![]() It tells the audience this is super dangerous, but I'm not really a soldier, just a poor helpless reporter. She looked absurd, wrapped in body armor and wearing a helmet at least three sizes too big. Jaimie Fleming, Embedded Reporter, was smiling up at him slightly. A shared, unspoken faith that whipsering would make the stealth drive work better had converted everyone aboard. "Almost there" a soft voice said next to him. They sure as hell looked modern though, and he was pretty sure they were "misplaced" when loading a supply ship for the poor bastards out there hunting bugs. Officially, their plasma rifles, grenades, and the bulky TAM charge were surplus from the last war. A quick visit to an old aquaintance got him the heavy weapons he'd needed. Better to sign up with a merc outfit now than be drafted into the marines later. Lots of rough types were out of work in Deephollow, and with Moscow in the news everyone knew a war was coming. Turns out it didn't take long at all to sign up fresh meat. When he was eating breakfast the fifteen armed men in his ship were total strangers. Jayne was just clever enough to know what "should" was worth. ![]() The stealth drive was supposedly masking their heat signature and muting the engines, and the moonless, mistly Zurich night should let them catch the slavers with their pants down. Jaimie Fleming was confident that her old friend was right about the slavers having melted out an off-the-grid hanger in Zurich's icecap nearbye. The Mudder's Milk hummed softly as Walleye wove it between the icy pikes of the crevasse. Did that mean it was going to turn out brilliantly? He was pretty sure this job was a stupid idea. The one thing those bad ideas had in common was they all seemed brilliant at the time. Jayne had done countless stupid things in his life.
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