Chapter 3: Up from the Ashes
Posted: Wed Dec 29, 2010 4:26 pm
Red alerts began blaring as the troop transports Disconnected from the Hymn, and in a few minutes, a rumbling could be felt and heard as the spacecraft re-entered the atmosphere, from the ground they appeared like two fireballs descending upon the planet in wrath. These fireballs were soon met with artillery fire, and began duking and dodging, attempting to not get hit, thrashing the soldiers inside around. After a seemimgly long 30 seconds, the ships descended to tree level, and found a clearing to land in. As soon as they were down, a hail of gunfire from the trees greeted them, and was answered with suppressing fire from the transports' defensive weapons, silencing most as the drathonians ran to regroup. Inside, officers were yelling at soldiers, gettting them grouped and ready to go, as the bay doors on all sides lowered, creating a ramp for soldiers, tanks and other fighting vehicles to descend to the surface on. In ten seconds, the transports were empty, the doors coming up, and the engines spooling, waiting for their previous cargo to get safely far enough away for them to launch. For the Hymn's marines, the ground war had begun.
Up above the turmoil on the ground, the sky was alive lights. Scourges and scimitars wove in and out of each others formations, trying to shoot the other out of the air while avoiding anti-air fire from the ground and suppressing fire from space. In orbit, the squad of shamshirs awaited the signal that would let them know that it was their turn to go. Every pilot was on edge for the upcoming battle, after all, it wasn't everyday that they fought within the confines of an atmosphere, but everyone was looking forward to the challenge. Their anticipation could also be credited to the fact that every pilot there was flying a new shamshir and not the scimitars that they were so accustomed to.
Steven looked around at the faces of his friends and fellow pilots. Some of them were smoking, a few were just gossiping, and one of them was praying. That last one puzzled Steven, but he quickly brushed away the thought as something caught his eye. "When did they let you out of the infirmary?" Steven called out to a man who was walking over to him.
"They finally said that I was well enough to fly again. So I thought I would stop by and see what you were doing," Green 1 replied with a laugh, "And it looks like I came just in time, for it appears that you have no secondary gunner."
"It is good to have ya back on the team buddy," Steven said with a nod.
Captain Hendlow stood in one of the transports looking solemn. The smoke slowly swirling from the tip of cigarette only added to the cinematic effect. And much like one would expect, his mind was elsewhere: namely, the upcoming battle. They were going planetside. That meant explosives would require entirely different applications. While he had once worked on a planet, he was not accustomed to it. His load-out was the best he could think of, but he still worried that there was some situation for which he had not accounted. He couldn't worry over it all day, however, so he had forced himself to toss the backpack full of dangerous gear beneath one of the restraining seats.
And there was more to it. Although he had been a Captain for quite some time, never before had he been requested to command a squad. Now they were pushing onto him the responsibility of the lives of others. Jack was on the roster along with eight others: a team of ten. Still, one familiar face was not consolation enough. The others were all green, having been recruited only in the last year. Only four of them had participated in a battle previously, and only one of those four had experienced another before that. Two of the four, including the "veteran," had experienced the loss of body parts. That was something of a relief. They knew what to expect. Still, four of his ten-man team knew nothing of battle.
He sighed as the cigarette burned out and tossed it in a small bin. He could hear the steady plodding of boots: his team was on its way.
Twenty minutes later, he was sitting in a restraint chair, the harness hugging him with a death snare. A few quiet murmurs and moans could be heard: Hendlow wondered why they ever thought it okay to recruit men prone to motion sickness. As the thought finished, he heard someone's stomach give way, and watched the noon lunch float by to his left. Slowly, he shook his head.
Five minutes later, they were on the ground, and the hatches were opening. He slung on his backpack, buckled it, and snatched up a bro on his way out the back. "Get cover, keep your head down, and wait for further commands!"
Game on.
Jack trundled out of his seat as the craft landed, his brain still whirring from the replacement of half his body that had taken place not half an hour ago. Stumbling up behind Hendlow, his vision blurred. Jack shook his head vigorously at the four Hendlows that stood before him, closing his eyes tight in a strained blink. Chemicals, phsychosis, and foreign body parts combined in a nauseating daze.
Nothing he could do about that, though. The overworked doctors in the infirmary had seen it fit to release every body that was still warm to fight in whatever battle he was about to step into. Jack had no concept of what it really was; the fog surrounding his brain only allowed him to comprehend that he had to shoot some lizards. The basic concept was simple enough, he probably didn't have to know much more, anyway.
Jack didn't know when it had happened, but now he was wearing his combat armor, and his sugar was in hand. His tiger was also strapped to his back, though Jack hardly noticed its presence. As he followed Hendlow out the hatch, he could faintly make out the captain's shouted words. It was like he was hearing it from underwater; Jack knew he had said something but hardly knew what. It didn't matter, really. In his aching mind, Jack formulated his simple plan: follow Hendlow, shoot every lizard you see, don't lose any more limbs.
Jumping through the hatch, Jack had a feeling that today would have been better spent in a hospital bed. His foot coming down with a squish on the head of a fallen Drathonian, Jack could hardly imagine why. An enormous, dumb smile crossed his face. With a suck, he dislodged his foot from the crushed head and strolled into the awaiting battlefield. Butcher to the slaughter.
Hendlow sensed faint laughter coming from behind him.
Hendlow was crouching behind a portable, makeshift metal barrier with room for five; six if you were looking for a few good men to take with you when the grenade rolls by. Currently, though, he and Jack were the only ones. He glanced only briefly at the sound of laughter. Jack hadn't been quite himself since they landed, and he didn't think too much of it at the moment. He sighed and sat on his heels, back to the barrier.
The area was rather bland; they were in the midst of an open plain. To their back was a series of rocky hills, smothered with Terran snipers. Ahead of them were thick forests of lush greens and reds and other vibrant colors not typically found on Earthen flora. That's where the Drathonians were coming from, and they had managed to dig in some ditches in the plains, but they hadn't made much ground since. The Terrans were repelling attackers quite well, and the higher levels of command had their own series of ditches near the base of the hills, a low-profile ops center.
Garrett glanced at Jack again. The man was far gone. He sighed and tapped his extremely small earpiece. He spoke quietly. "Can anyone hear me?" He received seven replies. "Who are we missing?"
Bad news already. The private whom had seen two previous battles had lost his head to a Drathonian sniper rifle. So much for that "veteran" status. Hendlow sighed for a third time. "Status and location," he asked his men. Slowly, and according to alphabetical order, each responded, giving good reports on their personal health and their locations relative to Hendlow's.
"Good, good," he murmured to no one in particular. There was a pause for a few seconds as he began planning. "Griever, Kwon, you're left pincer. Harvard, Rutthinger, you're right pincer. The rest of us will be providing cover fire until you're in position. Then we'll move up the center, and blow the hell out of those Drathonians attempting to set up barricades."
The plan was for a two-man team on either side to pin the Drathonian "engineers," if they could be called that, in the foxhole they'd dug out. Then, with them unable to return fire, the remainder of Hendlow's team could come up the middle and lay waste to them.
"In posit-- AGH! Goddamnit!" It was Griever. Kwon spoke next.
"He took a shot to the thigh. Nothing too serious." Kwon was as calm as ever; that was his truly redeeming quality. Then there was a faintly audible click; Kwon had activated Griever's EMR (Emergency Medical Requisition), or "doctor!", signal on his vest.
"Guttemeier, I want you up left with Kwon. Griever will be covering from hereon." He received two positive responses. Everyone was in line, and Hendlow was pleased thus far with his team.
Jack grunted at Hendlow's orders. He hadn't really heard the plan. Strolling a ways up the hill behind the LZ, Jack turned back towards the battle. "Sorry, cap'n... but I'll just hang back and shoot $#!†. Not feeling so hot." That was putting it mildly. Jack felt like he had a stake shoved through the side of his head. He dropped onto his back on the slope, pulling off his helmet. He coughed in the less-than-fresh air of the foreign atmosphere. He propped his sugar between his knees and lined the scope up with an eye. Laying back on the hill, Jack delivered the gift of death to unsuspecting lizards miles away.
Within a few moments, though, concentration slipped from him. His vision was blurring from pain, both neural and physical. Dropping his gun, Jack remembered his gear. Shoving his hand into his pack, he soon produced a thick hypodermic needle. Impatiently biting off the cap, Jack shoved it into his neck and emptied the entire load of pain killers.
Immediately the effects were felt. The misalignment in his vision came back together, focusing seemingly so much that his vision started to glow with the saturation of colors. An overpowering metallic taste came to his mouth, and his stomach lurched sickeningly. Jack's blood boiled with heat, yet at the same time felt icy cold. Slowly, his mind cleared, until it became hyperfocused, like his vision. Jack looked at the needle in his hand. Whatever this stuff was, it worked pretty damn good. He dropped the needle to the ground, not even considering the fact that he'd used way too much. Rising, Jack took up his gun and visor again and sprinted back down the hill.
"Sorry for the lag, Hendlow... feeling better now." Jack said with a grin as he came up behind the captain. Everything seemed to be moving in slightly slower motion, and he felt almost giddy in his new perception of reality. As he sniggered, Jack replaced his visor. "So... what needs killing?" he asked gleefully, tearing up with joy at the prospect of beating the life out of Drathonians.
Still on board the Hymn, Steven and the other pilots stood around chewing the butts of spent cigarettes as they anxiously waited. Finally, a voice came on over the loud speaker giving the group the signal they had been expecting. "Alright! You all heard that, so get to your bombers!" Steven shouted to the pilots, whom were scrambling to there ship even before Steven spoke. Making sure everyone was in, Steven went to his own shamshir and got on board.
Green One was already in the gunner seat when Steven sat in the pilot seat. "So, do you think this thing will hold up when we get out there?" the man asked jokingly.
"We will just have to wait and see, now wont we?" Steven joked in reply. But he then quickly turned his attention to downloading the target coordinates on to the NAV computer, and once that was finished he transmitted the same coordinates to the other pilots.
