The ride was smooth, too smooth. The hum of the dropship's engines filled the cabin, a constant, steady thrum that had me on edge. There was no reason for it, just a feeling. I'd seen too many missions go sideways when everything seemed quiet. Too predictable. Too easy.
Dax, always the one to break the silence, was leaning back in his seat, feet kicked up on the overhead strap. His voice cut through the low hum of the cabin.
"You know," he said with that cocky grin of his, "this mission's got all the ingredients for a perfect storm: a bunch of rookies, a critical objective, and a drop zone with more enemy activity than we've had in the last few weeks. What could possibly go wrong?"
I didn't respond. Not because I couldn't, but because I didn't feel the need. Dax had a way of making things sound worse than they were, and as usual, he was pushing the limits of his luck.
Doc, sitting across from him, gave a short, disapproving grunt. "Don't jinx it, Dax."
Dax grinned wider, clearly undeterred. "What, me? Jinx it? Hell, I'm practically the squad's good luck charm."
Doc just shook his head, muttering under his breath. "We'll see."
I kept my focus on the window, the sight of the ground below starting to get closer. The silence in my mind was interrupted by the increasing volume of Dax's rambling, but it was nothing I couldn't ignore. His voice was just noise to me, a background hum that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the mission. The only thing that mattered was getting in, getting the job done, and getting out. Clean. Quiet. Efficient.
But then the calm was shattered.
The ship's warning system blared to life—sharp, shrill, cutting through the cabin like a knife.
"Missile lock! Evasive maneuvers!" The co-pilot's voice, now frantic, echoed over the intercom.
I didn't flinch. Didn't react. I knew better. I reached for the straps securing me to my seat, instinctively tightening my grip on the harness as the ship lurched violently to the side. The warning lights flashed red, and the sudden rush of air pressure shifted my ears. The whole ship groaned, metal straining against the incoming force.
Then, the impact came.
The first missile hit with a deafening explosion, sending the dropship into a freefall. My body slammed into the harness as the ship twisted, bucking like a wild animal trying to shake us loose. I couldn't see much, just the blur of metal, smoke, and sparks around me. The warning alarms were a blur of noise, adding to the chaotic symphony of the crash.
"Damn it!" Dax shouted. His voice had a different tone now—louder, more panicked. The bravado was gone. His hand grabbed for something, anything, to steady himself as the ship spiraled toward the ground. I could feel the ship's desperate fight to regain control.
The second missile hit hard. A sickening crunch filled the air, and the ship tilted sharply. I felt the burn of heat and the sharp pressure of the crash pushing against my ribs. The cabin bucked again, and I heard the crash of something breaking—shattered glass, maybe. The floor seemed to vanish beneath me as the whole ship seemed to cave in on itself.
I braced, prepared for the worst.
Everything went black.
When I came to, it was the absence of sound that struck me first. Silence—total, oppressive silence. My mind was slow to process the situation, but instinct kicked in before I could make sense of anything. The harsh, metallic taste of blood was in my mouth. My ribs ached. The ship's once-pristine interior was now a mess of twisted metal and sparking wires. The floor beneath me was uneven, slick with fluids.
I barely registered the groaning of the ship's body as it shifted. Somewhere in the wreckage, Dax's strained voice came through, calling out.
"Zero! Doc! You good?"
I didn't answer immediately. I just shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. My vision blurred, then refocused. Dax's voice again, this time louder. "We need to move!"
I blinked, then found my bearings. Doc was already checking on the others, his hands moving with the practiced efficiency of a field medic. Elias was slumped against the wreckage, blood oozing from a wound on his side. I could hear his shallow breathing, the ragged gasps of someone who was barely holding on. One of the pilots, too—he was already dead, his body twisted in a way that told me there had been no chance for him. The other pilot was in worse shape, unconscious but alive—barely.
"Damn it," I muttered, my voice hoarse. The wreckage around us was disorienting, the smell of fuel and smoke thick in the air. I tried to steady myself as I moved toward the others.
Doc was already applying pressure to Elias' wound. "He's alive," Doc muttered under his breath, his voice grim. "But he's in bad shape. We need to make a call."
I turned to Vera, who had been silent until now. She had a fire in her eyes—her usual cool, calculating self. She surveyed the wreckage, then the rest of us, as the reality of the situation set in.
"We're too deep to abort," Vera said, her voice steady, but her eyes sharp with decision. "Zero, you're with me. The rest of you—get to a secure location, call for QRF. We'll complete the mission. We'll rendezvous after."
A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment. Dax looked as if he wanted to argue, but Vera's gaze silenced him before he could say anything.
"We don't have time for hesitation," she added, her tone unwavering.
Doc didn't protest. He turned to Elias and began stabilizing him, preparing for the move. Dax gave a reluctant nod, knowing better than to question Vera's judgment.
I turned toward Vera. "Ready when you are," I said, keeping my voice low.
She didn't waste any time. We both moved quickly to secure our gear, checking our weapons as we moved. Vera didn't even glance back at the others, already focused on the objective.