Boundary - Low Orbital Warfare: REPORT 11

Minds against black, silence permeated by raw vacuum. Acceleration pulls idle bodies to their seats, the burning of engines ripping heat into the tiny chamber. Breaths contained within sealed helmets, the squad waits in utter silence.

“Blue Team be advised, thirty seconds to the drop.” The voice echos.

Life returns to cold death, the heavily armed squad within their deployment sled animating against the rumble of the thin hull. Unit patches removed, nationalities censored, anonymity the first line of defense.

The countdown starts in minds, heralded as a singular light echoes in red, numbers vocalized as the voice announces the final few moments.

Five.

Rifles, munitions, and equipment packed tightly into bundles; strapped onto their suited forms with constrictive force. Armaments prepared, the taking of life reduced to triggers and lead.

Four.

Bodies trained in gravity for warfare fought in the carnage of space. Returning to its origin to wage forbidden conflict.

Three.

Engines stop, the entire vessel lurching forth as its terminal path is reached.

Two.

Heads up displays ignite on trained eyes, trajectories calculated as variables are fed into silicone processors. Altitude at fifty kilometers, artificial horizon extending upwards for a counter burn.

One.

The deployment sled crashes open; a setting sun blinding against the curvature of Earth herself as the armored panels release. Held at the bleeding edge of space, the faint rush of air was barely audible against utter silence.

Launch. 

Red turns green, lights igniting helmeted faces as three soldiers leap forth from acceleration chairs. 

Absolute free fall hits, armored frames highlighted as they accelerate towards the world beneath them. Within; trajectories are calculated, flight paths determined and followed by the frames of humanity.

“Actual advised, Blue Team is deployed.” Blue One reports.

There’s a short pause. “Blue Actual copies, good luck and good hunting. Actual, over and out.”