The mag-rifle hummed, a rail-driven slug tearing through the lead creature’s chitinous chest. It didn't scream; it just kept coming. In the Frontier Corps, they taught you that the universe didn't care about your heroism. It only cared about your ammunition count.
Rat hunkered down behind a rusted ore-hauler. He wasn't thinking about the pay. He was thinking about the three liters of oxygen left in his tank and the five hundred miles of vacuum between him and the nearest extraction point. Just another Tuesday in the Corps. Download Frontier Corps Military Sci Joe Kassabian epub
The air in the drop-pod smelled like stale coffee and hydraulic fluid. Corporal Elias "Rat" Thorne checked his pulse on his haptic display: 140 bpm. High, but steady. Next to him, the rest of the 4th Frontier Battalion sat like statues in powered exo-suits, their faceplates reflecting the flickering red combat lights. The mag-rifle hummed, a rail-driven slug tearing through
"Hold the line, boys," Miller grunted, his heavy autocannon beginning to thump rhythmically. "We get paid by the bug, and today, we're all going to be rich." It only cared about your ammunition count
The pod bucked. A violent shudder threw Rat against his restraints as the heat shields began to ablate. Outside, the sky was a bruised purple, streaked with the fire of a dozen other pods screaming toward the surface. CRACK.