Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [15]
Jackson had told Harris that Shastana fu Char-Kane was a consul de campe among the Shamani. Her technical expertise—generations beyond any Earth-born human’s—made her presence as an adviser to the SEALS a necessary evil. Even Harris, along with every other guy in the unit, had to admit that she was hot—gorgeous, even—except for those creepy eyes. Her olive skin was smooth, and her shape ideal, with full curves visible even through the puffy overlay of her vacuum suit. Her short hair, midnight black, framed a face featuring full lips and exotically high cheekbones. But she was a cold fish, too, more aloof than any star-encrusted admiral. And now the first field mission for the SEALS Team had plopped him into the seat right behind her.
The fact that the men had only three four-man rovers available to them had forced Lieutenant Jackson to leave one of his fire Teams, a quarter of his platoon, back at MS1 as a reserve. The officer knew that Master Chief Ruiz was a hell of a lot less than happy about staying back with Fire Team Delta and Dobson, who normally acted as Jackson’s radio operator. Chief Harris and Rocky Rodale had assured the master chief that they would look after the Shamani woman and the LT, and Ruiz had been forced to settle for that.
Fire Team Charlie of Second Squad with Ensign Sanders was moving along in rover Gamma, and Quartermaster First Class Murphy was acting as the leading petty officer of Fire Team Bravo in rover Foxtrot. They had consoled the master chief by telling him that he could listen to the situation over Dobson’s communications rig, though there wasn’t much being said.
“Can we get down there in this car?” Char-Kane asked the lieutenant in her clipped, precise diction.
“Yep,” Jackson answered. “We won’t have enough fuel to rocket out of there, but we’ll be able to refuel at the station, or we can get collected by a shuttle after we check the place out.” He picked up the communicator and pressed the button. “Foxtrot? Gamma? You guys see the objective?”
The chief could see the other two rovers only a kilometer away to either side. Harris couldn’t hear the reply, but it must have been affirmative, since Jackson continued: “Make ready to launch off the edge, here. Hold formation in a powered descent; no advance until all three rovers are down.”
With the LT at the controls, the rover backed away from the lip of the canyon, rolling smoothly on its six articulated wheels. When he had about twenty meters of clear space in front of them, Jackson accelerated quickly. The vehicle lurched forward, racing toward the brink, and then it shot off the rim, immediately free-falling through the thin atmosphere of the red planet.
A split second later the rockets, four precise fusion torches underneath the body of the rover, fired simultaneously, rattling the vehicle with their thrust. They pulsed rhythmically, keeping the vehicle steady and dramatically slowing its descent so that it drifted under rocket power toward the plateau within the canyon.
“Better than a parachute jump,” Jackson declared laconically, leaning back in his seat. Harris couldn’t quite bring himself to relax, but he was impressed as he watched the precipitous cliff scroll past. The LT used a little directional power to ease the rover away from the wall, and in less than a minute they bounced gently to rest on the first shelf of the canyon floor, some two klicks below the rim.
Chief Harris could see that the Foxtrot and Gamma rovers had landed to either side of the command car. The three vehicles rolled silently forward, and as the objective began to take shape before them, Harris swiveled the outside machine gun to the forward position and drew a bead on the central dome of the small complex.
“This is distressing,” Consul Char-Kane noted. “Exterior damage is visible even from here. It was administered with serious violence. Projectiles apparently penetrated the outer housing of the dome, probably detonating within.”