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I caught sight of the spaceport below and hit the lateral jets to move us in that direction. But we were still falling. Our radar altimeter readings were being fed into the computer which kept flashing red warnings about the growing proximity of the ground. I gave it a quick program to hold landing deceleration as long as possible, to drop us at 10 G's to zero altitude. This meant we would be falling at maximum speed and slowing down for minimum time, which would decrease the time we would be exposed to ground fire And I wanted the colonel to have the 10 G's he had once warned me about.
The jets fired at what looked like treetop height, slamming us down into our couches. I smiled, which is hard to do with ten gravities pulling at you, thinking about the expression on the colonel's face at that moment. Watching the screen I added some lateral drift until we were just over the hardstand which was our target area. After this it was up to the computer which did just fine and killed the engines just as our landing struts crunched down. As soon as all the engines cut off I hit the disembark button and the ship shivered as the ramps blew out and down.
"That takes care of our part," I said, unbuckling and stretching.
Otrov joined me at the viewport as we watched the troops rush down the ramps and run for cover. They did not seem to be taking any casualties at all which was surprising. There were some bomb craters visible nearby and heaps of rubble, while fighter-bombers still roared low giving cover. But it didn't seem possible that all resistance had been knocked out this quickly. Unless this world did not have much of a standing army. That might be one answer to explain the Cliaandian invasion success; only pick planets that are ripe for plucking. I made a mental note to look into this. Well behind his troops came the colonel in his command car. I hoped that his guts were still compressed from the landing.
"Now we have to find some drink," Otrov said, smacking his lips with anticipation.
"I'll go, "I said, taking my sidearm from the rack and buckling it on. "You stay with the radio and watch the ship."
"That's what all the first pilots always say," he complained, so I knew I had called this one right.
"Privilege of rank. Someday you will be exercising it too. I shouldn't be long."
"Spaceport bar, that's where it usually is," he called after me.
"Don't teach your grandpa to chew cheese," I sneered, having already figured that one out.
All of the interior doors had unlocked automatically when we landed. I climbed the ladders down to the recently vacated combat deck and kicked my way through the discarded ration containers to the nearest ramp. The fresh sweet air of morning blew in, carrying with it the smell of dust and explosives. We had brought the benefits of Cliaandian culture to another planet.
I could hear firing in the distance and a jet thundered by and was gone, but after this it was very quiet. The invasion had fa
"Ne mortigu min!" he cried. I speak Esperanto like a native and answered in the same tongue.
"We are here to liberate you so mean you no harm." Word of this conversation might get to the authorities and I wanted to make the right impression. "What is your name?"
"Pire."
"And the name of this world?" This seemed sort of a dim question for an arrogant invader to ask, but he was too frightened to question it.
"Burada."
"That's fine. I'm glad you decided to be truthful. And what can you tell me about Burada?"
Badly phrased, admittedly, and he was too stu
"Looting and consorting with the enemy," a familiar, and detested, voice said from the doorway. I turned slowly to see my friend the colonel from our ship standing there fingering his gauss-rifle with what can only be termed a filthy grin on his face.
"And 10 G landing too," he added, undoubtedly the real cause of his unhappiness. "Which is not a shooting offense although the other two are."