"System check. This is squadron leader Steven Kerning. Blink if you read me," he said over the squad comm channel. Six pilot confirmation lights winked to life on his HUD. "Get ready for launch."
After a few moments of silence the seven shamshirs shot out of the hanger.
Hendlow had merely sighed at the loss of Jack. The man was definitely not in his right man. After a few moments of silence, he regathered his thoughts and was about to begin ordering the next set of movements when Jack returned. He looked like shit still, but he was up and about, and in the old swing of things. That would be better than nothing, and the Captain smirked.
"Alright, Left Team, Right Team, advance. Keep a kill count, and estimated total lizards." Four clicks; the teams were on the move. Gunfire nearby erupted, and every few seconds a voice would come up declaring another one or two lizards down.
"Alright, keep gunfire suppressive only. Center Team, we're advancing." Three clicks. Hendlow looked at Jack for the "ready" confirmation before swinging out from cover and sprinting to the next defensive position. He dove into the hard-packed soil just behind the low-set barrier and sat against it, regaining his composure. Then he leaned around the side to add his own bullets to the suppression.
"What's your count, Left Team?"
"We have an estimated eight still living, six dead."
"Right Team?"
"We count ten still dug in, and we took four dead."
"Alright, we play it safe. There are twelve Drathonians in that pit. If you find fewer, center team, start putting bullets in skulls. Left, Right, suppress! We're moving!"
Once the gunfire started, Garrett came around the barrier and sprinted toward the Drathonian foxhole, Hachim and Donnell not far behind. Garrett only hoped Jack was short on their tails. Halfway between safety and the enemy, the Captain pulled a grenade and lobbed it in the hole. Immediately, four Drathonians began scrambling from the hole, trying to make a mad dash for safety. Garrett didn't even raise his bro; the pincer teams dropped the runners like flies. Then the grenade went off, and quite a few body parts went flying with a chorus of agonized shouts to mark their departure.
Then Garrett was at the lip of the hole, sliding down before the few living could figure out what was going on. He was in a crouch, the bro raised, and he unleashed a barrage of bullets. In these close quarters, the inaccuracy of the short rifle was nothing. He tore up both the living and the dead in a matter of seconds. Hachim and Donnell slid into the foxhole mere seconds later. Hendlow looked up to the lip of the hole, awaiting Jack's face. At the same time, he reported to the pincer teams, "Foxhole cleared. Hold position, and keep cover fire. We're going to try and put these barriers up the right way." Five clicks of acknowledgment. So far, so good.
Jack trotted up to the edge of the foxhole as the smoke cleared. He frowned. It appeared Hendlow had taken out all of the lizards on his own. What a hog. "What a shame... I was planning on having some fun with them." he muttered to noone in particular. Walking up to the captain, he spoke with a drawn out yawn. "So what's our next objective?" Jack fidgeted with his rifle a little boredly. He'd been here at least five minutes and barely killed anything. "Can't we just call up some engineer corpsmen to mess with these barriers?" Jack muttered as an indirect question to the captain.
Looking skyward, Jack saw a bomber formation streak across the sky. He half-wished he was a pilot right then... but then quickly remembered his poor piloting skills, along with the fact that it's much more satisfying to be up close and personal with your opponent. He was a little jealous that airmen didn't have to do so much sitting around all the time, however.
Jack's gaze followed the formation as it disappeared into the horizon, where his eyes met the earth. Even from this distance, the weapons fire and explosions could be seen peppering the edges of the forests and plains before him. He shifted a little uncomfortably, impatient with this false start against such easy targets... the real fighting was yet to be had. Jack looked expectantly at Hendlow, ready for his word.
Hendlow nodded with a smirk. "Exactly. And while we wait for them to get here, we're going to give them a headstart. Guttemeier, Donnell, get a start on the barriers, we'll keep the return fire up. Get to work!" Then he crouched in the foxhole and pressed a hand to either ear: to cover the one from interference, and the other to keep out excess noise while he spoke. "Command, we've got an advanced placement out here that needs some slight alterations. Get a small engineer team to my location ASAP. Tell the west flank to start moving forward as well, we've got a strong heading over here." There was a brief and fuzzy response, but he heard the confirmation and agreeance to his request.
He stood up again, and moved to the western side of the foxhole, using the level ground as a balancing surface for his bro. "It seems the only issue we'll be having is entering the woods. They're setting up makeshift bunkers and such amidst the trees. We might get a chance to go a little old school; if only we had bayonets, eh?" The Captain smirked, and let off a series of rounds whenever he saw some Drathonian stick his neck out.
Jack Gallagher followed his captain's lead, standing on the edge of the pit and firing out into the fields filled with crawling lizards. Frankly it was dull stuff, and Jack went about it with little pleasure. He could probably average about 50 kills a minute, but where was the fun in that? After a few minutes' work, the team of engineers arrived. Rushing along at their work, they made quick headway in restoring the fortifications. "Okay cappy, can we go kill kill now?" Jack gave a fantastically sincere grin to Hendlow, shouting his words like an enthusiastic child eager to get a new toy. "Plleeeeaaase? I saw lots of lizards over that way!" Jack pointed in the direction of the woods, adding a bit of a sly look to his grin. He was way too pumped full of god-knows-what to just sit around sniping. He needed some face smashing, and he needed it now.
After explaining to the engineers what they needed to happen, Garrett turned his attention to the over-stimulated Jack Gallagher standing beside him. With an awkward smirk, he nodded. "Yes, we're going to go do some heavy damage now." He looked around at his team. "This is the plan. Donnell, you're going to hang back with Griever. When we clear the next vantage point, move up. The rest of you, follow my lead. Jack's taking point. Cover his ass, and keep constant updates running. I want to know when you see them, when you kill them, hell I want to know when they shit themselves because you jumped out of the bush like Rambo. Everything. Got it?"
Garrett knew the reference to an age-old cinema probably wouldn't strike home with everyone, but he thought it gave them a clear message.
The shamshirs skimmed over the landscape as they went from one target to the next and leave nothing smoking craters behind. All in all their operation was going well. The pilots had encountered little trouble from enemy fighter, the vast majority of them already fighting other terran scimitars. And the squadron was doing quite well at avoid anti-aircraft fire from enemy flak guns by staying low.
Through the speakers of his headset, as well as over the squad comm channel, Steven displayed his innate ability to find odd songs to play at odd times. The song being a classic piece from one of Steven’s favorite composers; the time being just after the bomber squadron had drop one of its payloads on a target.
“Squad Lead, do you usually do this when your team flies missions?†one of the other pilots asked.
“No. Usually I play either rock or techno, but I thought a change would be good for our the Sigma Squadron,†Steven reply nonchalantly as he multi-tasked checking coordinates and entering in commands.
“Sigma? Sir, did you just make that up off of the top of your head or is ‘Sigma’ our actual call sign?†a different pilot interjected.
“Actually, it is a combination of both. We didn’t have a call sign, so I took it upon myself being the Squad leader and all to think up a sign,†he explained. “That is not a problem is it?â€
No one replied, but several red flashes showed up on Steven’s HUD.
“Does that mean ‘No, I don’t like it’ or ‘No, there is no problem’?†Green 1 called to him from the rear gunner’s seat. Both he and Steven had a good laugh, but were brought back to reality as one of the other pilots came on over the comm channel,
“Squad Lead, several groups of Terran ground forces are requesting our assistance. How should we respond?†they asked.
“Tell them that assistance is on the way,†Steven replied as he began entering in the new coordinates into the navigation computer.
Jack's eyes shot wide at Hendlow's words. His eyes welling up with tears of joy, he snapped into position. "Ready go!" he shouted as he leapt out of the pit. He sprinted towards the nearest line of fortifications dotting a nearby hillside, his teammates firing a barrage of green all about him. Wild shouts filled his squad com. He could tell he had them more than a little panicked. The few Drathonians dumb enough to stick their necks out before Jack reached the barriers met a quick end at the hands of his teammates.
Moments later, Jack was to the walls. Deftly leaping in a fantastic arc, Jack came down expertly on top of the barrier. Startled, three Drathonians looked up from the trench below. Grinning, Jack was already in the air when they saw him. The two to his left quickly went down as he swung his sugar past them, pounding the rounds straight through them at point blank range. As he reached his target, the third lizard in the line, he brought the side of his rifle pounding into the side of the helpless creature's head. "HOME RUN!!" The weak alien skull was nearly rent from its body as the head jerked in a loud 'crunch' with Jack's rifle. Landing in a rough pile on his latest victim, Jack was quickly up and moving through the trench in search of more playthings. "Hey captain, you were right," he chuckled into the com, "I really wish I had a bayonet right now." Gleefully, Jack grabbed the neck of the lone Drathonian he had snuck up behind and brought it's head slamming down into the muzzle of his Tiger. "Bye bye." he whispered in its ear as its face splattered on the earthen wall in front of them.
After approximately five minutes of waiting at the landing site, Kai's squad was ordered to move out. Apparently the first wave had been successful at securing a few advanced positions, and were ready to move out. Kai's squad was to fill in the holes left by their initial push. " Allright, men, Let's move it!" He yelled, the body-armor clad group setting off at a trot from the base of the hill towards the front.
The Shamshir bombers had broken off into groups so that they could run several bombing runs to help the marines down on the ground. Steven's bomber and two other bombers were skimming along just above the tree line going towards the next bombing location. For the most part bombing runs were a boring way to fly and Steven was much more interested in flying scimitars. The groups had encountered little anti-air so far except for around the larger targets, and Steven had yawned several times so far at the sight of empty skies in front of them. The silence was finally broken by the voice of one of the other pilots just off Steven's left wing.
"Squad leader, we are approaching the next target zone. It will be in sight shortly off to our right," said a crisp sounding female voice.
"Understood. Adjusting course on my mark," Steven replied.
The bombers turned and were soon able to see the next target zone. From a cursory scan it looked to be a fortified Drathorian bunker. "Sir, there is no sign of any anti-air position," said the female pilot.
