A SHOT ABOVE
An Ace Combat 04: Shattered Skies story
Soundtrack: "Stonehenge Attacks", Ace Combat 04: Shattered Skies. Extended version on YouTube by Zaptroxix.
Istas Fortress, Southern Usea, ISAF's GHQ
August, 2003
"Someone turn off that damn radio, I think I hear something!" called a certain ISAF sergeant. Almost immediately, one of the privates shut off the radio. "Now everyone, shut up!" called the sergeant. The barracks became completely silent as the soldiers looked up to the sky hearing a faint roar.
And then it got closer. It was a sound like no other. It pierced the sky like an arrow, ripping its way through the atmosphere. It was almost an explosion, but not loud enough to be one. Closer and closer it came, until it struck. There was a massive explosion near the barracks, and the room was filled with ash and smoke.
Most of the soldiers passed out, many asphyxiating on the gas.
"Come on, private! I'm not leaving you here!" called a mysterious voice. I was half-conscious, and could barely tell who it was. The voice then picked me up, hauling me out of the barracks. My eyes were watering due to the smoke, and I could barely see my surroundings of the barracks outside. I then passed out again.
"Yeah...His name's Altman. He's my new private. He was fine a minute ago, then he passed out again."
"We'll see what we can do. CAN I GET A PA OVER HERE!"
"Vitals are down. Looks like we'll have to use our...wait...he's waking up!"
I was laying down on a stretcher as medics glanced over me. One of them had a pair of defibrillators, and was about to press on my chest. I waved my hand vaguely to show I was fine. The medics then immediately left without warning to tend to different wounded soldiers.
"Altman! You okay?" called Sergeant Tillings. He was the mysterious voice. He saved my life.
"I'm fine, sir. What's happening?"
"That's sergeant to you! I don't know, it's some sort of air attack, but I don't see any enemy planes. We gotta get to the armory, something's happening. We're at war!"
And then we left.
Istas Fortress Control Tower #3
"What the hell was that?" called one of the officers in the tower.
"I've got no idea. Towers one and two have been hit. I figure we're next." called the superior officer in the room, a first lieutenant.
"Well then, we have to get out of here!" called the first officer, already getting up from his seat.
"Stand your ground, we may have to evacuate, but we gotta do something in retaliation. Should we scramble fighters? We don't have orders…"
Just then a major stepped into the tower, ash on his face. He interrupted the lieutenant. "Yes, scramble fighters. That's an order. The Erusians just launched a surprise attack against this fortress. I think they're using the superweapon they stole from the FCU…"
"Sir, I've got a massive flight of bombers, fighters and transports coming right for us!" called out one of the radar operators.
"How many?" called the major.
"At least 200."
"Damn. You better scramble those fighters right now." ordered the major.
The radio operators then frantically relayed the command to all airfields in the area, scrambling ISAF's forward defence fighters.
And then the roar came back.
Istas Fortress
We had moved toward the armoy, running at a sprint with all our strength. I glanced at Tillings, who had an open mouth. He and I were still trying to comprehend what on Earth was going on.
We had passed one of the control towers when the roar came back. I stopped running and glanced at the sky. A contrail moved at supersonic speed directly at me. I stood gazing up at it emotionless, mouth agape. The projectile had just about hit when Tillings grabbed and tackled me to the ground. I caught one final glimpse at the projectile as it exploded a couple feet above the control tower. The explosion pierced my ears as the pressure of the blast looked like it crushed the tower. If any one was in the building, they were dead now.
As for me, I heard nothing after the explosion. There was a bright, red residue in the air that I couldn't identify. Shrapnel had launched outward from the crushed building, but thankfully, Tillings had thrown me behind a small ridge that protected us from anything deadly.
We both lay there unmoving. The ringing in my ears seemed to never stop ceasing. I wanted to just pass out, but something wanted me to keep moving. That thing was Sergeant Tillings, who picked me up as we resumed our previous pace of an all out sprint.
After about two minutes running, we had finally reached the armory. Around it were several hundred other ISAF soldiers, each with the same perplexed look that Tillings and I had. No one knew what was going on, and no officers were present to give orders.
That was until Master Sergeant Owens stood up on a pile of rubble, presiding over the masses like a hawk. He was the man I called "drill instructor" for the past month. He was relentless, but taught us well. Yet no teaching could have prepared us for this.
"Alright, you lot!" he screamed in a northern accent along with his thick, gravelly voice. He had grown up around North Point, giving his voice extra emphasis on vowels. He continued, "We've got a flight of several bombers and transports incoming, obviously carrying paratroopers. Their strike took out most of the armory, so we're limited on resources. Every other man gets a rifle, the next one in line gets ammunition. When the first one dies, the second one picks up the rifle! We are not giving up the Fortress to Erusea today! All anti aircraft specialists get a Stinger! We will not lose!"
