The MI moved as a single organism. They didn't run; they marched with the rhythmic thud of pressurized boots. Johnny slid into his egg-shaped pod. The darkness swallowed him, save for the amber glow of the HUD. "On the bounce, troopers!" the radio crackled.
He hit the ground at terminal velocity, his retro-rockets firing a micro-second before impact. The pod shattered. Johnny leaped out, his flamethrower clearing a circle of scorched earth before his boots even settled. ROBERT A. HEINLEIN FANTERIA DELLO SPAZIO
The floor dropped out. For a second, there was the stomach-flipping void of space, then the violent shudder of the atmosphere hitting the heat shield. Outside, the sky of Klendathu was a bruised purple, filled with the streaks of a thousand falling stars—each one a soldier. The MI moved as a single organism
Johnny didn't look up. "Maintenance is the difference between a jump and a burial, Sarge." The darkness swallowed him, save for the amber
The sirens began to wail, a dissonant screech that signaled the "Drop."
"Keep your intervals!" Johnny shouted into the comms, his voice steady. He wasn't the scared kid from the history classes anymore. He was a piece of the Federation's shield. He squeezed the trigger, and as the first wave of Arachnids burst through the crust, he realized that while the universe was vast and terrifying, as long as the Infantry held the line, humanity had a home.