"Hm, it appears so, but don't let your guard down. Considering the level of fortifications in the area it seems odd that there would be no defence against an air strike. There might be hidden flak guns hidden within the trees and undergrowth," Steven advised the other pilots in the group. "And secondary gunners remain on the lookout for enemy fighters."
As the bombers approached the pilots discovered that there were in fact flak guns within the trees and were prepared for them. The bombers swerved and spun to avoid in coming fire. All went well and the pilots were quickly approaching the drop location, and Steven was about to give the signal to drop commence the barrage of ballistics when one of the secondary gunners abruptly reported that there were several scourge fighters coming in on the group's six o'clock. This last piece of information surprised Steven, for he had not expected to see such a large group of reserve enemy fighters. He at once opened the comm channel with the Hymn and requested immediate assistance from any scimitar squadrons in the area. Presented with the current situation Steven called off the bombing run and ordered the group to initiate evasive maneuvers. The three bombers began to split and execute one of the basic maneuvers, but what normally would be a very effective and quick tactic in a scimitar, was now sluggish and excruciatingly dull in the less maneuverable shamshir.
While focusing on avoiding enemy fire and keeping an eye on the rest of his group, Steven momentarily lost sight of how close the trees were getting. He looked back just in time to pull up sharply and sighed as he heard the tops of the trees scrape the underside of the bomber. Relief, however, turned quickly to frustration and a sense of failure. Somewhere along the line he had made a tactical error. Why he felt this way was unclear to him, but soon understood when his secondary gunner let out an excited yell. "Ballistic missiles gaining on our six!" And sure enough Steven's NAV computer emitted a shrill siren signifying that missiles were locked on to him.
"Sigma squadron, this is squad leader. I have missiles closing on me. I am going to try and shake them," Steven said over the squad's comm channel. With that having been said he began to drift the bomber wistfully to the left. With the touch of a button he released a shower of anti-ballistic flak from a rear compartment on the bomber. Several of the missiles either detonated or collided and exploded in a ball of fire, but through the smoke yet more missiles came. This time to close and to quick for the ship's defense mechanisms. Two of the missiles overshot him as he dropped his altitude but the other three followed and connected with Steven's left wing. After that everything happened in a confusing blurr.
Alarms were blaring. Smoke was filling the compartment. A fire on the control counsel. Steven chanced a look up and he saw trees above him. The shamshir was spinning, that meant his wing was blown off. He reached for the eject button on the counsel, but wondered if it would be safe when he was just a hundred feet or so off the ground, and when the bomber was rolling. no time. He pushed the button when he saw sky above him. He was now flying through the air along with the secondary gunner. And the last thing he remembered before hitting the trees was his parachute deploying trying desperately to slow the two men, and the sight of the shamshir crashing into the ground. Upon reaching the ground and the parachute getting tangled in a tree, Steven blacked out.
Through the lens on her electrically magnified scope, Clarissa watched the situation unfold in the skies above the trees and the ground. Curious about how it would play out she watched the Terran shamshir work desperately to try and shake the homing missile that were trailing close behind. She looked away almost right after she started to watch, for she did have a job to do and flying was the pilot's job not hers. Looking back down the long barrel of her standard issue sniper rifle she scanned for enemy movement within and around the Drathonian fortifications. Aside from the occasional explosion and sound of gun fire, the wooded area she occupied was vacant of any sound what-so-ever. She was just about to increase the zoom on her scope when an loud blast rang out from over head, and without even shifting her eyes she concluded that the fighter had been struck by the pursuing missiles. Her attention was however diverted when the previous blast was followed by an earth shaking explosion. Glancing up from the scope for a half second she saw a large plume of smoke rising probably a two miles away. The explosive it was carrying must have blown she thought. Just before looking away she saw two parachutes out of the corner of her eye. At least they are alive she thought as the two drifted down into the trees. But she also saw some of the scourge fighters that had pursued the bomber touch down a mile off to her right and about a half mile from where the two pilot has drifted.
"At least now there is something to shoot at," she whispered to the air next to her. Slowly and precisely she shifted the angle of the rifle and trained it on the mid point between the pilots and the lizards. Then she waited.
When he woke, Steven saw the world around him as if he were looking at it from a great distance. Kind of like he were looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars. He was unsure of just how long he just stared at the ground as it gently swayed back and forth beneath him. But when he finally woke up the will power to try and move his body it felt as if he had just been on the wrong end of an ass kicking. Ever muscle in his body screamed in protest as he lifted his head to look at his surroundings and gauge just what had happened. He was oddly surprised to first find out that it was not the ground that was moving, but that it was in fact he that was the one moving. Now looking up he saw his parachute deeply tangled in a gnarled old tree.
"Well that answers one question," he groaned as he rubbed his aching muscles. Another question was answered soon after. He spyed his compatriot lying about a hundred feet away on the ground in a heap on broken tree limbs and shredded parachute. From what Steven could see the man was either unconscious or dead, but he greatly hoped that it was the first one.
The next order of business was for Steven to get himself out of the tree he was in. He pulled a small knife out of his pocket and began to saw through the tangled chords. After almost ten minutes of cutting he was done with the last cable and he dropped from the tree. Although, as he fell, he realized he had not tried to find out just how high off the ground he was, and after plummeting roughly fifteen or twenty feet he landed with a audible thunk on the hard ground. "Well, that was graceful," he joked as he stood up and brushed himself off. When he had checked himself for any injuries or broken bones he walked over to the collapsed pilot. Everything was fine with the pilot except for the fact that he was unconscious, and Steven began dragging the man out of the clearing and over to the base of the tree he himself had fallen from.
Shortly thereafter, Steven finished doing everything the military survival book said to do in the event of a crash landing. He had treated the minor wounds on both himself and the other pilot, who was still unconscious, and had gathered together all the emergency survival packs that had come with them during the ejection from the bomber. Now all he had to do was sit tight and wait for either a nearby marine brigade to come and rescue him or a band of drathonians to come and kill him. And perhaps half an hour later Steven heard movement coming. Curious he stood up and cautiously made his way around the clearing, keeping to the trees, to where he could see who was approaching, praying to himself that it was the marines he had been waiting for. But to his dismay it was a group of three drathonians pilots. Immediately he pressed himself against a tree as a wave of intense fear washed through him. In the air he was eager to face any challenge, but on the ground he felt like he was a frightened child. And then he realized that the survival guide never told what to do in the event that you were being approached by three hostile drathonians.
Clarissa was used to waiting a long time to get a perfect shot at an enemy, so this wait was no trouble at all. She had been watching the progress of the drathonians as they moved hastily over the terrain, and she would have shot already for there were several chances to take out the drathonians but there was enough cover around the lizards that killing one would send the others into hiding. And she could only help the two stranded Terran pilots if she knew where the enemy was. But she still planned on taking down all three soon enough, for close to where the two pilots were was a good sized clearing. That was where she would take her shot.
When the three lizards finally neared the clearing she readied her gun to fire. She steadied the gun so that it pointed just out past the edge of the clearing, but there was one problem. One of the pilots had moved to almost the same spot the three lizards would come through.
Clarissa held her breath as the drathonians entered the clearing, as they walked right past the Terran pilot who look as if he were trying to get under the tree by how much he was pushing himself against it.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Steven no longer knew if the pounding he was hearing was the sound of the drathonians as they walked past him or if the sound was his heart beating in his ears. He didn't really care either. All he could think about was trying to be as invisible as possible. Whether it was working or not had yet to be seen. For the most part two of the three drathonians past by him and entered the clearing, and he didn't know where the third one had gone. Sooner or later the beasts would notice him, or stumble on the still unconscious pilot. In a rush of desperation Steven reach to his belt and slowly lifted the small side arm pistol that all pilots carried just for the hell of it, and then he carefully lifted it so that it was pointing at the back of the head of one of the drathonians. Although he knew that the small side arm would most like do very little to the drathonian, he still aimed it so he would feel just a little less hopeless. His finger tightened on the trigger and he prepared to fire.
Almost immediately after Steven's Shamshir went down, A squad got the order to go and rescue the two pilots, approximately four miles away from their current position. Linked to their HUD's were maps and locator beacons giving the approximate locations of the two pilots, as well as the nearest units who could be called for backup.
***
"Let's move out boys!" yelled Kai, his yellow hair sticking out of the back of his helmet, the body armour making the normally lanky young man look like he was average in bulk. The young captain then informed the squad he had previously been backing up of the situation. "Garret? this is Kai, we've got a crashed Shamshir about five miles from here, command has sent my squad to get them back, so we'll have to leave you for a while, think your boys can handle it?" With that, he took the Sugar rifle from his shoulder and ordered his squad to do the same. the small group of men complied before moving off into the forest. At first, the forest was quiet, but something was there, waiting, and Kai could feel his spine tingle, but didn't know why.
The job down in the trench was done within a few minutes. It was nothing more than a long series of ditches that curved along several hillsides as it made its way to the edge of the forest. Jack was with Kwon and Rutthinger, clearing out the east end. Shortly after reaching the end of the trenches, a wretched screach pierced the sky. The men covered their ears as a burning Shamshir went hurtling over their heads. Moments later the horizon directly ahead was alight as the vessel was ripped asunder, flaming debris floating down into the trees in the aftermath. A pair of parachutes disappeared into the trees in the distance.
Gallagher turned to the other two, still feeling the unnatural buzz of the painkillers. Damn those things worked good. "Yo Kwon, did you freaking see that? Looks like there's some stranded pilots out there. Better check it out." Rutthinger cut in as Jack turned towards the forest. "Orko, don't you think we should radio Hendlow before heading in? We should keep the squad together." Jack laughed at the remark. "Yeah, yeah, yeah... whatever." Reluctantly, and against the buzz of the drugs, Jack mellowed a bit. Hopping back into the ditch, Jack linked up to his squad com. "Yo yo! Hendlow, you there? It's Jack. We've spotted a Shamshir crash about 2 clicks east of our position. What should we do? Over." Nothing but static greeted Jack Gallagher's message.
