The ship rattled and croaked, slamming its passengers back against the make-shift seats. Armin held on for dear bloody life, his knuckles no doubt having gone taunt and white beneath the tight black leather of his gloves. He couldn�t feel his fingers anymore, and his arms were quaking with the effort to keep himself in place.

The ship veered to the right and the troops on the left side swung outward. Feet slammed into the uneven metal floors and stuck hard. There were groans, one or two perhaps from Armin himself, and they hoisted themselves back into their seats with a slow, deliberate agony. Whatever noise they made was drowned out by the gyrating gears and the whooshing, rocking sound of turbulence and punctured atmosphere.

They were crashing.

It had started smoothly enough. Hauptmann Dussander had strolled up the length of the corridor and explained the situation to them, hands behind his back, legs straight. Keeping himself upright without any effort at all, even though the ship had a little quake in it, even then.

�We go in, retrieve the survivors quickly and efficiently, and we get out. No lights, wear your goggles at all times, and only shoot if an infected is on your ass. We do not start a commotion, we do not attract their attention. Clear?�

�Sir, yes, sir,� Armin breathed under his breath, gritted his teeth and tightening his grip.

In and out. In and out. Simple as that.

The ship slammed into the ground and send them all jerking upward. A tremor coursed through the length of the hull, following by deafening creaks and cracks as the ship�s nose crumpled under the weight of the earth. Then the heat started. Armin�s ears had gone dull from all the noise but the explosions were still loud enough to make them hurt again. A series of great, shattering booms ricochet up the length of the ship, bringing with it the heat. An unbearable blasting, sweltering heat. There would be fire.

Armin�s hands flew to the safety harness. But his fingers were lazy, lethargic, from being so stiff and sore, so bloodless. They would move deftly enough. They missed the clasp once, twice, and when they finally got it they couldn�t undo it.

�Schei�!�

He could hear the rattle of heavy boots on metal, harness slamming up against the walls.

Finally. His fingers caught the metal slip and jerked it open. The harness sprung free, catching his nose before it slammed against the wall. The shock of pain sparked through his face and his hands slapped across his nose. Bleeding. Broken. Damn, damn, damn.

But no time to waste. The air was hotter.

Armin sprang to his feet, one hand over his nose, the other wriggling beneath his cap and snapping the infrared goggles over his eyes. Gun holstered at his side, goggles in place, he took off down the corridor.

The metal was burning rubber off his boots.