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Prepare to Drop

We're in the thermosphere.

That's nearly 700 klicks above New Madrid. Above its satellites, headed for the planet's Titan Array installation…burn in, settle in. Hit, don't run. A mere 700 klicks of air is all that stands between the Arm of Orion and New Madrid. A thin rift that will lead to a wider one forming once news reaches Earth that their colonial jewel has gone dark.

I looked out at the stars before boarding the Griffin that will take us down towards the drop zone. There aren't many out here. Not on the rim. Galaxies work that way. Closer to the core, the more stars, and vice versa. Now I'm looking at maps of New Madrid, specifically the target area and other targets that will be hit by other units. Rift valleys, chasms, dusty plains…not the most aesthetically pleasing of worlds, but still a hospitable one. Founded on blood, sweat and tears…mainly those of the Spear of Orion's, but its citizens don't know that. Not yet at least.

The chose to do this…no-one can say they were coerced. Soren, Thorne…they have our loyalty. Our respect. Things that the Empire demands, but does not deserve. We're forces of natures. Not different from meteors about to hit a planet. The meteor cannot change its mind about falling. The universe does not allow it. It can't change course, and if it's snared by another world's gravity, it may hit that world in turn. We are people, but will not bleed. We are like rocks-hard, uncompromising. Only unlike the meteor, we will rise again after landing. Go back into space if necessary, and do the job again. On this world, on others, all the way to Earth.

We're prepared to drop.