[ WP ] A man is lost space . He has no fuel , no food and limited air . There is no one coming to save him . Write his last moments .

Four insertions in two months. 
 
 Orbital combat drops had been the only tactical solution to the automated orbital defenses the Alien Darithians had perfected millennia before man began his first cautious forays into space. It was a desperate move by the Marines, desperate to force their enemy into an unconditional surrender after decades of bloody conflicts against autonomous drone formations they could not break. Launching a series of manned pods from extra solar rail gun stations into planets at ultra high velocities into inhabited planets turned out to be every bit as dangerous as it sounded but the subterranean infrastructure of the enemy made bombardment with munitions complex enough to do real damage unable to bypass the automated defenses. 
 
 John shook anxiously within his crèche, looking at the HUD readout fed into his peripheral vision through a computer implanted directly into his brain which wirelessly communicated with the onboard equipment of his pod. He was stacked inside a large magazine compartment with his new platoon. His first had been a total loss from the last drop. He had been alone on the ground for most of the ground combat on his last drop and had barely been recovered just in time to make this drop. 
 
 Four drops in two months. He should have been evacuated from the front after the second but by some arcane sleight of hand on the part of the Byzantine Naval bureaucracy he found himself once again hooked to this damnable machine. Statistically he should be long dead. He did not feel lucky. He would give anything to have been intercepted on insertion on his first drop. 
 
 Inertial suppressors mean that you do n't feel anything as your pod rotates from the magazine to the firing tube. Only the flashing red prompt keeps John apprised of his movement. No amount of physics magic could allow him to miss the acceleration to 4 % the speed of light in six kilometers towards the tiny rock that would be his next target. 
 
 He steadies, the approach is the most dangerous though peaceful part for him. He has seen endless simulations and received numerous briefings on contingencies and probabilities. He connects to the exterior sensors of the pod and sees his platoon tumbling along with him at nearly identical vectors. This approach will be nearly 24 hours long. He checks diagnostics mechanically, not really caring that all functions are nominal. He is so tired. 
 
 He wakes to a loud ping from his computer. They are a few minutes out. Anxiety sits like a hot coal on his diaphragm and he checks diagnostics. Nominal. He looks at the external sensors at the rapidly expanding blue orb gaining resolution before him. His hands shake. The killing starts on the ground, he whimpers softly to himself, unable to contain his pitiful dread alone in his pod. 
 
 Orbital defensive fire engages them hundreds of kilometers out. The outer skin of the pods explodes outwards filling space with a dense. clouds of advanced computer assisted chaff. Seemed pretty neat at the first drop brief. John watches two pods get reduced to slag by incoming laser fire. Yeah, real neat. 
 
 Helpless he just watches the show. He sees contrails converging from enormous orbital platforms. That's new. He watches closely, his sense of apprehension growing as they approach. 
 
 It happens too fast to see. His pod lurches suddenly and his view from the external sensor shows only a spinning stars ape as his pod tumbles uncontrolled into the void. 
 
 A concussive warhead detonated sever dozen kilometers away, scattering his platoon and ruining the carefully prepared approach vectors. The computer plots the movement of his pod and his platoon. A few tumble towards the atmosphere completely out of control. They will likely make it. John is in for a long ride. He will make one extremely long orbit around the planet before being ejected from the system. 
 
 He checks diagnostics. Nominal. He triggers stabilizers manually to slow his velocity enough to retain a wide stable orbit or the neighboring gas giant. The crushing pressure of his fear eases. He thanks the Darithians for their mercy silently and turns off external sensors. He's so tired. His last thought before sleep over takes him concerns the likelihood of his frozen body being found amid the asteroid belt. The pod was designed not to be found, but the computer in his head should alert any drones conducting a survey of his proximity. Maybe his Ma will get his body after all.