"Guys, I can't get through to Hendlow, can you?" The others met similar failure. Jack tried the Hymn, patching through to a maneuvers op. "Hymn, over. This is Private Gallagher. I've located a downed Shamshir, and the pilots seem to have ejected safely. I can't seem to reach my captain. Privates Kwon, Rutthinger and I are approximately 2 clicks from the position. Requesting orders, over." The lieutenant on the other end took a moment, apparently looking at the information on the crash. "Roger that, Private Gallagher. I'm reading Shamshir Alpha downed near your coordinates. Don't bother waiting for your captain, he's probably down. Dispatch gave orders to a squadron to extract them, but they seem to be about 8 clicks out. Proceed to grid 798-431, my sensors are indicating the pilots landed there. Be careful... I'm picking up a Drathonian battalion headed in that direction from the north. Extract them and fall back on the other squadron's position. I'll try relaying your coordinates to the rest of your squad. Over and out."
Jack turned to the other two as the orders ended. What the hell did he mean by the captain probably being down? The vice slowly pressing in on his brain didn't give him the time to think about it. He hoped to hell Hendlow was alright, though. He relayed the news to the others. "A battalion?!," Rutthinger asked, dumbfounded. "Isn't that like, a thousand units?" Jack shrugged. "I have no freaking idea. All I know is we need to get to those pilots before the lizards do." Nodding to the other two men, Jack hopped out of the ditch and sprinted through the short barren stretch between the trench and the forest. Kwon and Ruth (Rutthinger's name had to be abbreviated, you can get shot in combat while trying to yell the guys name.)were at his heels. Fortunately, they all made it across without anyone being shot in the head by a sniper.
Once in the slightly denser region of the woods, Jack slowed. He plugged the coordinates the maneuvers op had relayed to him into his HUD. A topographic map displayed their destination as well as their location. "Okay, guys, looks like we've got a 30 minute jog to get to the coordinates. You'd better hope I see some lizards on the way, because my trigger finger is getting itchy already." Jack's eye gave a noticable twitch. He was being serious. The three shouldered their rifles and began their trudge.
~~~~~~
Thirty minutes later, the group had reached its destination. The map showed a likely stretch of about 1/4 of a square kilometer ahead of them in which the pilots could have landed. Jack palmed his gun and whispered to the other two simply, "This is it." The painkillers were already starting to lose their edge, and Jack could feel himself on the verge of a crash. There was no telling what would happen when the numb feeling went away. Although he couldn't feel a damn thing, there was a distinguishable pressure crushing in on his brain, making it difficult to focus.
They were on their guard here, with a good chance of an entire battalion of Drathonians popping out at any given moment. Cautiously, they fanned out a little, and proceeded forward slowly. It didn't take long to find what they were looking for: the shredded remains of a parachute in pile of broken branches. Apprehensively, they looked around for its owner. He wasn't in sight, but Jack quickly spotted something equally rewarding: a pair of Drathonian pilots with their backs turned on the other edge of the clearing. Ever-so-silently, Jack alerted his two squadmates, who vanished into the undergrowth to cover him. Jack shouldered his sugar once more, instead taking up his Tiger rifle. Stepping behind a tree, he aimed and fired. The only sign of the shot was the low whimper of the first pilot as he fell forward. The second one was dead before he realized what was going on. Cautiously, Jack turned on his heat vision. There was no doubt more lizards to shoot... and he intended to find them. He just hoped their battalion wasn't getting close...
Steven's whole world was silent and empty and he was unable to see anything except the drathonian in front of him. It reflected his thoughts, as the only thing his mind could comprehend was 'shoot'. As his adrenaline levels peaked his finger squeezed the trigger as hard as he could manage. The silence never changed. As Steven collapsed back against the tree again he realized that he had not taken the gun off of safety. This made him remember the fact that he had never actually shot anything before, he had shot down enemy fighters more times than he could recall, but he had never pulled a trigger.
Cursing himself he flicked the safety switch so that it was ready to fire. Looking back at the drathonians he saw that they were slowly getting closer to the unconscious pilot. Choosing from severely limited options, he lifted the gun again, aimed at the back of one of the drathonian's head, and pulled the trigger. Needless to say, the silence was gone.
Clarissa watched as the two lizards fell and heard the gun fire. She didn't even need to look to see what had ruined her shot. "Marines," she growled through grinding teeth, "They always manage to screw up a shot!" After uttering a few other 'choice' words, she swung the Sugar to the right located the third lizard and lined up the sights, but to her surprise where there had once been one there were now four lizards. Calculating the variables needed for the shot, she pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times.
Three shots, and three dead lizards. The fourth had ducked back into the trees and out of her line of sight. She was once again fuming, for she was being forced to do what snipers were trained not to do. She got up and started running in the direction of the target.
Jack swore as a squad of lizards coming into the clearing were disrupted by a barrage of fire. Bright green streaks flew through their skulls, dropping three of the four. Jack could only assume he had some kind of support... by the looks of it the shots were so angular that they had to have been taken from a high, distant point. Another sniper had beaten him to the kill. Cursing, he charged the clearing, flicking the semi-automatic setting on his Tiger rifle. He peppered the brush the survivor had leapt into, hearing the death throes of a Drathonian that had been shot a dozen times. Kwon and Ruth remained hidden, and Jack knew the other two were no doubt awaiting the army of lizards about to descend on their position. Jack yelled the first thing that came to mind. "Pilots! If you're alive get yer butts out here, there's a whole damn army of lizards headed straight for us!" The hoarse shout pierced the clearing, and Jack crouched apprehensively, praying he wasn't in the sights of some hidden Drathonian. "Come on!" he yelled, a bit louder than before.
Steven had curled up at the base of the tree as more shots were fired. This was getting to be to much. But the shots stopped almost as soon as they started, and then they were replaced by the sound of someone shouting. He cautiously lifted his head from behind one of the large roots he used for cover and saw a group of marines and some dead lizards. Still a bit shaken he stood up and ran past the marines to where he had hid the unconscious pilot. "Hey! one of you guys give me a hand here!" he said as he began lifting the man.
Jack followed after Steven to his unconscious comrade. "Kwon! Help carry this guy. Ruth, you're point. I'll take up the rear and cover you. Pilot guy, we'll be beating a hard retreat to an incoming support squad that should get you to safety. Okay guys, get a move on! I'll hang back a ways and make sure the lizards don't run up your butts." Kwon and Ruth obediently followed his orders. Despite being practically out of his mind, Jack was capable of commanding the situation.
As the other four men hustled towards the south, Jack hung back for a minute, making sure they had a good margin of safety behind them. Shortly thereafter, an alert pinged in on his HUD from the Hymn. Sensors were showing the column of Drathonians had entered his grid. Already he could hear the hum of tanks in the distance and shouted orders. Cussing, Jack ran out of the clearing, wishing he could do more. If worst came to worst, he'd have to slow down the lizards if they gained too much on the others.
Clarissa sprinted almost a good mile and a half over uneven ground before slowing down and stopping. Dropping to the ground and looking through her scope she did another survey of the area. The marines had successfully evacuated the two pilots out of the clearing, but for some reason one of the marines was hanging back. This little piece of information became even more confusing when she saw a fairly large group of drathonians approaching the clearing. She quickly made up her mind to stay were she was, which was about a mile to Jack's right, instead of making her way back to Terran field outpost. Snipers were trained as scouts and they were not trained to engage large groups of hostiles, but this was where her options conflicted each other. For it was also the obligation of a sniper to support the marines if it was required. And, to make matters worse, Clarissa recognized the lone marine, and he wasn't her favorite person to say the least.
Quieting her thoughts, she took aim at one of the several drathonians and waited for the time to take the shot.
She walked alongside the Drake responsible for the next group of Grunts, discussing the tactics to be used in this battle, â€You will utilize the soldiers given you and spare no-one in your path.†he ordered grimly. She nodded silently, knowing that such orders would never be followed.
Still was disguised as a Sauran, having taken the appearance and voice of the one she killed earlier. The disguise tech was uncomfortable, yes, but it did its job well, fooling all the Drathonian she had come in contact with. She thought about how getting used to the tail was hard, but it did have its advantages. Such as better balance and an extra weapon for close combat.
Her thoughts were interrupted by their arrival. The hangar bay was ready for the departure of the 4 Scourge fighters she would be ‘commanding’.
The Drake dismissed her, and she headed towards the four Scourge pilots waiting for her orders. â€You will follow my orders with no other thought. Understood?†Her reptilian company nodded, knowing that if they disobeyed higher orders they would not be spared. In a race where there were so many, death was considered trivial. â€We will fly to the coordinates pre-programmed into the autopilot, and deviations will not be accepted. Only shoot on my command. If your ship is compromised in any way, you must self-destruct.†She was confident that the Grunts understood, and ordered them to their ships.
She entered the Scourge with ease, thanks to the long tail aiding her balance. She closed the Hull and flicked a switch, starting the energy flow in the ship. â€Grunts, lift-off in 3-2-...“, She started to raise her ship off the ground, “1.†They took off into the air, keeping a relative distance from the ground, and heading to the set coordinates. She smiled slyly to herself, and opened a separate comm. link to the Hymn. “Int.(stands for ‘intelligence’, done for speed) Officer S. Reporting mission status to the Hymn. I am currently in air with 4 Grunts in following. They have orders to obey me completely. Over. She waited for a response, keeping an eye on the other Scourge fighters. They still had about ten minutes until they reached the fighting. â€We have received transmission. It is good to hear from you again S. Your mission status has been recorded and continuation of mission has been approved. Over.†The reply came in with a crackle. She acknowledged and broke the transmission, then opened one to her Grunts. â€Shields should now be placed at o%.†she ordered. She received and outraged shriek from one, â€But then we will have no protection!â€
â€I am your Suaran, yes? You shall obey me or termination will be deemed necessary.†She had expected as such, but her statement rendered the Grunt silent, and she monitored as each turned shields to 0%. She kept hers up, knowing that only her Scourge had the equipment to monitor shielding. They were now about 4 minutes from the fighting, and she made up her mind to begin ‘termination’, as the Drathonians would put it. She slowed her Scourge abruptly, causing it to screech backwards behind the others. Cries of confusion echoed in the comm. link as she did so. She then aimed and fired, each bullet going to its mark. The howling of torn ship surrounded her, and she raised her altitude to survey the destruction, one of the Scourge fighters following. She grinned with satisfaction and looked to the other ship. â€Good work!†She grinned through the comm. link, which now had only one other recipient. “â€Indeed.†Her partner confirmed.
