22 Chapter 22 :

Planetside, EX-5429 III, 3rd of March 2119.

Lidaron, Final Approach.

Time, 23:38

Commander Elysium Knight

Elysium felt himself enter the atmosphere. The shaking and shuddering of the capsule would have worried most people, but, having spoken to the man who designed it, he felt completely safe. No, he was more concerned about what he would find on the ground.

He saw without seeing, the flames licking at the outside of his pod, periodically appearing and disappearing through the ADS's small viewscreen. He saw the planet below in great detail, and what seemed to be a city. He soared over it at a fairly low altitude, just close enough to see tiny individual buildings, but quickly passed over, approaching ground to the west.

He watched the altimeter. 2000 meters. Phase one. The stabilisation jets fired, rotating his pod until it was perpendicular to the ground. 1500 meters. He flashed a look at the speedometer. 80 meters per second. Phase two. The retro-rockets fired, slowing his descent to 30 meters per second by the time it had reached 500 meters altitude, and providing constant thrust. He could see the ground rapidly approaching. Sixteen seconds passed. The ground was almost upon him, but the main engine ignited. He braced himself, going from almost weightless to taking ten Gs. His harness strained and he slammed into the ground, the shock absorbers hissing as they built in pressure, releasing some of the pent up liquid into the air. Elysium breathed heavily in his gas mask as the door was blasted open by the fuses.

He immediately grabbed his rifle and jumped out, landing two meters below. He pulled out his backpack and extracted his hand scanner. He switched it on, still eyeing around him for threats. He checked the atmospheric composition. 32% oxigen, 64% nitrogen, 2% neon, 1% helium and 0,7% argon. Carbon dioxide was far from earth's 0,078% at 0,012%. A breathable mix.

Elysium pulled off his mask and breathed in the air. It had a certain taste to it. It was fresh and cool, and most unlike the recycled air used on the UNSF's starships. It smelled pure and earthy, like it had just rained.

He placed the pod's breath mask in his backpack. He might need it. Then put on his SAS air purifier mask. This, unlike the breath mask which had it's own air flow, only filtered the air, preventing him from ingesting toxins.

He shouldered his pack, slung his battle rifle over his chest and checked his belt. Pistol, check. Flashbangs, check. Frags, check. Phosphorus, check. Smoke, check. Ammo, check, plus what was in the backpack. He thought about attaching the grapnel line to his belt, but decided against it. It wouldn't do him any good to clutter himself up like that. Besides, he already knew where everything was on his belt instinctively, he didn't need more that he already had in easy access. The one thing he may have liked was a jump pack. But that required specialist trainning, which he had, and specialist equippment, which he didn't. He cursed himself for not thinking of that sooner. But then, Thraile would have stopped him before he could have gotten in the pod, which may have been for the best. But he was here now, and there was no point whining over what could have been. He'd have to deal with it as it came until he could get picked up which could, not ideally, be months or years.

He certainly hoped not. He liked the navy breakfast.

Glancing around, he set off in a brisk jog towards the rising white spires in the distance. With luck there wouldn't be many, or any, armed forces in the area or things could get real ugly real fast. He could make a camp in the forest. He would start with that, then make excursions into the city.

And so he ran, staying sharp and alert, as he would need to be. But little did he notice the pairs of brown-green eyes watching him from the shadows...