Oh, hell. Raynor didn’t know what that meant, even so, he reflexively laced his hands behind his head and pulled his elbows in tight. The ship’s glide path flattened out, and the bottom of the fuselage hit something hard and bounced off. Raynor’s chin hit his chest and came back up again. That was followed by a very short flight, another impact, and a series of successive jerks as Daddy’s Girl skittered across Turaxis II’s surface before slamming into an outcropping of rock. Raynor was thrown to the left, as were all the others on the starboard side of the ship, but the three-point harnesses held them in place. As the cabin lights went off, emergency lighting came on, and an alarm began to beep plaintively.

There was a moment of stunned silence as the passengers caught up with the fact that they were still alive. That realization was followed by the crackle of flames and a series of loud moans from a recruit named Santhay. Raynor waited for someone to tell him what to do. The recruits were panicking as they checked on one another, and Omer’s voice wailed above the din, “What should we do? Somebody in charge, please tell us what to do!” Silence.

Suddenly the odor of smoke invaded Raynor’s nostrils. Oh, no. Desperate to find help, he whipped his head toward the cockpit and felt a jolt of pain in his neck. Wincing, he fumbled with his harness. The pilot’s gotta be dead or injured, and there’s a goddamn fire. The emergency lights flickered and Santhay began to make dreadful keening noises. I gotta do something.

Decision made, Raynor finally released his harness and stood. “Omer … the belly hatch is blocked. Open the side exits and count heads as people bail out.

“Harnack … check the cockpit. If the pilot is alive, pull him out of there!

“Chang … open those cargo modules. Some weapons might come in handy. I’ll go aft and see how many people are injured.”

Then Raynor made his way in. People were using emergency fire extinguishers by then, but the air was still thick with smoke and he was coughing. What he found at the back end of the ship wasn’t pretty. It looked as though the entire tail section had been shot off, holing the belly and leaving the ship rudderless. Maybe the pilot was the best. The fact that most of the passengers were still alive was either a testament to his skill, or nothing less than a miracle.

There had been two casualties however, which included the decapitated pilot, whom Harnack was dragging from the cockpit. His torso was drenched in blood, but the needle-gun was safe in its holster, so Raynor bent over to retrieve it. His stomach felt queasy, but he managed to ignore that as he stuck the pistol into the waistband of his pants.

“Come on!” Harnack yelled. “This thing could blow!”

With help from another recruit, Raynor carried Santhay forward and out through an emergency exit on the port side. Rain was falling, with the exception of a spill of light from inside the ship. Harnack was waiting on the ground. “When the swabbies decided to call these things dropships, they weren’t kidding!”

“Come on, let’s put some distance between ourselves and the ship,” Raynor said.

Two of the recruits gently hoisted an unconscious Santhay onto their shoulders, and the group slogged through puddles of dank mud into the darkness. Seconds later, a muffled thump was heard behind them as the fire found the dropship’s fuel supply, and the entire vessel exploded into flames. A series of popping noises resounded as ammo cooked off inside the hull, followed by a couple of muted blasts, and a sharp bang as an overheated air tank blew, firing chunks of shrapnel in every direction.

Fortunately they were a safe distance from the ship by then. Raynor raised his voice so they could hear him over the roar of the flames. “Let’s find some shelter. Then we’ll hole up and wait for help.”

“Who died and put you in charge?” one of the recruits demanded.

“The pilot did,” Raynor replied grimly. “But if you have a better plan, let’s hear it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Raynor nodded. “All right then. Do any of you have medical training? No? Well, Santhay needs some sort of stretcher, and then we need to clear the area. That fire is like a beacon. It could bring a shitload of KMs down on us.”

It took a good fifteen minutes to improvise a sling-style stretcher for Santhay, distribute half a dozen shotguns, and move out. An emergency lantern Raynor had salvaged from the ship sent a blob of white light skipping up ahead as he led them down into a gully, through a swiftly flowing stream, and up onto the opposite bank. He knew there was a chance he was leading them into enemy hands, and if that was the case, the lantern would surely expose them—but he had no other choice. The area was pitch-black.

The group was on flat ground at that point, which, judging from the piece of rusting equipment they passed, had been farmland prior to the wars. What they needed was cover and a place to hide until the sun rose, when they could better determine where they were. So when the circle of light slid across the side of what might have been a barn, Raynor had reason to hope. Now we just have to find the cellar, he thought, relieved.

But the emotion was short-lived as someone shouted a warning, bright lights stabbed down from the sky, and the unrestrained roar of engines was heard as two ships swept in from the west. Harnack brought his shotgun up and pointed it at the nearest source of light. Raynor pushed it down again. “Don’t tempt the bastards, Hank … we’re outgunned.”

Harnack lowered the weapon as retros stabbed the ground, and both ships came in for nearly simultaneous landings. But who was aboard them? Because the nearest ship was backlit, Raynor couldn’t see the vessel’s markings. A cold wind sent shivers through his rain-soaked body. He was scared.

But there wasn’t much the recruits could do except stand there and stare as the ship put down, the belly hatch opened, and light spilled onto the ground as a ramp deployed. Once that process was complete, a backlit soldier in a bulky combat suit jumped to the ground and stopped fifteen feet in front of them. Bright lights projecting from the front of his armor made it impossible to see. The much-amplified voice was male. “My name’s Master Sergeant Hanson… . Who’s in command here?”

There was a moment of silence. Finally, when the rest of the recruits looked at him, Raynor took a pace forward. “I guess I am, sir … recruit Jim Raynor.”

A servo whined as Hanson’s helmeted head swiveled incrementally and gravel crunched under his boots as his weight shifted. The voice was incredulous. “Recruit Raynor?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Raynor replied. “The pilot was killed when our dropship crashed. We didn’t know where we were, so I figured we should find a place to hole up.”

Hanson was silent for a moment. “Understood. All personnel will place their weapons on the ground and board the ship. Wounded first.”

Raynor felt an emptiness at the pit of his stomach. “No offense, sir, but which side are you on?”

“I collect my pay from the Confederacy,” Hanson replied. “Welcome to Turaxis II, son… . If you like to fight, you came to the right place.”