Free Hardcore - 03 by Andy Remic

breathed. Then his teeth clamped shut. Babe? Shit. A close encounter with death and he'd suddenly gone and forgotten her savagery, ruthlessness and downright evil. The female of the species? More deadly than the male? Damn fucking right.
    "We see what you did," came Pippa's voice. "Well done. Tough gig."
    Keenan watched Ed head for the cockpit, leaving him alone. He coiled his cable back on the reel, and dumped it in a locker. Voice low, he said, "Listen. Somebody wanted us down and out of the game. I think it's an inside job."
    "Why's that?" said Pippa, voice a purr.
    "Because I checked the DropShips myself; the only people who've been near after my surveillance are the squads."
    "So we've a mole?"
    "Aye, and a bad one. One who's out to see us all dead."
    "But it can't have been anybody on your ship."
    "Why not? As long as he, or she, had good crash protection equipment stashed. It's amazing what you can survive in these technologically advanced times; remember Ket? We should have been cat meat."
    "I remember. Listen, I'll speak when we meet at the LZ."
    "Out." Keenan's eyes glistened in the gloom. When I find you , he thought, you're going to eat a bullet.
     
    Jets roaring with green fire, the three DropShips banked, swooping low over an undulating sandy coastline. They howled over thick cross-organic jungle, hazy through early morning steam, and the screams of monkey-trees echoed up at the deafening noise of the three infiltration class infantry ships.
    Pippa, her keen eye on the scanners, pulled imperceptibly ahead as they flashed over trees, a swathe of white beach, and blue and pink coral that reared from the sea like corrugated fingers, leading the other DropShips in a sudden rush towards their destination...
    Behind her, Mel was snoring, strapped into a modified CrashCouch, and Betezh and Olga had ceased their squabbling and fallen into an uneasy silence, eyes watching the flash of green, white, turquoise and blue through the FlexGlass windshield. Pippa thought to herself they looked like sulky schoolchildren, and the image of both in ties and blazers made her grin, her reflection in the FlexGlass a ghost grinning back.
    "Game on," she said, lifting the nose of the DropShip. Motors whirred, and engines howled in response to her precise commands as the vehicle slowed over a massive stretch of sand, a hiatus in the jungle where the beach had spread outwards, consuming the land, usurping the thrones of many mighty hardwoods. Like a lake of sand, a yellow plateau, the kilometre-wide oval ate into the landscape and, with scanners spitting numbers across her HUD, Pippa checked stability readings and brought the DropShip down, unfolding landing gear neatly, and just in time. Engines died, and clicks and hisses echoed out across the beach. Pippa moved to the ramp, stomped down the corrugated alloy, and stepped out into the heat.
    It hit her, a wave of humidity, a hammer-blow of temperature. Pippa loosened the straps of her WarSuit and jumped into the sand, which covered the toes of her boots in an undulating wave. Behind, the other DropShips rotated, jets howling, and lowered, fusing circles of sand into glass, which crackled and pinged as engines died and it cooled.
    Pippa shaded her eyes, gazing off at the shoreline. White breakers crashed against the beach. The sea shimmered, flecked with silver. Too much like Molkrush Fed, she thought. Way too much like Molkrush Fed. But at least on this mission, she wouldn't be left alone with Keenan. The temptation was... too great.
    Betezh stumbled down the ramp behind her, followed by Olga, grumbling and hoisting at her barely restrained WarBra. Mel stayed back, in the shade of the ship. She blinked lazily, jaws drooling zombie-pus.
    "Wow," said Betezh. "This is a beautiful place."
    "Just make sure you don't look in any of ze rock pools, ya?" said Olga.
    "Why?" Betezh raised an eyebrow.
    "Because you scare yourself away! Har