Cold. The only feeling he could find to latch onto was the feeling of intense, extreme cold. He knew he wasn’t thinking straight and that knowledge was almost as upsetting as the fear that he didn’t know where he was or why he was here. The feeling inside him was getting stranger. Was he also burning up? Was the cold so cold that it was hot? He could hear the sudden sharp hiss of an airlock opening and pressure being released. The equalizing pressure made his ears pop and his jaw tighten in the connecting muscles. He moved his neck and jaw around, trying to get it to loosen up. 

The world suddenly came into perfect clarity. His eyes recognized the surroundings, his ears recognized the blaring klaxon, and he suddenly remembered. He was a Pathfinder. This was his wakeup call after so many days asleep, waiting for his arrival. That alarm was sounding because it was time to suit up and get moving. His mind was racing with questions, but he knew his briefing would be exactly that: brief. Moving with practiced ease, his muscles quickly adjusting to movement again, he stepped out of his cryogenic pod and into the open room. 

The smell of cryobalm, the frozen cryogenic chemicals, defrosting was sharp, like bleach, but also sweet and slightly off, like cyanide. He shuddered at the thought of putting that into his veins, but he knew that was the only way that this whole operation worked. The smell never faded either and he wondered if the others had gone nose blind to it or if it disturbed them as much as it disturbed him. He knew he should ask them; it was his job after all to look after everyone on the team, but he worried that even bringing it up would have them questioning exactly what went into the compound. Trying his best to ignore the smell of the cryobalm he took a few deep breaths in, stretching his lungs and his chest as far as it would go before exhaling. Air, real air with oxygen, nitrogen, and whatever other chemicals were aboard the ship was still the sweetest smell and most wonderful taste he had ever experienced.

His locker was right in front of him, as it was for all of them. The quicker he could get to his locker, the quicker he’d be ready to deploy. He stumbled for his first step, before taking the second one confidently. Deftly, he gripped the handle and turned it, opening the locker door to reveal everything he would need for this mission. Strapping his gear on with a precise hand, he took a deep steadying breath. He could only see his side of the locker racks, but he knew that his team totalled fourteen. Only he and two others had gotten to their lockers, while the other four on his side of the room were still getting up. He felt a small amount of sympathy for them, it wasn’t exactly a nice feeling.

“Come on everyone, let’s go! You know the drill, we wake up, we get dressed, we load up, and we’re gone. Simple as that. Let’s hustle!” He called out. It seemed to shake everyone out of their stupor. He was reminded of his first wakeups. They were rough and while you got better at moving quickly, the fog in your mind always took some time to clear. It was like dusting cobwebs. No matter how often you cleaned, they always seemed to come back. And his mind was no exception to that rule, he just had practice. He closed his locker with a satisfying clunk. The locking lug securely fastened the door shut until he was back on board. Taking his time, he walked around the room, checking that everyone was up and moving and was as ready to go as he was. Each one of them greeted him in their own way. Some smiled, some nodded, and some tapped fists with him. All were prepared and he was in good spirits.

It was important for him to see them all and support them. Although there were fourteen of them, the team was split into two squads, one headed by him and the other headed by another senior soldier. He was glad that for this deployment, he knew the sergeant that had been assigned. He smiled at her as he passed and got a smile in return. It was comforting to know another leader within the team. There were others that had been through this deployment process before that he walked by and they made up the majority of the team. It was the newest members that were always questionable. You had to hope they were ready for this and had been through the training enough times to be confident in their abilities. This deployment was a strange one because they had three people with no drops before. He would try to remember to slap on their badges afterwards. That kind of thing was the last step in the most critical rite of passage for all Pathfinders. They would feel the slap, never meant to hurt them, but definitely hard enough for them to know it was never coming off. They had probably never heard that particular peeling noise of ripping apart the two sides of fastening material and he hoped they never would. That sound was only heard when the badge was removed to be presented to the family following a death in action.

Being the senior member on the team had some perks, but it had so many more responsibilities than just being a soldier. Gathering all of them, they marched out of the room and into the hallway together. Making quick work of the distance between sectors, they arrived in the armoury to be quickly outfitted with their weapons and supporting gear. Again, the smell of the room seemed so much nicer than the cryobalm. It was oily and metallic with the constant maintenance and cleaning. The whole room was built out of dark grey metal that was so scuffed over the years it almost looked like it had been wire brushed. That probably contributed to the metallic smell in the air. He pulled himself back into reality and away from studying the armoury. 

Some of the team carried heavy weapons and anti-vehicle explosives, some carried close quarters weapons and breaching equipment. Two of them were designated sharpshooters and carried long range rifles. He carried a standard issue rifle, fitted with an advanced optic and underslung grenade launcher. Better to be over equipped than under when you only had fourteen people, he thought. The sounds of signoff, gear checks, clipping, scraping, opening, metal on metal crunching, sighing, and grunting filled his ears. Everyone was checking out their gear and making sure they had everything exactly as they wanted it when two uniformed officers entered the room. 

