The Stars' blinding light poured through the transport's open rear hatch like red-hot molten steel, making it impossible to keep their eyes open.
Sergeant Lecky was the last to remove his earplugs, the metallic taste of the nutrient paste he had eaten during the ten-hour flight still lingering in his mouth.
He stood with a yawn, his spine cracking.
The world beyond the hatch—or rather, the landing pad designated "Landing Zone Alpha Seven"—lay exposed beneath the unobstructed daylight. The air smelled of tar, Ozone, and unfamiliar dust.
"Move it, boys! Get your asses out of those seats!" Leki's voice was hoarse, but loud enough for everyone in the cabin to hear.
The soldiers of the 5th Infantry Regiment wore matching heavy, mouse-gray greatcoats and carried Lasguns polished to a shine but not yet fired.
Then, one after another, they rose, their movements stiff from spending so long cramped in their seats.
They formed two lines, their boots ringing hollowly on the metal ramp as they stepped into a world too bright and too open.
The landing pad was absurdly large.
Leki squinted into the distance. Hundreds of identical transports stood in neat rows along the horizon, like a flock of giant steel birds with folded wings.
Farther away, more transports threw up exhaust flames and clouds of dust as they landed and took off.
White shuttle contrails carved up the sky, and the roar of engines formed an endless backdrop.
People. People everywhere.
Soldiers in the same mouse-gray greatcoats as his streamed out of the transports, merging into a slow-moving gray tide under the direction of officers waving fluorescent batons.
That tide flowed toward the open ground at the center of the landing pad, where even larger formations were taking shape.
Leki followed his platoon forward, his gaze passing over