Click. Click click. Kaid put down the image translator and gazed towards the horizon. It had finally stopped raining. The upper atmosphere was still boiling from the shock of the ships coming in, the clouds showing a grey-black swirl that twisted this way and that like an animal in pain. In the far distance, the horizon showed several rising plumes of dust from missiles that had missed their targets. These were dwarfed by a much larger debris cloud which seemed to be nearer, probably an ammunition ship that had been hit on entry. Fortunately they were mostly drones, and command always reckoned on up to 50% losses in these drops anyway.

The horizon was still lit by occasional dirty yellow flashes, the last of the post-drop bombardment. Soon it would be time to move. He looked at his display and saw their partner unit just to the West of them, along their line of advance. The readout identified it as RZ-9476 but they all knew him as “Old Gray”. The fact that the initials matched up to some obscure cultural reference from the late 20th and early 21st century was amusing to the marines in an ironic sort of way.