Up above the turmoil on the ground, the sky was alive lights. Scourges and scimitars wove in and out of each others formations, trying to shoot the other out of the air while avoiding anti-air fire from the ground and suppressing fire from space. In orbit, the squad of shamshirs awaited the signal that would let them know that it was their turn to go. Every pilot was on edge for the upcoming battle, after all, it wasn't everyday that they fought within the confines of an atmosphere, but everyone was looking forward to the challenge. Their anticipation could also be credited to the fact that every pilot there was flying a new shamshir and not the scimitars that they were so accustomed to.
Steven looked around at the faces of his friends and fellow pilots. Some of them were smoking, a few were just gossiping, and one of them was praying. That last one puzzled Steven, but he quickly brushed away the thought as something caught his eye. "When did they let you out of the infirmary?" Steven called out to a man who was walking over to him.
"They finally said that I was well enough to fly again. So I thought I would stop by and see what you were doing," Green 1 replied with a laugh, "And it looks like I came just in time, for it appears that you have no secondary gunner."
"It is good to have ya back on the team buddy," Steven said with a nod.
Captain Hendlow stood in one of the transports looking solemn. The smoke slowly swirling from the tip of cigarette only added to the cinematic effect. And much like one would expect, his mind was elsewhere: namely, the upcoming battle. They were going planetside. That meant explosives would require entirely different applications. While he had once worked on a planet, he was not accustomed to it. His load-out was the best he could think of, but he still worried that there was some situation for which he had not accounted. He couldn't worry over it all day, however, so he had forced himself to toss the backpack full of dangerous gear beneath one of the restraining seats.
And there was more to it. Although he had been a Captain for quite some time, never before had he been requested to command a squad. Now they were pushing onto him the responsibility of the lives of others. Jack was on the roster along with eight others: a team of ten. Still, one familiar face was not consolation enough. The others were all green, having been recruited only in the last year. Only four of them had participated in a battle previously, and only one of those four had experienced another before that. Two of the four, including the "veteran," had experienced the loss of body parts. That was something of a relief. They knew what to expect. Still, four of his ten-man team knew nothing of battle.
He sighed as the cigarette burned out and tossed it in a small bin. He could hear the steady plodding of boots: his team was on its way.
Twenty minutes later, he was sitting in a restraint chair, the harness hugging him with a death snare. A few quiet murmurs and moans could be heard: Hendlow wondered why they ever thought it okay to recruit men prone to motion sickness. As the thought finished, he heard someone's stomach give way, and watched the noon lunch float by to his left. Slowly, he shook his head.
Five minutes later, they were on the ground, and the hatches were opening. He slung on his backpack, buckled it, and snatched up a bro on his way out the back. "Get cover, keep your head down, and wait for further commands!"
Game on.
Jack trundled out of his seat as the craft landed, his brain still whirring from the replacement of half his body that had taken place not half an hour ago. Stumbling up behind Hendlow, his vision blurred. Jack shook his head vigorously at the four Hendlows that stood before him, closing his eyes tight in a strained blink. Chemicals, phsychosis, and foreign body parts combined in a nauseating daze.
Nothing he could do about that, though. The overworked doctors in the infirmary had seen it fit to release every body that was still warm to fight in whatever battle he was about to step into. Jack had no concept of what it really was; the fog surrounding his brain only allowed him to comprehend that he had to shoot some lizards. The basic concept was simple enough, he probably didn't have to know much more, anyway.
Jack didn't know when it had happened, but now he was wearing his combat armor, and his sugar was in hand. His tiger was also strapped to his back, though Jack hardly noticed its presence. As he followed Hendlow out the hatch, he could faintly make out the captain's shouted words. It was like he was hearing it from underwater; Jack knew he had said something but hardly knew what. It didn't matter, really. In his aching mind, Jack formulated his simple plan: follow Hendlow, shoot every lizard you see, don't lose any more limbs.
Jumping through the hatch, Jack had a feeling that today would have been better spent in a hospital bed. His foot coming down with a squish on the head of a fallen Drathonian, Jack could hardly imagine why. An enormous, dumb smile crossed his face. With a suck, he dislodged his foot from the crushed head and strolled into the awaiting battlefield. Butcher to the slaughter.
Hendlow sensed faint laughter coming from behind him.
Hendlow was crouching behind a portable, makeshift metal barrier with room for five; six if you were looking for a few good men to take with you when the grenade rolls by. Currently, though, he and Jack were the only ones. He glanced only briefly at the sound of laughter. Jack hadn't been quite himself since they landed, and he didn't think too much of it at the moment. He sighed and sat on his heels, back to the barrier.
The area was rather bland; they were in the midst of an open plain. To their back was a series of rocky hills, smothered with Terran snipers. Ahead of them were thick forests of lush greens and reds and other vibrant colors not typically found on Earthen flora. That's where the Drathonians were coming from, and they had managed to dig in some ditches in the plains, but they hadn't made much ground since. The Terrans were repelling attackers quite well, and the higher levels of command had their own series of ditches near the base of the hills, a low-profile ops center.
Garrett glanced at Jack again. The man was far gone. He sighed and tapped his extremely small earpiece. He spoke quietly. "Can anyone hear me?" He received seven replies. "Who are we missing?"
Bad news already. The private whom had seen two previous battles had lost his head to a Drathonian sniper rifle. So much for that "veteran" status. Hendlow sighed for a third time. "Status and location," he asked his men. Slowly, and according to alphabetical order, each responded, giving good reports on their personal health and their locations relative to Hendlow's.
"Good, good," he murmured to no one in particular. There was a pause for a few seconds as he began planning. "Griever, Kwon, you're left pincer. Harvard, Rutthinger, you're right pincer. The rest of us will be providing cover fire until you're in position. Then we'll move up the center, and blow the hell out of those Drathonians attempting to set up barricades."
The plan was for a two-man team on either side to pin the Drathonian "engineers," if they could be called that, in the foxhole they'd dug out. Then, with them unable to return fire, the remainder of Hendlow's team could come up the middle and lay waste to them.
"In posit-- AGH! Goddamnit!" It was Griever. Kwon spoke next.
"He took a shot to the thigh. Nothing too serious." Kwon was as calm as ever; that was his truly redeeming quality. Then there was a faintly audible click; Kwon had activated Griever's EMR (Emergency Medical Requisition), or "doctor!", signal on his vest.
"Guttemeier, I want you up left with Kwon. Griever will be covering from hereon." He received two positive responses. Everyone was in line, and Hendlow was pleased thus far with his team.
Jack grunted at Hendlow's orders. He hadn't really heard the plan. Strolling a ways up the hill behind the LZ, Jack turned back towards the battle. "Sorry, cap'n... but I'll just hang back and shoot $#!†. Not feeling so hot." That was putting it mildly. Jack felt like he had a stake shoved through the side of his head. He dropped onto his back on the slope, pulling off his helmet. He coughed in the less-than-fresh air of the foreign atmosphere. He propped his sugar between his knees and lined the scope up with an eye. Laying back on the hill, Jack delivered the gift of death to unsuspecting lizards miles away.
Within a few moments, though, concentration slipped from him. His vision was blurring from pain, both neural and physical. Dropping his gun, Jack remembered his gear. Shoving his hand into his pack, he soon produced a thick hypodermic needle. Impatiently biting off the cap, Jack shoved it into his neck and emptied the entire load of pain killers.
Immediately the effects were felt. The misalignment in his vision came back together, focusing seemingly so much that his vision started to glow with the saturation of colors. An overpowering metallic taste came to his mouth, and his stomach lurched sickeningly. Jack's blood boiled with heat, yet at the same time felt icy cold. Slowly, his mind cleared, until it became hyperfocused, like his vision. Jack looked at the needle in his hand. Whatever this stuff was, it worked pretty damn good. He dropped the needle to the ground, not even considering the fact that he'd used way too much. Rising, Jack took up his gun and visor again and sprinted back down the hill.
"Sorry for the lag, Hendlow... feeling better now." Jack said with a grin as he came up behind the captain. Everything seemed to be moving in slightly slower motion, and he felt almost giddy in his new perception of reality. As he sniggered, Jack replaced his visor. "So... what needs killing?" he asked gleefully, tearing up with joy at the prospect of beating the life out of Drathonians.
Still on board the Hymn, Steven and the other pilots stood around chewing the butts of spent cigarettes as they anxiously waited. Finally, a voice came on over the loud speaker giving the group the signal they had been expecting. "Alright! You all heard that, so get to your bombers!" Steven shouted to the pilots, whom were scrambling to there ship even before Steven spoke. Making sure everyone was in, Steven went to his own shamshir and got on board.
Green One was already in the gunner seat when Steven sat in the pilot seat. "So, do you think this thing will hold up when we get out there?" the man asked jokingly.
"We will just have to wait and see, now wont we?" Steven joked in reply. But he then quickly turned his attention to downloading the target coordinates on to the NAV computer, and once that was finished he transmitted the same coordinates to the other pilots.
"System check. This is squadron leader Steven Kerning. Blink if you read me," he said over the squad comm channel. Six pilot confirmation lights winked to life on his HUD. "Get ready for launch."
After a few moments of silence the seven shamshirs shot out of the hanger.
Hendlow had merely sighed at the loss of Jack. The man was definitely not in his right man. After a few moments of silence, he regathered his thoughts and was about to begin ordering the next set of movements when Jack returned. He looked like shit still, but he was up and about, and in the old swing of things. That would be better than nothing, and the Captain smirked.
