" All right, now remember, this is just like flight school. You've all done alla these things in training. Yer part of a big operation here, lotsa company, lotsa confusion for the other side. Ya load the platoon and their gear in yer boat, ya launch. Ya got yer co-ords. Ya put 'em down on the mark, on the tick. They off-load. Ya wait 'till they're clear, then launch. Ya rendesvous back here ta the mothership. There'll be cold beer waitin'."

Wash and his co-pilot, another newbie, waited impatiently, strapped into their pilot chairs. They were already 4 minutes behind the exact, scientifically calculated mission profile. They were working corrections on the on-board calculator, trying to revise the nav data to hit their target point. "Looks like we can ground on time at the wrong spot, or late at the correct spot, or crash and die. Whadda ya think, Hobe?"

"Let's try to avoid that third one, huh?"

The intercom crackled. "Pilot, we're aboard and gear loaded. Ready for launch."

"Yer tardy. Means you'll hafta stay after class and clean the erasers."

"You got a guarantee we'll be here after class, I'll do it. "

Wash clicked to the radio. "Mothership, lander 47 ready to launch."

"Stand by, 47, We got incoming--"

The transmission cut off. There was a giant impact, and all the outside lights went out. Alarms and shaking cut throught the hull as the outer hatch opened. Wash pushed the launch button and the lander blasted free. He caught a glimpse of a gaping hole on his side of the mother ship , where there were supposed to be 2 other landers. "Wo de ma."

"Traffic on my side, Hobe. Watch 'em."

He swerved the craft, then increased the throttles. Yer late, ya go faster, maybe make up the time. There were explosions nearby, and Oh, God, Alliance fighter ships. A couple of other landers floated by, damaged or destroyed. He swerved some more.

The co-pilot was talking again. "Mother took a big hit. Looks like she's on fire."

"Oh, that's not good."

"More traffic,