At that time, most soldiers let out a mighty "hoo-ah" and went inside the armory. Sergeant Tillings glanced at me, asking, "Aren't you an AA specialist?"
I had no idea what to say. "I - uhh… - I got training, but…"
"Can you operate a Stinger?"
"Yes, sergeant."
"Than you're an AA Specialist!" he ordered. I had received brief training from one of the actual AA specialists, who told me operating an air to air missile was a piece of cake. From how he described it, it really did seem like it was.
The line had moved along, with the horde of soldiers passing through what remained of the armory. A technical sergeant was handing out firearms.
"You get ammunition! Pick up a gun if you find one!" he called.
"Uhh-Sergeant, I'm an AA specialist."
"Take the ammunition anyways! But thank God you're a specialist. I thought they were all in Barracks 14? Y'know, the one that's now a pile of smithereens?" He had reached behind his shoulder, grabbing one of the massive missile launchers. I chose not to answer his question, remaining silent. As he bestowed the weapon upon me, my arms sank with the weight of the launcher. Hopefully I wouldn't have to sprint with this hunk of metal.
"Eh, well who cares. Here's you're Stinger to go! Enjoy your meal!"
The tech sarge handed Tillings an M4, which eased into his grip as if he held it every day of his life. After we attempted leave the armory, Master Sergeant Owens bellowed above the crowd, "Tillings! Where's your platoon?"
"He's right here! This rest choked to death in the first attack."
Owens frowned, contemplating a solution. "Fine. Your 'platoon' will protect hangar five! Now move!"
Tillings moved me along, placing his hand on my back. "Aight," he began, "follow me. I know right the hangar is. It's more of a pit, but…"
The faint roar returned, once more sending the ear-rupturing sound across the jungle of Istas Fortress.
My arms felt like jello as I lugged the Stinger to our destined location, about two miles away. It was quite the run, as most of Istas was rugged terrain. Many called it a "natural fortress", hence the strange attacks had continued, but as Tillings and I weren't near any important buildings, we were safe as we finally arrived at hangar five. Tillings wasn't kidding when he called the hangar a pit, as it was literally a massive hole in the ground maybe 100 feet deep. At the bottom were a couple harriers, one of which was hovering out of the hole to intercept the incoming bombers.
"How on Earth do they make those fly vertically?" I asked rhetorically.
Tillings answered, "What do I look like, a rocket scientist?" He was a simple man of military tradition. His father and his father and his father had all fought in some Usean war, or one of the World Wars. His dry humor always produced short answers to my endless questions, ending my curiosity. I think he said he was from San Salvacion, thus the slightly high pitched voice.
Now he looked at me like I had done something wrong.
"Sarge, what's the problem?" I muttered.
"Aren't you going to-y'know-set it up?" he half-ordered.
I came to my senses and realized that I had been standing there with the Stinger without doing or saying anything. "Oh! Yes, sergeant." I shouldered the launcher, looking for some of safety mechanisms. Aha, there were two buttons labeled "safety", each numbered one and two. I flipped the one switch and nothing happened. I flipped the two switch, and a repetitive beeping noise came from the mechanism. It was on and was locking. Since there were no targets, the beeping continued without ever getting to a monotone humm, which is what the AA Specialist told me meant that the missile had truly locked on.
"Are you sure you're supposed to do that?" asked Tillings.
"Yes, I'm 100% sure," I said.
Tillings shrugged, knowing nothing of rocket launcher anatomy.
There was an odd silence of nothing. No gunshots, no screams, no roar of jet engines or of those odd explosions. The Harriers in the hangar had all left, and were gliding in the sky getting into formation. Istas Fortress was home to around 80 fighters, which was a formidable amount. The Erusian formation only consisted of bombers and transports, easy targets for that amount of fighters.
Istas Fortress airspace, 20,000 feet above ground level
"Enemy formation about ten kilometers out, and closing," informed squadron leader Faulkner, callsign Omega Nine. He was an ISAF pilot who was from the Twinkle Islands, an archipelago just south of Erusea, the nation he was now defending against. The islands were formally independent of any Usean nations, until Erusea formally annexed it. Thankfully, Faulkner's family owned a decently sized boat, able to travel to the mainland in a day or two. On the way there, Faulkner wove the ship right past the Erusian fleet. They must've been doing something big there, they had already started construction on something.
