Dello Spazio — Robert A. Heinlein Fanteria

Johnny didn't look up. "Maintenance is the difference between a jump and a burial, Sarge."

"Keep your intervals!" Johnny shouted into the comms, his voice steady. He wasn't the scared kid from the history classes anymore. He was a piece of the Federation's shield. He squeezed the trigger, and as the first wave of Arachnids burst through the crust, he realized that while the universe was vast and terrifying, as long as the Infantry held the line, humanity had a home. ROBERT A. HEINLEIN FANTERIA DELLO SPAZIO

Below the surface, the ground vibrated. The Bugs were coming. Johnny didn't look up

He hit the ground at terminal velocity, his retro-rockets firing a micro-second before impact. The pod shattered. Johnny leaped out, his flamethrower clearing a circle of scorched earth before his boots even settled. He was a piece of the Federation's shield

"Don't know why you bother, Rico," Sergeant Zim’s voice boomed from the doorway. "The bugs’ll just cover it in ichor the minute you hit the dirt."

The humid air of the base camp smelled like ozone and recycled sweat—the permanent perfume of the Mobile Infantry. Johnny Rico sat on his bunk, methodically cleaning the hydraulic joints of his powered suit. Around him, the barracks of the Rodger Young hummed with the nervous energy of soldiers who knew they’d be dropping onto a hostile rock in less than six hours.