"Alright, Left Team, Right Team, advance. Keep a kill count, and estimated total lizards." Four clicks; the teams were on the move. Gunfire nearby erupted, and every few seconds a voice would come up declaring another one or two lizards down.
"Alright, keep gunfire suppressive only. Center Team, we're advancing." Three clicks. Hendlow looked at Jack for the "ready" confirmation before swinging out from cover and sprinting to the next defensive position. He dove into the hard-packed soil just behind the low-set barrier and sat against it, regaining his composure. Then he leaned around the side to add his own bullets to the suppression.
"What's your count, Left Team?"
"We have an estimated eight still living, six dead."
"Right Team?"
"We count ten still dug in, and we took four dead."
"Alright, we play it safe. There are twelve Drathonians in that pit. If you find fewer, center team, start putting bullets in skulls. Left, Right, suppress! We're moving!"
Once the gunfire started, Garrett came around the barrier and sprinted toward the Drathonian foxhole, Hachim and Donnell not far behind. Garrett only hoped Jack was short on their tails. Halfway between safety and the enemy, the Captain pulled a grenade and lobbed it in the hole. Immediately, four Drathonians began scrambling from the hole, trying to make a mad dash for safety. Garrett didn't even raise his bro; the pincer teams dropped the runners like flies. Then the grenade went off, and quite a few body parts went flying with a chorus of agonized shouts to mark their departure.
Then Garrett was at the lip of the hole, sliding down before the few living could figure out what was going on. He was in a crouch, the bro raised, and he unleashed a barrage of bullets. In these close quarters, the inaccuracy of the short rifle was nothing. He tore up both the living and the dead in a matter of seconds. Hachim and Donnell slid into the foxhole mere seconds later. Hendlow looked up to the lip of the hole, awaiting Jack's face. At the same time, he reported to the pincer teams, "Foxhole cleared. Hold position, and keep cover fire. We're going to try and put these barriers up the right way." Five clicks of acknowledgment. So far, so good.
Jack trotted up to the edge of the foxhole as the smoke cleared. He frowned. It appeared Hendlow had taken out all of the lizards on his own. What a hog. "What a shame... I was planning on having some fun with them." he muttered to noone in particular. Walking up to the captain, he spoke with a drawn out yawn. "So what's our next objective?" Jack fidgeted with his rifle a little boredly. He'd been here at least five minutes and barely killed anything. "Can't we just call up some engineer corpsmen to mess with these barriers?" Jack muttered as an indirect question to the captain.
Looking skyward, Jack saw a bomber formation streak across the sky. He half-wished he was a pilot right then... but then quickly remembered his poor piloting skills, along with the fact that it's much more satisfying to be up close and personal with your opponent. He was a little jealous that airmen didn't have to do so much sitting around all the time, however.
Jack's gaze followed the formation as it disappeared into the horizon, where his eyes met the earth. Even from this distance, the weapons fire and explosions could be seen peppering the edges of the forests and plains before him. He shifted a little uncomfortably, impatient with this false start against such easy targets... the real fighting was yet to be had. Jack looked expectantly at Hendlow, ready for his word.
Hendlow nodded with a smirk. "Exactly. And while we wait for them to get here, we're going to give them a headstart. Guttemeier, Donnell, get a start on the barriers, we'll keep the return fire up. Get to work!" Then he crouched in the foxhole and pressed a hand to either ear: to cover the one from interference, and the other to keep out excess noise while he spoke. "Command, we've got an advanced placement out here that needs some slight alterations. Get a small engineer team to my location ASAP. Tell the west flank to start moving forward as well, we've got a strong heading over here." There was a brief and fuzzy response, but he heard the confirmation and agreeance to his request.
He stood up again, and moved to the western side of the foxhole, using the level ground as a balancing surface for his bro. "It seems the only issue we'll be having is entering the woods. They're setting up makeshift bunkers and such amidst the trees. We might get a chance to go a little old school; if only we had bayonets, eh?" The Captain smirked, and let off a series of rounds whenever he saw some Drathonian stick his neck out.
Jack Gallagher followed his captain's lead, standing on the edge of the pit and firing out into the fields filled with crawling lizards. Frankly it was dull stuff, and Jack went about it with little pleasure. He could probably average about 50 kills a minute, but where was the fun in that? After a few minutes' work, the team of engineers arrived. Rushing along at their work, they made quick headway in restoring the fortifications. "Okay cappy, can we go kill kill now?" Jack gave a fantastically sincere grin to Hendlow, shouting his words like an enthusiastic child eager to get a new toy. "Plleeeeaaase? I saw lots of lizards over that way!" Jack pointed in the direction of the woods, adding a bit of a sly look to his grin. He was way too pumped full of god-knows-what to just sit around sniping. He needed some face smashing, and he needed it now.
After explaining to the engineers what they needed to happen, Garrett turned his attention to the over-stimulated Jack Gallagher standing beside him. With an awkward smirk, he nodded. "Yes, we're going to go do some heavy damage now." He looked around at his team. "This is the plan. Donnell, you're going to hang back with Griever. When we clear the next vantage point, move up. The rest of you, follow my lead. Jack's taking point. Cover his ass, and keep constant updates running. I want to know when you see them, when you kill them, hell I want to know when they shit themselves because you jumped out of the bush like Rambo. Everything. Got it?"
Garrett knew the reference to an age-old cinema probably wouldn't strike home with everyone, but he thought it gave them a clear message.
The shamshirs skimmed over the landscape as they went from one target to the next and leave nothing smoking craters behind. All in all their operation was going well. The pilots had encountered little trouble from enemy fighter, the vast majority of them already fighting other terran scimitars. And the squadron was doing quite well at avoid anti-aircraft fire from enemy flak guns by staying low.
Through the speakers of his headset, as well as over the squad comm channel, Steven displayed his innate ability to find odd songs to play at odd times. The song being a classic piece from one of Steven’s favorite composers; the time being just after the bomber squadron had drop one of its payloads on a target.
“Squad Lead, do you usually do this when your team flies missions?†one of the other pilots asked.
“No. Usually I play either rock or techno, but I thought a change would be good for our the Sigma Squadron,†Steven reply nonchalantly as he multi-tasked checking coordinates and entering in commands.
“Sigma? Sir, did you just make that up off of the top of your head or is ‘Sigma’ our actual call sign?†a different pilot interjected.
“Actually, it is a combination of both. We didn’t have a call sign, so I took it upon myself being the Squad leader and all to think up a sign,†he explained. “That is not a problem is it?â€
No one replied, but several red flashes showed up on Steven’s HUD.
“Does that mean ‘No, I don’t like it’ or ‘No, there is no problem’?†Green 1 called to him from the rear gunner’s seat. Both he and Steven had a good laugh, but were brought back to reality as one of the other pilots came on over the comm channel,
“Squad Lead, several groups of Terran ground forces are requesting our assistance. How should we respond?†they asked.
“Tell them that assistance is on the way,†Steven replied as he began entering in the new coordinates into the navigation computer.
Jack's eyes shot wide at Hendlow's words. His eyes welling up with tears of joy, he snapped into position. "Ready go!" he shouted as he leapt out of the pit. He sprinted towards the nearest line of fortifications dotting a nearby hillside, his teammates firing a barrage of green all about him. Wild shouts filled his squad com. He could tell he had them more than a little panicked. The few Drathonians dumb enough to stick their necks out before Jack reached the barriers met a quick end at the hands of his teammates.
Moments later, Jack was to the walls. Deftly leaping in a fantastic arc, Jack came down expertly on top of the barrier. Startled, three Drathonians looked up from the trench below. Grinning, Jack was already in the air when they saw him. The two to his left quickly went down as he swung his sugar past them, pounding the rounds straight through them at point blank range. As he reached his target, the third lizard in the line, he brought the side of his rifle pounding into the side of the helpless creature's head. "HOME RUN!!" The weak alien skull was nearly rent from its body as the head jerked in a loud 'crunch' with Jack's rifle. Landing in a rough pile on his latest victim, Jack was quickly up and moving through the trench in search of more playthings. "Hey captain, you were right," he chuckled into the com, "I really wish I had a bayonet right now." Gleefully, Jack grabbed the neck of the lone Drathonian he had snuck up behind and brought it's head slamming down into the muzzle of his Tiger. "Bye bye." he whispered in its ear as its face splattered on the earthen wall in front of them.
After approximately five minutes of waiting at the landing site, Kai's squad was ordered to move out. Apparently the first wave had been successful at securing a few advanced positions, and were ready to move out. Kai's squad was to fill in the holes left by their initial push. " Allright, men, Let's move it!" He yelled, the body-armor clad group setting off at a trot from the base of the hill towards the front.
The Shamshir bombers had broken off into groups so that they could run several bombing runs to help the marines down on the ground. Steven's bomber and two other bombers were skimming along just above the tree line going towards the next bombing location. For the most part bombing runs were a boring way to fly and Steven was much more interested in flying scimitars. The groups had encountered little anti-air so far except for around the larger targets, and Steven had yawned several times so far at the sight of empty skies in front of them. The silence was finally broken by the voice of one of the other pilots just off Steven's left wing.
"Squad leader, we are approaching the next target zone. It will be in sight shortly off to our right," said a crisp sounding female voice.
"Understood. Adjusting course on my mark," Steven replied.
The bombers turned and were soon able to see the next target zone. From a cursory scan it looked to be a fortified Drathorian bunker. "Sir, there is no sign of any anti-air position," said the female pilot.
"Hm, it appears so, but don't let your guard down. Considering the level of fortifications in the area it seems odd that there would be no defence against an air strike. There might be hidden flak guns hidden within the trees and undergrowth," Steven advised the other pilots in the group. "And secondary gunners remain on the lookout for enemy fighters."
