Second Lieutenant Xavier Timor was thrilled with his new command, but his platoon of battle hardened legionnaires wasn’t. They didn’t trust someone so green, and the officer he’d replaced had been well loved and respected. On this drop, Xavier would ride down with his 1^st Squad while his small platoon staff would be spread out among the other squads on the various orbital dropships. Standard protocol required they split the staff to protect the integrity of the command element. Losing the entire staff to enemy cannon fire would severely hamper command and control in the critical early stages of the battle.

He wasn’t happy to start his first combat engagement this way, but the New Carthage Legionnaires couldn’t just fly in, not when the enemy had seeded the planet with defensive cannons. They had to seize a drop zone first. No, this would be an orbital drop operation. Xavier would be leading 4^th Platoon, Delta Company of the 249^th Legion into the teeth of the enemy’s guns. By rights, he should still be a senior in the Dagdan Federation Officers Academy on New Carthage, but the Legion had been hit hard in the opening days of the war. In the end, the 249^th Legion required warm bodies more than they needed cadets playing soldier. The Republic was desperate for junior officers, so they’d graduated his senior classes early. None of the 112 enlisted personnel were happy that these raw junior officers had been placed in command of the Legionnaires’ platoons.

The junior enlisted personnel on Dropship 1-4-Delta were especially unhappy. Their ship had a standard configuration which offered few amenities. Making room for their LT only made the situation worse. The tight seats and unforgiving straps meant the troops would have to hold their carbines between their legs. The squad grumbled as Xavier approached, seeming to forget that he had access to their comms channel.

The gray orbital dropship that would serve as Xavier’s ride sat securely in its berth, waiting for the signal that would drop it onto Gakawen. Twenty-seven legionnaires packed themselves like sardines into its hold, leaving one extra seat for the platoon commander. They’d made a point of making sure that that seat was near the door, potentially exposing him to incoming fire on a contested landing. Xavier was waiting to board the dropship and close the door, telling himself that it would be good to let his troops get fresh air. They continued to have access to the NCRS Hannibal’s climate control systems until the door sealed. Like every troop transport he’d studied, this one tried to keep the troops comfortable until they were needed to attack contested planets.

Pacing up and down the passageway outside his dropship, Xavier rechecked his watch. They’d be getting the go signal at any moment. He quickly checked his equipment and rank insignia before rejoining his command. As Xavier moved, the red five-minute warning light strobed through the passageway. He turned his stride into a jog, afraid he’d miss his first combat mission. His training at the Academy on New Carthage had been thorough, and he knew that this particular error would be a black mark on his entire career. Besides, he couldn’t let himself become the LT people mocked.

Not wanting to look like some bumbling plebe, Xavier stiffened his spine and slowed his jog. He knew optics mattered, and he began to march onto the dropship. He made it with seconds to spare before the ramp closed and sealed him in with his men. Looking around, he found twenty-seven pairs of skeptical eyes staring at him.

“Listen up. You don’t need me to tell you how important this mission is. If we don’t secure the landing zone and create a foothold, we can’t take this planet. We need to take out the Loyalist’s guns before the rest of the Legion can land, and we expect a stiff resistance. When the ramp drops, follow me. We secure the landing zone, then the city. Trust your fellow legionnaires and Gakawen will soon be under the banner of the New Carthage Republic. For Carthage!”

The hold was silent. Xavier busied himself with strapping in and turning off his helmet’s speakers. Shifting in his seat, uncomfortable in the oppressive silence, Xavier tried to appear unfazed. Instead, he focused on the hodgepodge of armor his unit was wearing. It looked like it had been borrowed from a museum, from the time of the Corsair Rebellion. Maybe even older than that. The legionnaires of Delta Company weren’t wearing void capable combat armor on this drop; there wasn’t enough of it to go around. The Republic was too new to outfit everyone in the vacuum sealed suits; they only had what they’d liberated them from the Dagdan Federation. If his ship experienced catastrophic failure outside of the atmosphere, they’d all die.

He didn’t know what he expected, but the ride down jarred every bone in his body. Even strapped in, he was thrown about as the ship broke orbit, while the pilot simultaneously jinked left and right to avoid being hit by enemy defensive cannons. Waves of nausea overwhelmed his senses, sending chills in icy rivulets down to his toes. Desperately trying to maintain his dignity, Xavier took slow, deep breaths. It didn’t help. He’d almost armed the illumination grenade that was attached to the front of his armor, as he struggled to open the visor of his helmet—anxious to prevent filling his armor with vomit. He missed puking into his helmet by second.

BLARGH.

With his visor open, this time he heard the legionnaires of 1st Squad openly laughing at him. Despite his best efforts, Xavier couldn’t keep his lunch in his stomach.

BLARGH.

“Happens to all of us, sir. At least to the old biddies in the Ladies Auxiliary, anyway!” chirped Legionnaire First Class Terrye Toombs.

That was a preview of LZ New Birth. To read the rest purchase the book.

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