The craft was going down. August Ace gripped his MoShun Skybeam assault rifle and swallowed hard as the intensity of the drop turned his blood to oil. He regretted his decision to break his fast with General Wolf that morning. He feared that the veteran leader seated across from him—somehow calm amongst the chaos—would soon be coated in partially digested Slupman field berry energy gel. Not a good start for the rookie.

He dared not look to the rest of the crew. Having only been introduced to them a few hours prior, August suspected they’d somehow find a way to blame his mere presence for the imminent crash. They hadn’t shared many words, but dirty looks and curt replies had made it clear to August that the crew was in disagreement with having the rookie along on such a crucial mission. It didn’t help that he’d been chosen over Colonel Chase Driver, who’d volunteered to fill the role of runner.

“Can’t you do anything about this?” Colonel Trent Sterling, the exterminator, leaned forward with his green tank of swirling gasses tucked between his knees and thrust a sharp nose at the engineer.

Colonel Vern Slupman averted the narrowed eyes and answered in a shaking voice. “I’m not a pilot. I can’t do anything from the inside, but if I could get a good look at the engine I—“

“So you’re useless in the event of a crash but can be of service once the craft is grounded and we’re all dead.” Colonel Sterling shook his birdlike head.

Colonel Slupman said nothing and tightened his grip on the steel handles above him.

The exterminator cursed. “These damned self-flying crafts. When will the Big-Four learn that nothing beats good old human labor?” He waited for a response and got nothing but the moans of a hurtling craft. He slapped the top of his gas can, which made August flinch. Colonel Sterling shot to his feet and brought the general’s gaze up with him. “I’m going in that cockpit. I’m not going to let our fate be decided by my toaster’s cousin.”

“Plant yourself on that bench, soldier,” General Wolf said, remaining calm. “That tank of yours is dangerous. I’d hate to see what would happen if that thing weren’t tied down at the moment of impact.”

Colonel Sterling froze but did not take his seat. “With all due respect, General, I believe we can avoid any impact should I gain permission to commandeer the craft.” His South-West-Upper district accent boiled over.

“Permission denied,” General Wolf said. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know when one of these puppies is dead set on going down. I doubt the best pilot under the dome could keep this thing airborne or even bring it in for a soft landing.”

Sterling had taken his seat halfway through the General’s words. He secured the tank of gas between his knees and dropped his head in his hands.

August risked a glance around. Seven crew members, including himself, all plummeted to what might’ve been their death. It felt wrong that the mission should end so soon. Each of the Gilzak family’s top media companies had been present at takeoff to report on what they’d called “the turning point in the war against the Dolorium.” A few miles in, and they were going down, not even halfway to their objective. August wondered which would be worse between dying in the crash or returning home to face the media.

Colonel Luna Belmont stirred beside August. The rookie nudged to the left to give her more room when he saw her grip one trembling hand with another in a failed effort to still both. The medic’s eyes bulged from her dark face as she took in quick, shallow breaths. August felt the need to say something reassuring, but their dive had scrambled his mind as well. Colonel Belmont’s helmet rolled off her lap and crashed onto the steel grate flooring, assaulting the ear like some demonic snare drum even amongst the rattling and shaking of the craft. August promptly bent forward and retrieved the medic’s helmet. She took it with a subtle nod and hugged it to her chest as if it were a comforting doll.

“This is nonsense!” Col Sterling jumped from his seat against the General’s orders and started for the cockpit.

Colonel H. Rosek stepped from his spot against the wall and put himself between the exterminator and the cockpit. August hadn’t seen Colonel Rosek’s face yet, as the man had stayed hidden in his imposing mech suit since they’d been introduced.

Sterling halted. General Wolf sat calmly with his eyes closed, indifferent to what transpired before him.

“Dammit, Rosek,” Sterling said. “Don’t you think we ought to try something? Why are we just accepting this crash? Last I checked, plane crashes hurt.”

Rosek took one step forward to wordlessly demonstrate that the exterminator’s plea did nothing to persuade him. The General spoke. “I understand this is a stressful situation, Colonel, and that is why I will forgive your lapse in judgment in disobeying direct orders from your superior, but this is the last time. Sit your ass down, or this crash will be the least of your worries. Got it?”

Despite the General’s strong words, Sterling seemed more convinced by Colonel Rosek’s unwavering mech suit. It stood two heads higher than the exterminator and was about twice his breadth. He nodded, mumbled an apology that was lost in the storm-like noises, and dropped back onto his seat as if he’d been shot.

“Are you alright?” August leaned toward Colonel Belmont and spoke quiet enough so that only those closest to him might hear.

The medic met his eyes and smiled. Her teeth chattered beneath curving lips, betraying the magnitude of her fear. “Don’t you go worrying about me, Rookie,” she said. “It’s my job to worry about the rest of you. I just don’t do too good in planes, is all.” Her eyes scoped the room and her smile faded. “And now this…”

A shrill beeping like an old alarm clock cried across from them. General Wolf studied a screen on his forearm and fingered it until the beeping ceased. “This is it,” he said, “we’ll be landing in less than a minute.”

“Oh goodness, someone above save us.” Vern Slupman had been silent since his minor altercation with the exterminator, but the General’s warning seemed to light a fire beneath him. “Maybe I should do something.” He craned his neck toward the cockpit and stuffed a small leather-bound book he’d been writing in during the flight into his breast pocket.

“It’s too late for that,” General Wolf said. “Get your helmets on, hold on tight, and hope that this MoShun craft lives up to its family name.”

