Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [47]
“I might suggest, sir, that you bring your frigate in on the far side of the ice moon, screened from the Eluoi ship and the base on the ground. Get in as close as you can and send my Team down in the boats to see what the hell is going on over there.”
“What the hell is an ice moon?” Mirowski demanded irritably. “Can’t say I much like the sound of it.”
“What do you care?” Robinson asked him genially. “You’ll be bundled up all nice and warm in your pressure suit. Shit, it can’t be any worse than cold space, can it?”
All the men knew that Smokey’s bluff heartiness masked a grim, angry determination. Keast, Robinson’s partner for the last year, would be staying behind on this mission. Although X-rays had proved that his leg was not broken, he had suffered a messy wound, with a contusion of bone and flesh complicated by lots of swelling and significant loss of blood. The medical officer, Lieutenant Alderson, had restricted him to bed for another few days, and Jackson, despite the protest of his men, had refused to override the doctor.
Smokey Robinson was ready to go after some revenge.
“I’m not worried about getting frostbite,” Mirowski said. “I just don’t like the sound of it is all.”
“All right, you old ladies!” Ruiz barked, standing up and speaking in a voice that easily carried through the large, crowded compartment that was SEALS country aboard the Pegasus. “Now, we’ve got a job to do, and I’m going to see that each and every one of you does it! If you’re thinking about a career change, this isn’t the time or the place. But put your name on the waiting list and I’ll see that you’re next in line for guard duty at the old sailors’ widows’ home!”
“I’m just wondering is all,” Mirowski said under his breath. Robinson ignored him, as indeed did the rest of the Team. Each man had checked and rechecked his weapons, collected his ammunition, and triple-checked his own and his partner’s survival packs, all while keeping one ear on the litany of details Lieutenant (j.g.) Sanders was providing in his very illuminating briefing.
“Let’s see, gusting winds that can exceed a hundred kph. Temperatures hovering around seventy-five below, Celsius. Mostly mountains, with the only sea consisting primarily of methane. That’s where we’ll be taking our leave, of course, after the mission is wrapped up,” Sanders noted cheerfully. “And good news: By all reports, the beaches aren’t crowded at all even though this is the height of the season.”
“I wonder what kind of alien tail we’ll see on those beaches,” Mirowski wondered, brightening.
They went over the details again while waiting for the go command. The Team would go in both drop boats, as usual. The two craft would rely on visual and very local radio transmissions to keep in contact. The intent was to come in low and slow, using the horizon of the moon to let them get as close to the Eluoi base as possible. Once they found the base, they’d try to infiltrate and gain any possible intel about the Eluoi plans, including, they hoped, the current position of the Pangaea.
Encouraging signs included the dense clouds on the moon that were characterized by a pattern of raging electrical storms. Those clouds, it was hoped, would keep the enemy detection devices from noticing the SEALS. Discouraging signs included the same dense clouds on the moon that were characterized by a pattern of raging electrical storms. They, it was feared, would make it a little dicey for the insertion crews to keep in contact with each other and pick out a proper LZ.
All those questions were running through the minds of the men and their officers alike, though none displayed any outward signs of misgivings. Instead, they showed an almost comical bravado as they waited, and worried, and listened.
Finally the loudspeaker crackled into life, and it was time to go.
The two drop boats skimmed above the atmosphere of the ice moon, buffeted by stray tendrils