“Room!” Barked the soldier nearest the door. All quickly jumped into the position and awaited further instructions. 

“Relax,” came the reply as it often did. Despite this, no one really moved as they waited for the speaker to continue. 

“Adjutant?” The speaker asked. He stepped forward while everyone else resumed their previous activities. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. It was a rank he was still getting used to, but it was becoming more normal. Reaching down into one of his pockets, he took hold of his notepad and awaited the start of the briefing.

“You and your team are dropping in. Low opening and as quiet as you can. This is a scout and report mission. As little fighting as possible. Standard rules of engagement are to be applied. Radio silence is to be maintained unless absolutely necessary. Understood?” The tall woman who had walked in asked. He looked at her, remembering when he had first met her. She had been such a bright-eyed and brand-new Lieutenant and he had been a brand-new Corporal. So much had changed in the years since then, but the shine in her eyes had never diminished. 

“Yes ma’am. Scout and report. Standard ROE. Seven-day timeline?” He inquired. 

“Seven days,” she confirmed. “Get to the drop.” As quickly as she had entered, she walked out. He stared after her for a half second, wondering the last time she had dropped in with a team. One of the soldiers walked up to the adjutant, bumping his arm with theirs. 

“New aide?” She asked. He looked at her and nodded with a smirk. That aide, the second officer that had entered, would be run ragged by the Colonel. It would be good for them, even if it would be the most difficult assignment they would likely ever see. Shaking his head with a smile, he started his last check. Looking over to the rest of his team, they stood waiting for him, apparently satisfied with their weapons, equipment, and ammunition. With a nod, he led them out the door. Once he was sure they were all in the hallway he shifted into a jog and together, they quickly made their way into the drop bay. There was a single door to the drop-pod and he took his place next to it. One at a time, they all ducked into the pod and filled the strap seats, which were barely seats at all. He checked the drop pod’s information display and could see that it was nearing the end of its expected lifetime. It had come back from maintenance recently, but it was due to be retired after the next five drops. He hated taking the old pods, but he knew someone had too. 

The pods were all made out of the same metal used everywhere else on the ship, some sort of dark grey steel, he guessed, that had barely been kept clean so long as it kept working. It was a simple and fairly elegant design for a drop pod with one outer ring of seats facing inwards and a smaller cluster of seats in the centre facing out. The thick nylon seat straps were very deeply stretched in this one, but it was almost out of service and seats were the lowest priority thing on board. The thick acrylic window set into the pod door was the only outside view port and even it was looking ragged after so many drops. The deep scratches all over it, the small signs of stressing around the edges, and the yellowing discoloration are all signs of age. He was getting old too.

Ducking into the pod himself, he leaned his rifle against his strap seat. Moving from one person to the next, he checked their straps and together they hit the buttons acknowledging that they were secure. Once he had finished with his team, he took his seat in the centre cluster facing the door and strapped himself in. The drop pod crew chief checked him, and together they acknowledged that the pod was ready for insertion. He looked at all of the faces staring inwards and was surprised to see that even the three new members had looks of excitement. Usually the new ones were nervous for their first combat drop, but he supposed this wasn’t even supposed to be a combat drop. No engagement if at all possible. 

The hiss of the airlock pierced through the fog of his mind. The drop-pod was made more disconcerting when the lights within turned off too. Two of the red lights flickered on and everyone was bathed in an eerie glow. It was supposed to help them retain their night vision, but it did seem sinister. The smell changed too as the pod was pressurised to help them when they hit the ground. It was the nicest smell of the process, clinical and sterile just pumped out of storage tanks. The sudden clunk was jarring, but he knew that meant they were falling. Falling was perhaps to light a term for it. They had been launched, rocket assisted, towards the planet below. An orbital drop with low opening was probably the most difficult maneuver they could do, despite the computers doing all the work. It was also tough on the body and he had been doing it for nearly twenty years. They had less than a minute before touchdown and that touchdown was never comfortable. 

He braced himself as well as he could. The team around him did so as well, although the newest members were still thinking about how best to brace when the jolt of the deceleration struck them all. They were at five hundred metres above ground when the first jolt hit them as the rockets ignited and slowed their descent. After falling another two hundred meters the second jolt struck them, more painfully this time as the parachutes deployed to ensure they were slowed to survivable levels. A few seconds later they slammed into the ground, the strap seats absorbing a huge amount of the impact for them, but not everything. The senior soldier felt his joints compress with the sudden stopping of motion. The drop was the most exhilarating part of the mission. He wouldn’t trade that drop for anything.