As the bombers approached the pilots discovered that there were in fact flak guns within the trees and were prepared for them. The bombers swerved and spun to avoid in coming fire. All went well and the pilots were quickly approaching the drop location, and Steven was about to give the signal to drop commence the barrage of ballistics when one of the secondary gunners abruptly reported that there were several scourge fighters coming in on the group's six o'clock. This last piece of information surprised Steven, for he had not expected to see such a large group of reserve enemy fighters. He at once opened the comm channel with the Hymn and requested immediate assistance from any scimitar squadrons in the area. Presented with the current situation Steven called off the bombing run and ordered the group to initiate evasive maneuvers. The three bombers began to split and execute one of the basic maneuvers, but what normally would be a very effective and quick tactic in a scimitar, was now sluggish and excruciatingly dull in the less maneuverable shamshir.
While focusing on avoiding enemy fire and keeping an eye on the rest of his group, Steven momentarily lost sight of how close the trees were getting. He looked back just in time to pull up sharply and sighed as he heard the tops of the trees scrape the underside of the bomber. Relief, however, turned quickly to frustration and a sense of failure. Somewhere along the line he had made a tactical error. Why he felt this way was unclear to him, but soon understood when his secondary gunner let out an excited yell. "Ballistic missiles gaining on our six!" And sure enough Steven's NAV computer emitted a shrill siren signifying that missiles were locked on to him.
"Sigma squadron, this is squad leader. I have missiles closing on me. I am going to try and shake them," Steven said over the squad's comm channel. With that having been said he began to drift the bomber wistfully to the left. With the touch of a button he released a shower of anti-ballistic flak from a rear compartment on the bomber. Several of the missiles either detonated or collided and exploded in a ball of fire, but through the smoke yet more missiles came. This time to close and to quick for the ship's defense mechanisms. Two of the missiles overshot him as he dropped his altitude but the other three followed and connected with Steven's left wing. After that everything happened in a confusing blurr.
Alarms were blaring. Smoke was filling the compartment. A fire on the control counsel. Steven chanced a look up and he saw trees above him. The shamshir was spinning, that meant his wing was blown off. He reached for the eject button on the counsel, but wondered if it would be safe when he was just a hundred feet or so off the ground, and when the bomber was rolling. no time. He pushed the button when he saw sky above him. He was now flying through the air along with the secondary gunner. And the last thing he remembered before hitting the trees was his parachute deploying trying desperately to slow the two men, and the sight of the shamshir crashing into the ground. Upon reaching the ground and the parachute getting tangled in a tree, Steven blacked out.
Through the lens on her electrically magnified scope, Clarissa watched the situation unfold in the skies above the trees and the ground. Curious about how it would play out she watched the Terran shamshir work desperately to try and shake the homing missile that were trailing close behind. She looked away almost right after she started to watch, for she did have a job to do and flying was the pilot's job not hers. Looking back down the long barrel of her standard issue sniper rifle she scanned for enemy movement within and around the Drathonian fortifications. Aside from the occasional explosion and sound of gun fire, the wooded area she occupied was vacant of any sound what-so-ever. She was just about to increase the zoom on her scope when an loud blast rang out from over head, and without even shifting her eyes she concluded that the fighter had been struck by the pursuing missiles. Her attention was however diverted when the previous blast was followed by an earth shaking explosion. Glancing up from the scope for a half second she saw a large plume of smoke rising probably a two miles away. The explosive it was carrying must have blown she thought. Just before looking away she saw two parachutes out of the corner of her eye. At least they are alive she thought as the two drifted down into the trees. But she also saw some of the scourge fighters that had pursued the bomber touch down a mile off to her right and about a half mile from where the two pilot has drifted.
"At least now there is something to shoot at," she whispered to the air next to her. Slowly and precisely she shifted the angle of the rifle and trained it on the mid point between the pilots and the lizards. Then she waited.
When he woke, Steven saw the world around him as if he were looking at it from a great distance. Kind of like he were looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars. He was unsure of just how long he just stared at the ground as it gently swayed back and forth beneath him. But when he finally woke up the will power to try and move his body it felt as if he had just been on the wrong end of an ass kicking. Ever muscle in his body screamed in protest as he lifted his head to look at his surroundings and gauge just what had happened. He was oddly surprised to first find out that it was not the ground that was moving, but that it was in fact he that was the one moving. Now looking up he saw his parachute deeply tangled in a gnarled old tree.
"Well that answers one question," he groaned as he rubbed his aching muscles. Another question was answered soon after. He spyed his compatriot lying about a hundred feet away on the ground in a heap on broken tree limbs and shredded parachute. From what Steven could see the man was either unconscious or dead, but he greatly hoped that it was the first one.
The next order of business was for Steven to get himself out of the tree he was in. He pulled a small knife out of his pocket and began to saw through the tangled chords. After almost ten minutes of cutting he was done with the last cable and he dropped from the tree. Although, as he fell, he realized he had not tried to find out just how high off the ground he was, and after plummeting roughly fifteen or twenty feet he landed with a audible thunk on the hard ground. "Well, that was graceful," he joked as he stood up and brushed himself off. When he had checked himself for any injuries or broken bones he walked over to the collapsed pilot. Everything was fine with the pilot except for the fact that he was unconscious, and Steven began dragging the man out of the clearing and over to the base of the tree he himself had fallen from.
Shortly thereafter, Steven finished doing everything the military survival book said to do in the event of a crash landing. He had treated the minor wounds on both himself and the other pilot, who was still unconscious, and had gathered together all the emergency survival packs that had come with them during the ejection from the bomber. Now all he had to do was sit tight and wait for either a nearby marine brigade to come and rescue him or a band of drathonians to come and kill him. And perhaps half an hour later Steven heard movement coming. Curious he stood up and cautiously made his way around the clearing, keeping to the trees, to where he could see who was approaching, praying to himself that it was the marines he had been waiting for. But to his dismay it was a group of three drathonians pilots. Immediately he pressed himself against a tree as a wave of intense fear washed through him. In the air he was eager to face any challenge, but on the ground he felt like he was a frightened child. And then he realized that the survival guide never told what to do in the event that you were being approached by three hostile drathonians.
Clarissa was used to waiting a long time to get a perfect shot at an enemy, so this wait was no trouble at all. She had been watching the progress of the drathonians as they moved hastily over the terrain, and she would have shot already for there were several chances to take out the drathonians but there was enough cover around the lizards that killing one would send the others into hiding. And she could only help the two stranded Terran pilots if she knew where the enemy was. But she still planned on taking down all three soon enough, for close to where the two pilots were was a good sized clearing. That was where she would take her shot.
When the three lizards finally neared the clearing she readied her gun to fire. She steadied the gun so that it pointed just out past the edge of the clearing, but there was one problem. One of the pilots had moved to almost the same spot the three lizards would come through.
Clarissa held her breath as the drathonians entered the clearing, as they walked right past the Terran pilot who look as if he were trying to get under the tree by how much he was pushing himself against it.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Steven no longer knew if the pounding he was hearing was the sound of the drathonians as they walked past him or if the sound was his heart beating in his ears. He didn't really care either. All he could think about was trying to be as invisible as possible. Whether it was working or not had yet to be seen. For the most part two of the three drathonians past by him and entered the clearing, and he didn't know where the third one had gone. Sooner or later the beasts would notice him, or stumble on the still unconscious pilot. In a rush of desperation Steven reach to his belt and slowly lifted the small side arm pistol that all pilots carried just for the hell of it, and then he carefully lifted it so that it was pointing at the back of the head of one of the drathonians. Although he knew that the small side arm would most like do very little to the drathonian, he still aimed it so he would feel just a little less hopeless. His finger tightened on the trigger and he prepared to fire.
Almost immediately after Steven's Shamshir went down, A squad got the order to go and rescue the two pilots, approximately four miles away from their current position. Linked to their HUD's were maps and locator beacons giving the approximate locations of the two pilots, as well as the nearest units who could be called for backup.
***
"Let's move out boys!" yelled Kai, his yellow hair sticking out of the back of his helmet, the body armour making the normally lanky young man look like he was average in bulk. The young captain then informed the squad he had previously been backing up of the situation. "Garret? this is Kai, we've got a crashed Shamshir about five miles from here, command has sent my squad to get them back, so we'll have to leave you for a while, think your boys can handle it?" With that, he took the Sugar rifle from his shoulder and ordered his squad to do the same. the small group of men complied before moving off into the forest. At first, the forest was quiet, but something was there, waiting, and Kai could feel his spine tingle, but didn't know why.
The job down in the trench was done within a few minutes. It was nothing more than a long series of ditches that curved along several hillsides as it made its way to the edge of the forest. Jack was with Kwon and Rutthinger, clearing out the east end. Shortly after reaching the end of the trenches, a wretched screach pierced the sky. The men covered their ears as a burning Shamshir went hurtling over their heads. Moments later the horizon directly ahead was alight as the vessel was ripped asunder, flaming debris floating down into the trees in the aftermath. A pair of parachutes disappeared into the trees in the distance.
Gallagher turned to the other two, still feeling the unnatural buzz of the painkillers. Damn those things worked good. "Yo Kwon, did you freaking see that? Looks like there's some stranded pilots out there. Better check it out." Rutthinger cut in as Jack turned towards the forest. "Orko, don't you think we should radio Hendlow before heading in? We should keep the squad together." Jack laughed at the remark. "Yeah, yeah, yeah... whatever." Reluctantly, and against the buzz of the drugs, Jack mellowed a bit. Hopping back into the ditch, Jack linked up to his squad com. "Yo yo! Hendlow, you there? It's Jack. We've spotted a Shamshir crash about 2 clicks east of our position. What should we do? Over." Nothing but static greeted Jack Gallagher's message.
"Guys, I can't get through to Hendlow, can you?" The others met similar failure. Jack tried the Hymn, patching through to a maneuvers op. "Hymn, over. This is Private Gallagher. I've located a downed Shamshir, and the pilots seem to have ejected safely. I can't seem to reach my captain. Privates Kwon, Rutthinger and I are approximately 2 clicks from the position. Requesting orders, over." The lieutenant on the other end took a moment, apparently looking at the information on the crash. "Roger that, Private Gallagher. I'm reading Shamshir Alpha downed near your coordinates. Don't bother waiting for your captain, he's probably down. Dispatch gave orders to a squadron to extract them, but they seem to be about 8 clicks out. Proceed to grid 798-431, my sensors are indicating the pilots landed there. Be careful... I'm picking up a Drathonian battalion headed in that direction from the north. Extract them and fall back on the other squadron's position. I'll try relaying your coordinates to the rest of your squad. Over and out."
