Burnt Ice

~ * ~

Burnt Ice

[A Fury of Aces 01]

Steve Wheeler

No copyright 
 2012
by MadMaxAU eBooks

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Steve Wheeler was given the choice at age eighteen of becoming
either a Catholic priest or a policeman — he chose the latter. He has served in
the military and, since 1987, has worked as a bronze sculptor, knifesmith and
swordsmith. He lives with his wife, Elizabeth, and their two children on their
twenty-acre lifestyle block in Hawkes Bay, New Zealand.

~ * ~

Contents

Part One: Water

Part Two: Blackened
Ice

Part Three:
Chromium

Part Four: Refit

Part Five: Pincer

Appendix One:
Glossary

Appendix Two:
Initialisations, Acronyms and Abbreviations

Appendix Three:
Games Board

~ * ~

Part
One

Water

~ * ~

One

12
April, Year 573 ESF

‘Attention,
all personnel. This is the co-pilot. We have twenty minutes to atmospheric
entry. Stow and secure all equipment. AG will be powered down in twelve
minutes. Section commanders, please check your sections — this is going to be a
full simulated combat drop. There will be a five-minute warning.’

‘You good to go, Marko?’

‘Yes thanks, sar’ major.’

‘Good. Sort out Fritz, will you?’

Sergeant Major Harry Stevens
looked around the Administration dropship cabin at the small engineering
section he had joined under Captain Michael Longbow about five standard years
before. His second in command, Sergeant Marko Spitz, was of average height and
had a dark complexion, a creative drive and an optimistic demeanour. He was a
very good friend; technically excellent and reliable though with the annoying
tendency to sometimes act without thinking about the consequences. Then Harry
looked across at his one constant problem — Tech Sergeant Fritz van Vinken. He
was a small, cherub-like man with a big head who seemed to be always listening
intently to music, oblivious to his surroundings. Harry, many years earlier,
had taken on the permanent adolescent with the huge mind, and had eventually
adopted him. That way he could activate Administration protocols and keep him
close. Sometimes he regretted it, but his family loved Fritz. He mused that it
did the little guy a lot of good. He too was fond of Fritz, having no sons of
his own, but was often frustrated by his contempt for command.

‘Hey, Fritz. Fritz, wake up!’ Marko
nudged his crewmate.

‘Piss off, Marko. This is a
really beautiful piece of music and I’m relaxed, OK?’

‘Yeah, but you won’t be in a few
minutes when you start bouncing around the cabin. Clip yourself in and ratchet
down now.’

Fritz grumbled for a few seconds,
grabbing the hold-downs and locking them across his body. Secure, he drifted
off again.

Jan Wester checked and secured
herself. She looked at Marko, catching his eye, and nodded and smiled. She
wondered if she should invite him into her bed. He was the same height as she,
similar build, with a serious intelligence and an outlook on life that she
found attractive. But she decided against it. She had a job to do away from the
section and after that she would move quickly on to another task for her Military
Intelligence Corp. She liked Marko and could not suddenly disappear on him — he
deserved better than that. She mused to herself that this was an interesting
section and that it would be fun to be around them for a longer time.

‘Five minutes to atmosphere. Lock
and seal.’

Marko looked around the cabin at
the other sections, all military, then checked his air feeds, activated the
helmet that folded up out of his suit’s collar, pulled down his visor and
sealed the faceplate as everyone else did the same. Along with the dropship’s other
passengers, he activated his internal bioware systems, pumping
anti-motion-sickness drugs into his bloodstream, then selected and opened
outside audiovisual feeds. He could watch the ship’s entry into the atmosphere
of the watery planet below, choosing a feed from any of the ship’s external
cameras, and stream it directly onto his faceplate.

The ship’s hammocks sealed over
their occupants and they were pulled up against the ceiling and walls,
inflating until they looked like insect pupae held secure by the padding.

The faintest trembling started
through the dropship until, over the next fifteen or so minutes, it became an
all-consuming, thunderous, roaring, bashing, thumping ride: the pilots did not
so much enter the atmosphere of Cygnus 5 as throw the dropship all around the
sky to simulate shaking off imaginary missiles.

As soon as the military-specced
dropship had enough atmospheric pressure to generate lift, the wings deployed,
the ramjets folded out of the hull and came online and the ship flew straight
down towards the great golden ocean. There were no islands or other features,
just one huge sea corkscrewing towards the thirty-metre-long, teardrop-shaped
ship at an alarming rate. Those who had piloting experience found themselves
subconsciously moving hands and feet, trying to find non-existent controls.

The pilots, deciding that their
passengers had had enough frights, levelled out some hundred or so metres above
the wave tops and screamed across the water at Mach 7 for half an hour before
starting to slow. Now they could all see an island chain rising up ahead of
them as the dropship transitioned from full flight through to antigravity,
gradually slowing down to walking speed above the artificial coral-like tarmac.
The graceful ship hovered just above the airfield as the landing gear was
deployed.

‘Welcome to Cygnus 5 and the base
locally known as Nova Hawaii. Hope you had an enjoyable flight. I know we did!
AG now restored.’

‘Pissant rocket jocks.
Pain-in-the-arse bastards.’ Harry mumbled to himself as the hammocks lowered
themselves and deflated. Their occupants clambered out, removing and stowing
their helmets and faceplates as the dropship touched down.

Marko laughed and agreed, then
toggled the switch on his hammock to transform it into his wearable pack. The
pack’s computer tested the planet’s atmosphere, decided no survival protocols
were required and folded down to default protocol — a large pack with Marko’s
personal weapons on top.

Marko went over and gently kicked
Fritz out of his hammock, watching as all over the cabin hammocks detached
themselves from the overhead locks and rolled themselves up with their occupant’s
entire personal kit intact.

‘Nice carbine, Jan. Don’t
recognise the make.’

‘It’s actually my own design,
Harry.’

‘Really? Now I am impressed. I’d
like to look at it more closely when I get a chance.’

‘I’m sure you will. There are
ranges around here somewhere, I know.’