A Firm Grip

The heat reached my visor before I fully registered motion. I was resting on one knee upon damp soil. My right hand moved. The fingers closed deliberately around the grip of my blaster rifle, testing the mechanical tension. The metal was solid and responsive. Below the low slope, dry grass burned in a steady orange line, casting flickers across the dark ground. I adjusted my center of gravity, planting the rifle barrel firmly into the earth beside me to maintain balance. The perimeter was uncertain, but my footing was secure.