"Sir, we've got 15 seconds to firing range." He turned to the weapons officer. "Bring main turbolaser arrays online and begin tracking expected position."
"Aye sir."
As the first ship started to appear, the comdet chief could see that it was an Andromeda-class heavy carrier. This would not be as easy as he had hoped.
Captain Hanlon snapped off the digital video editing suite and sighed. Why couldn't he relax? It was too close... too little margin for error for any possible failure. But he had the best of the best, the ones who had volunteered. Not only volunteered, he reminded himself, but had remained interested, no, commmitted even after being shown the risk and the danger they would be entering. He himself was taking a great risk, going from the relative safety of his space battlegroup command to a temporary Terran assignment. Hanlon walked to the closet and sorted through his equipment, testing the weight of the M4A1 carbine, checking the feel of the "Sticky Bomb" adhesive grenades, trying the grip of the 9mm automatic. He would be carrying the same equipment as everyone else on this mission.
Hanlon walked slowly and quietly out onto the deck of the NSS J.R.R. Tolkien, and gazed at the jet-black carbon fiber composite fuselages of the two Coriolis solid-fuel paradrop gliders. This would be the first operational use of the brand new gliders, and he hoped they would perform adequately. Captain Hanlon gave a casual salute to the 11 black-suited paratroops who, along with him, would be the rest of the first strike in Cannonball. He took a deep breath.
"You all know what we're going to do. We all know what we can do, and to some extent, we know what They can do." The crew nodded. "As well, we know what we can't do, and to an even lesser extent, we know what they can't do." More nods all around. "So, to put it simply, what we're going to do is try to use what we can do, namely, put a lot of ammunition and a lot of explosives into the air and accomplish objectives like a team, and exploit what their weaknesses, namely, the fact that they're physically much weaker than we are."
As the crew boarded the plane, Hanlon pointed out the location of all the equipment that would be dropped along with them. Several small piles of explosives and missiles lined the inside of the plane. As the paratroops sat on the floor and prepared for launch, he sat down in the pilot's chair and keyed in the launch prep sequence. Glow strips embedded in the interior walls of the plane began giving off a soft green aura, and the communications channel snapped open.
Captain Hanlon glanced back at the paratroops, then said into the comm unit, "We're ready for takeoff." An affirmative reply came back from the OOD. Hanlon glanced at his watch. 7:58. 2 minutes to H-hour. Checking the 9mm Beretta by his side once more, he felt sweat running down his arms. It was the same feeling that he had had, years ago, when he was writing final exams. He knew it could be pulled off. He KNEW they were strong enough, fast enough, armed enough, just good enough, but there was always a lingering doubt that something would happen. Someone would crack, or their equipment would fail... 7:59. Hanlon knew he had the power to call off the mission, to abort the jump and stay with the plane as it overflew the DZ and softlanded on the open ocean. Thinking back, though, those final exams had always gone well. He hoped the pattern would stick.
Out the window, the deck suddenly lit up with the flash of two magnesium igniters, and the Coriolis began to pick up speed rapidly. As soon as it passed the two orange markers indicating 50m to the end of the runway, Hanlon eased the nose up until the plane was climbing at a 25 degree angle. Altitude was critical for the Coriolis-class drop glider, as it had a long flight path to cover twice and thrust for only approximately 3 minutes of that trip. This also added an element of uncertainty to the jump as they would be falling from a higher altitude than normally desired, but as the DZ was roughly 8km outside the city of Viedma, the margin for error should be large enough to ensure a safe jump. Coming back to reality, Hanlon ejected the engine casings which had finished firing a few seconds ago.
"In 5 minutes, we'll be passing over the drop zone. Everyone will have to get out in sequence, and we'll have to try to steer ourselves to land as close together as safely possible. The gear will all go out first. Does anyone have any questions or concerns?"
Blackened face through blackened face registered only quiet acknowledgement. The onboard computer beeped, signifying two minutes to the drop zone.
The hatch slid open slowly, and on cue, two of the paratroops pushed a large package of gear out into the airstream rushing past. The plane rocked slightly as the static line attached to the package opened its' parachute and then it fell away. This sequence repeated itself 3 times. Then the first stick of paratroops, 3 altogether, stood ready by the door. Hanlon gave the first one a tap on the left calf from where he sat on the left-hand side of the door, and the soldier stepped into the air.