August had less than a second to reflect on the general’s words before he launched from his seat toward the front of the craft. He slammed into the far wall and saw nothing but stars for a moment. He lay at Colonel Rosek’s feet and grabbed onto one of the mech suit’s sturdy legs. Helmets, gloves, a laser pistol, and Colonel Luna Belmont’s medic bag swirled around the walls, floor, and ceiling as if in a massive laundry dryer.

Everyone else remained in their seats, but their heads whiplashed multiple times, which seemed worse than the one heavy impact August sustained. He closed his eyes and wrapped himself around the mech’s leg in as sheltered a position as he could find and waited for the momentum of the craft to subside.

One of the men cursed a pained complaint. August couldn’t distinguish the voice but assumed the pain had come from one of the hurtling missiles of debris. Colonel Belmont wept, her voice nearly drowned out by an onslaught of sound. The grinding and crashing of the craft lessened and Belmont’s weeping became pronounced as if someone had raised her volume with a remote. Sobs, a few grunts, and a constant hissing of unseen smoke filled the suddenly calm air.

“Anyone hurt?” General Wolf’s voice rattled August’s bones. Everything was much louder now that the chaos had stopped.

Disheartened mumbles assured the general that his crew was fine, but Trent Sterling had more to say. “Which one of you is the idiot who couldn’t keep his pistol secure? That thing got me right between the eyes.”

August let go of Rosek’s mech leg and sat up against the wall. Sterling’s voice had annoyed him up until that point, but now he was grateful for the exterminator’s outburst if only because it might keep the others’ minds off the fact that the rookie was the only one who’d forgotten his seatbelt.

“Come on,” Sterling said. “You know who you are. Don’t act like a kid. Just come out and admit it.” He wiped a bead of blood from his brow.

“There are worse ways to be gotten between the eyes by a pistol, Colonel,” General Wolf said as he rose from his seat. “Let’s get out of this cursed can and reassess.”

The general led the crew out of the drop bay. The latch on the drop bay floor was their initial exit plan, but their situation would force them to use the side doors like ordinary passengers. Jumping from the craft had been the only part of the mission August had been looking forward to.

They moved through the short corridor that connected the drop bay to the cockpit in single file. Colonel Sterling marched just ahead of August and spat a few curses to himself—no doubt vexed at not being able to connect a name to the pistol that had struck him.

Colonel Rosek brought up the rear in his massive mech suit. The corridor was tight for August. He couldn’t imagine how the mech would fit. August halted and turned to face the only crew member behind him. “With your permission, Colonel Rosek, I’d suggest that you come out of the suit. The corridor is narrow. I can help you disassemble and haul it out of here.”

The mech pointed past August’s shoulder. The rookie stared for a moment before the gesture’s meaning became apparent, and he made his way to the cockpit where the rest of the crew waited. Whirring and a grating sound rushed in from the corridor. Colonel Rosek had turned to tackle the passage sideways. He barely fit. If the craft hadn’t already been grounded and damaged, Rosek would have surely earned a berating by the general for the scratched paint and dented walls.

The cockpit was nearly as roomy as the drop bay. It fit the crew of seven and gave them ample room in which to breathe and maneuver despite one of them being a bulky mech. General Wolf—who’d been waiting at the side door in silence until Rosek finally emerged from the corridor—spoke in a lowered voice. “We’re only about halfway to our destination. That doesn’t mean there won’t be any dangers out there. Keep your eyes peeled, and don’t let yourself get too comfortable for one second.” He looked at August. “It isn’t simulations under the safety of the dome out here, kid. The real world is out there—the stuff that every day people will never have to see as long as we do our jobs right. Got it?”

August looked around, wondering if he was supposed to answer or not. He nodded and moved awkwardly to stand near the beeping control panel of the self-driving craft.

The general didn’t move. “I asked you a question!”

“Yes,” August shouted louder than he’d intended. He regained control of his volume. “Yes, General.”

“Good,” Wolf said. His veteran eyes wandered over the crew. “I know the rest of you don’t need to hear it. You’re all colonels. You’ve all seen things that can’t be unseen. We may not be near the objective, but you know what’s out there. Is everyone ready?”

August involuntarily took a deep breath. He hadn’t truly been nervous until now. The weight of the general’s warning pushed down on his shoulders and nearly brought him to his knees. He’d heard stories of the world outside the dome but wasn’t sure how many he believed. As curious as he was to find out, a bigger, louder part of him hoped that the engineer would diagnose the engine's problem so that the crew could get the craft back in the air and fly home. That wouldn’t be the case. Even if they did manage to repair the ship, they’d use it to reach their objective, not return home.

The crew mumbled their ‘yes sirs’ and stood in waiting. Col. Sterling parted his scowling lips as if he were going to say something but relented upon meeting the general’s gaze and instead wiped a fresh bead of blood from his brow.

General Wolf nodded and reached for the latch. He gave the crew a final look which prompted the colonels to don their helmets. August did the same. His peripheral vision was gone, and everything took on a slight yellowish tint through his visor, but it was worth it. He’d attended the most recent presentation at MoShunCon a few months prior, where he’d witnessed the impressive effectiveness of the new helmet models. It had withstood the force of a two-ton anvil dropped directly on it from twenty feet high. Peripheral vision be damned.

A metallic clink pierced the silence as the general raised the door latch. August was the only one to flinch. The rest readied their guns and aimed them at the door, ready to obliterate whatever they might find outside. General wolf counted down with his gloved fingers. Three. Two. One…