Jack turned to the other two as the orders ended. What the hell did he mean by the captain probably being down? The vice slowly pressing in on his brain didn't give him the time to think about it. He hoped to hell Hendlow was alright, though. He relayed the news to the others. "A battalion?!," Rutthinger asked, dumbfounded. "Isn't that like, a thousand units?" Jack shrugged. "I have no freaking idea. All I know is we need to get to those pilots before the lizards do." Nodding to the other two men, Jack hopped out of the ditch and sprinted through the short barren stretch between the trench and the forest. Kwon and Ruth (Rutthinger's name had to be abbreviated, you can get shot in combat while trying to yell the guys name.)were at his heels. Fortunately, they all made it across without anyone being shot in the head by a sniper.
Once in the slightly denser region of the woods, Jack slowed. He plugged the coordinates the maneuvers op had relayed to him into his HUD. A topographic map displayed their destination as well as their location. "Okay, guys, looks like we've got a 30 minute jog to get to the coordinates. You'd better hope I see some lizards on the way, because my trigger finger is getting itchy already." Jack's eye gave a noticable twitch. He was being serious. The three shouldered their rifles and began their trudge.
~~~~~~
Thirty minutes later, the group had reached its destination. The map showed a likely stretch of about 1/4 of a square kilometer ahead of them in which the pilots could have landed. Jack palmed his gun and whispered to the other two simply, "This is it." The painkillers were already starting to lose their edge, and Jack could feel himself on the verge of a crash. There was no telling what would happen when the numb feeling went away. Although he couldn't feel a damn thing, there was a distinguishable pressure crushing in on his brain, making it difficult to focus.
They were on their guard here, with a good chance of an entire battalion of Drathonians popping out at any given moment. Cautiously, they fanned out a little, and proceeded forward slowly. It didn't take long to find what they were looking for: the shredded remains of a parachute in pile of broken branches. Apprehensively, they looked around for its owner. He wasn't in sight, but Jack quickly spotted something equally rewarding: a pair of Drathonian pilots with their backs turned on the other edge of the clearing. Ever-so-silently, Jack alerted his two squadmates, who vanished into the undergrowth to cover him. Jack shouldered his sugar once more, instead taking up his Tiger rifle. Stepping behind a tree, he aimed and fired. The only sign of the shot was the low whimper of the first pilot as he fell forward. The second one was dead before he realized what was going on. Cautiously, Jack turned on his heat vision. There was no doubt more lizards to shoot... and he intended to find them. He just hoped their battalion wasn't getting close...
Steven's whole world was silent and empty and he was unable to see anything except the drathonian in front of him. It reflected his thoughts, as the only thing his mind could comprehend was 'shoot'. As his adrenaline levels peaked his finger squeezed the trigger as hard as he could manage. The silence never changed. As Steven collapsed back against the tree again he realized that he had not taken the gun off of safety. This made him remember the fact that he had never actually shot anything before, he had shot down enemy fighters more times than he could recall, but he had never pulled a trigger.
Cursing himself he flicked the safety switch so that it was ready to fire. Looking back at the drathonians he saw that they were slowly getting closer to the unconscious pilot. Choosing from severely limited options, he lifted the gun again, aimed at the back of one of the drathonian's head, and pulled the trigger. Needless to say, the silence was gone.
Clarissa watched as the two lizards fell and heard the gun fire. She didn't even need to look to see what had ruined her shot. "Marines," she growled through grinding teeth, "They always manage to screw up a shot!" After uttering a few other 'choice' words, she swung the Sugar to the right located the third lizard and lined up the sights, but to her surprise where there had once been one there were now four lizards. Calculating the variables needed for the shot, she pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times.
Three shots, and three dead lizards. The fourth had ducked back into the trees and out of her line of sight. She was once again fuming, for she was being forced to do what snipers were trained not to do. She got up and started running in the direction of the target.
Jack swore as a squad of lizards coming into the clearing were disrupted by a barrage of fire. Bright green streaks flew through their skulls, dropping three of the four. Jack could only assume he had some kind of support... by the looks of it the shots were so angular that they had to have been taken from a high, distant point. Another sniper had beaten him to the kill. Cursing, he charged the clearing, flicking the semi-automatic setting on his Tiger rifle. He peppered the brush the survivor had leapt into, hearing the death throes of a Drathonian that had been shot a dozen times. Kwon and Ruth remained hidden, and Jack knew the other two were no doubt awaiting the army of lizards about to descend on their position. Jack yelled the first thing that came to mind. "Pilots! If you're alive get yer butts out here, there's a whole damn army of lizards headed straight for us!" The hoarse shout pierced the clearing, and Jack crouched apprehensively, praying he wasn't in the sights of some hidden Drathonian. "Come on!" he yelled, a bit louder than before.
Steven had curled up at the base of the tree as more shots were fired. This was getting to be to much. But the shots stopped almost as soon as they started, and then they were replaced by the sound of someone shouting. He cautiously lifted his head from behind one of the large roots he used for cover and saw a group of marines and some dead lizards. Still a bit shaken he stood up and ran past the marines to where he had hid the unconscious pilot. "Hey! one of you guys give me a hand here!" he said as he began lifting the man.
Jack followed after Steven to his unconscious comrade. "Kwon! Help carry this guy. Ruth, you're point. I'll take up the rear and cover you. Pilot guy, we'll be beating a hard retreat to an incoming support squad that should get you to safety. Okay guys, get a move on! I'll hang back a ways and make sure the lizards don't run up your butts." Kwon and Ruth obediently followed his orders. Despite being practically out of his mind, Jack was capable of commanding the situation.
As the other four men hustled towards the south, Jack hung back for a minute, making sure they had a good margin of safety behind them. Shortly thereafter, an alert pinged in on his HUD from the Hymn. Sensors were showing the column of Drathonians had entered his grid. Already he could hear the hum of tanks in the distance and shouted orders. Cussing, Jack ran out of the clearing, wishing he could do more. If worst came to worst, he'd have to slow down the lizards if they gained too much on the others.
Clarissa sprinted almost a good mile and a half over uneven ground before slowing down and stopping. Dropping to the ground and looking through her scope she did another survey of the area. The marines had successfully evacuated the two pilots out of the clearing, but for some reason one of the marines was hanging back. This little piece of information became even more confusing when she saw a fairly large group of drathonians approaching the clearing. She quickly made up her mind to stay were she was, which was about a mile to Jack's right, instead of making her way back to Terran field outpost. Snipers were trained as scouts and they were not trained to engage large groups of hostiles, but this was where her options conflicted each other. For it was also the obligation of a sniper to support the marines if it was required. And, to make matters worse, Clarissa recognized the lone marine, and he wasn't her favorite person to say the least.
Quieting her thoughts, she took aim at one of the several drathonians and waited for the time to take the shot.
She walked alongside the Drake responsible for the next group of Grunts, discussing the tactics to be used in this battle, â€You will utilize the soldiers given you and spare no-one in your path.†he ordered grimly. She nodded silently, knowing that such orders would never be followed.
Still was disguised as a Sauran, having taken the appearance and voice of the one she killed earlier. The disguise tech was uncomfortable, yes, but it did its job well, fooling all the Drathonian she had come in contact with. She thought about how getting used to the tail was hard, but it did have its advantages. Such as better balance and an extra weapon for close combat.
Her thoughts were interrupted by their arrival. The hangar bay was ready for the departure of the 4 Scourge fighters she would be ‘commanding’.
The Drake dismissed her, and she headed towards the four Scourge pilots waiting for her orders. â€You will follow my orders with no other thought. Understood?†Her reptilian company nodded, knowing that if they disobeyed higher orders they would not be spared. In a race where there were so many, death was considered trivial. â€We will fly to the coordinates pre-programmed into the autopilot, and deviations will not be accepted. Only shoot on my command. If your ship is compromised in any way, you must self-destruct.†She was confident that the Grunts understood, and ordered them to their ships.
She entered the Scourge with ease, thanks to the long tail aiding her balance. She closed the Hull and flicked a switch, starting the energy flow in the ship. â€Grunts, lift-off in 3-2-...“, She started to raise her ship off the ground, “1.†They took off into the air, keeping a relative distance from the ground, and heading to the set coordinates. She smiled slyly to herself, and opened a separate comm. link to the Hymn. “Int.(stands for ‘intelligence’, done for speed) Officer S. Reporting mission status to the Hymn. I am currently in air with 4 Grunts in following. They have orders to obey me completely. Over. She waited for a response, keeping an eye on the other Scourge fighters. They still had about ten minutes until they reached the fighting. â€We have received transmission. It is good to hear from you again S. Your mission status has been recorded and continuation of mission has been approved. Over.†The reply came in with a crackle. She acknowledged and broke the transmission, then opened one to her Grunts. â€Shields should now be placed at o%.†she ordered. She received and outraged shriek from one, â€But then we will have no protection!â€
â€I am your Suaran, yes? You shall obey me or termination will be deemed necessary.†She had expected as such, but her statement rendered the Grunt silent, and she monitored as each turned shields to 0%. She kept hers up, knowing that only her Scourge had the equipment to monitor shielding. They were now about 4 minutes from the fighting, and she made up her mind to begin ‘termination’, as the Drathonians would put it. She slowed her Scourge abruptly, causing it to screech backwards behind the others. Cries of confusion echoed in the comm. link as she did so. She then aimed and fired, each bullet going to its mark. The howling of torn ship surrounded her, and she raised her altitude to survey the destruction, one of the Scourge fighters following. She grinned with satisfaction and looked to the other ship. â€Good work!†She grinned through the comm. link, which now had only one other recipient. “â€Indeed.†Her partner confirmed.