Rebellion

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The plasteel floor of the troop shuttle’s passenger compartment twisted beneath Logan McCoy’s boots like a dinghy bucking in a stormy sea. His hard, moulded seat rose beneath him as the shuttle climbed, then the thick, black webbing straps across his chest pulled his shoulders down as the seat dropped away, and left his stomach hanging in mid-air.

He closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the constant creaking and rattling behind his back from the thin hull that had been heated to over a thousand degrees by the fury of atmospheric entry as the shuttle descended from low orbit, and was now bumping through the turbulence lower in the atmosphere.

The air in the shuttle’s passenger compartment was growing warm as the heat from the heat-shield slowly soaked through the cylindrical green walls around them.

He reached up behind the transparent visor of his green plasteel helmet, and wiped away the drops of sweat from his forehead and eyes as best he could. More had soaked through the thin T-shirt beneath the heavy body armour that covered his chest, and now the black cloth of the shirt was stuck to his skin. He pulled the waistband loose from his fatigue pants, and shook it gently, to get some fresh air over his skin.

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