" All right, now remember, this is just like flight school. You've all done alla these things in training. Yer part of a big operation here, lotsa company, lotsa confusion for the other side. Ya load the platoon and their gear in yer boat, ya launch. Ya got yer co-ords. Ya put 'em down on the mark, on the tick. They off-load. Ya wait 'till they're clear, then launch. Ya rendesvous back here ta the mothership. There'll be cold beer waitin'."

Wash and his co-pilot, another newbie, waited impatiently, strapped into their pilot chairs. They were already 4 minutes behind the exact, scientifically calculated mission profile. They were working corrections on the on-board calculator, trying to revise the nav data to hit their target point. "Looks like we can ground on time at the wrong spot, or late at the correct spot, or crash and die. Whadda ya think, Hobe?"

"Let's try to avoid that third one, huh?"

The intercom crackled. "Pilot, we're aboard and gear loaded. Ready for launch."

"Yer tardy. Means you'll hafta stay after class and clean the erasers."

"You got a guarantee we'll be here after class, I'll do it. "

Wash clicked to the radio. "Mothership, lander 47 ready to launch."

"Stand by, 47, We got incoming--"

The transmission cut off. There was a giant impact, and all the outside lights went out. Alarms and shaking cut throught the hull as the outer hatch opened. Wash pushed the launch button and the lander blasted free. He caught a glimpse of a gaping hole on his side of the mother ship , where there were supposed to be 2 other landers. "Wo de ma."

"Traffic on my side, Hobe. Watch 'em."

He swerved the craft, then increased the throttles. Yer late, ya go faster, maybe make up the time. There were explosions nearby, and Oh, God, Alliance fighter ships. A couple of other landers floated by, damaged or destroyed. He swerved some more.

The co-pilot was talking again. "Mother took a big hit. Looks like she's on fire." "Oh, that's not good."

"More traffic, 6 o'clock. Crap, it's a fighter. Oh, God, we're all gonna die--"

Wash wrenched at the wheel. " We ain't got time to die. We're already behind schedule, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." The fighter flashed by over their heads. "Gee, he musta been behind, too. We might make it. Ground comin' up, 30 seconds."

Wash looked out the port. A boat was already down on his landing point. "Gorrammit, that ain't right. I'm late, but he's in the wrong place. I am getting pissed off about this..." He goosed the throttles, and they sailed over the ridge they were supposed to land on. He hovered for a second. Even as he realized that this was a bad idea, they took a heavy hit. Of course. That was why it was a bad idea. All power quit, and they dropped the last 20 feet like a big rock, landing with a lot of crunching, crushing noises.

There were muffled explosions from the rear compartment as the hatch blew off and the troops tried to deploy. But there was an instant drumbeat of heavy enemy fire and then a blast inside the hull. The grunts never even got clear of the compartment. Another blast, and the right wall of the pilot compartment vanished in a cloud of fire and sparks, as the gear on it exploded. The co-pilot swiveled to face the hole just as an Alliance soldier thrust his rifle in. He fired a burst, and Wash's co-pilot died. Wash had time for just one thought as he threw up his arms. " Aiya, betcha the beer ain't gonna be cold, either."