“—loses sight of the mission will have me to answer to,” Kowacs continued.
“And they’ll wish they’d never been born!” added Sergeant Bradley. The field first sergeant got enough venom into the justified threat to take out some of his frustration about the way the briefing had to be held.
And the way the mission was shaping up.
Kowacs was holding the briefing here because the module’s hangar was the only space in the huge headquarters complex both big enough to hold a hundred Marines—and cleared for this particular dollop of Sensitive Compartmentalized Information. Unfortunately, the module was still under test, and the technical crews dialing in the hardware had precedence over the briefing.
The Marines who were about to ride the hardware into the middle of enemies worse than the Khalians couldn’t argue with the priority, but it didn’t make life simpler.
Kowacs touched a stud on the control wand a Grade P7 Fleet technician had given him. For a wonder, the system worked perfectly. The hold’s circular bulkhead was replaced by a holographic display, the simulated interior of the Syndicate base the Headhunters would be attacking.
“We’ll be landing inside the docking bay,” Kowacs said as a slow hammering sound began to work its way across the ceiling above him. “In all likelihood it’ll be under atmosphere, but we’ll be wearing ten-minute airpacks for an emergency.”
The two tech reps got up and walked toward the hatch, a rectangle with rounded corners in the midst of a holographic gantry. The commander followed them, shaking her head. She turned in the hatchway to frown at the deck she’d been examining.
“Suits?” asked Laurel, a squad leader in 3rd Platoon.
“Weapons Platoon will be in suits,” said Kowacs. “They’ll provide security for the module. The remainder of us’ll be travelling light. We’ll fan out in three-man teams. You’ll all have pre-briefed objectives, but don’t hesitate to divert to grab anything that looks like it might be valuable.”
Something popped within the hulls. The encircling holograms vanished. All the lights in the bay went out. First the display, then the lights, came back on moments later.
Somebody swore bitterly.
Corporal Sienkiewicz—the tallest, possibly the strongest, and certainly the toughest member of the 121st—looked bored as she lounged against a bulkhead covered by the image of an open corridor. She knew what the Headhunters’ job was this time out—and she knew her own job on every operation, to cover Kowacs’ back and keep him alive till the next time. The whys and hows of the operation didn’t matter to her beyond that.
“Sir,” said a newbie named Bynum—five years a Marine but on his first operation with the Headhunters. “I looked this boat over and she don’t have engines. No shit.”
“The ship,” said Kowacs harshly, “is none of our business. Do you hear? The ship just gets us there and brings us back.”
“S’posed to bring us back,” somebody muttered in what should have been general silence.
“Listen!” Kowacs snarled. He had to take a tough line, because they all knew this could be a rat-fuck, and the only way his Headhunters were going to go through with it was by rigid obedience. “If there’s any of you who don’t think you want to chance life in a reaction company any more, I’ll approve your transfer now. Want to be a cook? A recruiter? Just say the word!”
Nobody spoke. A number of the Marines looked down, at the deck, at their hands.
They were a good bunch, the very best. They’d charge Hell if he ordered it . . . only in part because they knew if it came to that, Nick Kowacs would be leading from the front.
The laser cutter shrieked as it bit into an interior bulkhead again.
“Is this an Eight-Ball Command job?” ask Lieutenant Timmes of Weapons Platoon.
“Yes, it is,” Kowacs said flatly.
He looked around the crowd of hard faces and the blank visages of Marines who had opaqued their helmet visors. “If anybody’s got a problem with that, the transfer offer still stands.”
“No problem,” said Timmes. “Just wanted to know.”
“Them bastards,” said a sharp-featured trooper named Fleur. “You never know what they’re playing at.”