridor as best we could, gear and weapons pinging off the metal walls with only dim green emergency lighting to guide us. In small doors were several tubes and I squeezed into mine as the squad did likewise. Communication would be by our suits' comms from here on out.

I had read of coffins in school, a wasteful extravagance the Ancients had used, and an umprompted memory of them rose in my mind as I crammed myself in. I shrugged into the protective harness, clicking the buckle shut.

"Is everyone ready?" Sergeant Gunnarson asked, and we gave him our confirmation. Just then a transmission from our commanding officer came through—Captain Markovic, a rail-thin man who'd cleared me to join the Seraphim just weeks ago.

"Squad 4, wait for the other squads to suit up before you deploy. Estimated time is three minutes."

There was silence for a moment and I tried to wedge myself in a comfortable position. It was a feeble attempt. I wondered just how it would feel to hurtle to the ground in this steel box. There would be a parachute as well, I knew, but with the weight and short drop it would do little more than slow it. It would give us the aspect of being descending winged angels, however, and I knew how important this appearance was to the Empire. Even our gear was to be referred to in mystical terms; magic charges, relics, and the like.

"We're jumping in ten seconds," Sergeant Gunnarson said over the squad comms, as if he hadn't heard the officer at all.

"Acknowledged," I said, chiming in along with the others.

He picked up the count again at three, I hit the switch, and there was a sudden moment of weightlessness as the panel swung open. And then I was falling in my metal cage. There was a jerking motion as the parachute must have deployed, but we would still be plowing into the ground at great speed. I didn't have long to think on this as just a few seconds later I slammed into the ground, bucking around in my webbing.