If it was only one hot sun beating down, that would be fine. But there are 3 of the great glowing things on this blasted desert world, pouring heat down in massive shimmering waves, squeezing the moisture from me as I stagger on, tattered and torn.
I had been leading my starfighter wing on a routine patrol when we were jumped by a Zathari ambush. Outnumbered, we fought well but were, nonetheless, blown out of space. My fighter, and those of 2 of my wing, made it to this place and successfully executed crash landings. My boys, however, lacking my toughness, were unable to walk under their own power, wounded in the fighting and the crashes.
My microcomp showed a town around 200 miles from our landing site, all of it through blasted waste. We had only 3 liters of water between us, and they needed it more.
So here I was, tromping through the desert, an 80 kilo man on each shoulder, in 110 degrees, 100 miles behind me, another 100 ahead.
Oh well, at least I was working on my tan.
| Wednesday, October 22, 1997 |
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