But now he was on the continent, flying in a Typhoon in the "shattered skies" of Usea. As squadron leader, he was privileged to choose from a wide variety of aircraft, and the Typhoon was definitely the best, even compared to that new F-22. It was unmatched in maneuverability, but didn't have the fancy beep-boop stealth stuff of those new fighters.
His flight had organized around him, which consisted of 20 fighters, all Harriers. Compared to the Typhoon, Harriers were fledgelings of aircraft. But, since the targets had no escort, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. His flight, Omega flight, had already formed up in the air above Istas, while Victor flight had formed up a good kilometer away. Two other flights consisted of another flank, ready to form a pincer movement on the flight of bombers and transports.
"This is AWACS Albatross, all squadrons, you have permission to engage the enemy aircraft," called the local AWACS unit. Faulkner recognized the voice, a reminder of a past friend. Albatross had lived on the Twinkle Islands with Faulkner and even was part of the same scout troop that he was in way back in his teenage years. They weren't especially close, but the fact that they were together now in a war showed how changed the world was. Two friends were now ready to fight and possibly die for a cause, thought Faulkner.
The two massive formations of ISAF fighters now began the pincer movement on the enemy formation. It was then that Faulkner noticed something new: the quiet. The bombardment had stopped. Apparently the superweapon had been silenced, or had ceased firing. Faulkner shrugged it off as a mere coincidence, and continued his course to the enemy formation of C-130s and TU-95s. They were old aircraft, for sure, but effective when undisturbed. Unfortunately for the enemy pilots, they wouldn't be.
Faulkner pulled the throttle lever forwards, slightly separating his plane from the rest of his flight. He had dibs on the first kills, as this would be the first real battle he had been in since the Coup that happened a couple years ago. He yearned for action. For the exhilarating feeling of a dogfight. For air combat.
He pushed his thoughts aside as he heard a faint noise come over the horizon. Damn. The booming came back, louder than ever. It appeared as though there were 12 projectiles, much more than the single bombardments that occurred earlier.
And they were heading right toward his flight. His flight members, all new to air combat, assumed that the shells were heading straight to the ground, but Faulkner thought the better of it. He remembered the superweapon was created for shooting down asteroid fragments, so he figured it could shoot down aircraft in the same manner.
"All aircraft, break formation now!" he shouted as he dove from his previous location. Unfortunately for his flight, it was too late. The supersonic shells exploded in and around both formations, combining to form a massive single explosion that imploded any doomed aircraft within.
The blast blinded Faulkner's eyes, as he half-passed out from the shock. It was then that his g-suit compressed, pushing blood to his head and regaining his consciousness,
An electronic voice in Faulkner's aircraft called out, "STALL. STALL. STALL."
Faulkner finally composed himself enough to realize that his plane was in a rotation stall, spinning and falling from the sky. He knew there was no recovery from the position. He fumbled around the cockpit, trying to grab the yellow lever at his feet. He finally found it and pulled.
Istas Fortress, Hangar Five
"Holy crap!" I shouted as a massive explosion appeared in the place our fighters once were. They were the same explosions that appeared on the ground mere moments earlier. Now, their power had created a massive circle of light in the sky almost as bright as the sun.
"Guess we won't have air support," mused Tillings. It appeared he was taking this very lightly. I felt like this wasn't the first time he had seen this power.
"So...we're on our own?" I asked.
"Yes, but of course, we do have some troops to the rear of us. But let's pray we don't have to retreat…"
I was seriously doubting that we could take on all the soldiers alone.
We waited silently for about two minutes, doing nothing but accepting the fate that we would be in war in a few seconds.
The flight soared above us, creating a scene of a sky filled with ominous black spots. The storm was coming. Yet this scene of black slowly turned into white as parachutes clouded our field of view. Even the bombers were dropping airborne units as men jumped out of the bomb bays.
I shouldered the rocket launcher and aimed at one of the transports. The beeping began as the missile locked onto the enemy aircraft. The launcher emitted a low hum, indicating that it had looked on. Seeing as though this really was a piece of cake, I pulled the trigger.
The missile zoomed out of the launcher toward the transport, travelling at a fast speed. Sadly, it was much slower than what I thought it would be. The rocket was obviously out of range of the transport. Heck, the transport didn't even deploy flares. The missile ran out of fuel miles before hitting the transport.
Captain Obvious, my sergeant, said, "I think it's out of range. Shouldn't you know this stuff?"
"Sergeant, I told you I had a little training, not a lot. I know how to press a trigger, that's it."
Tillings chuckled. I guess he figured as much. "Well then, there's no point in us standing here in the open." He took my Stinger and threw it to the ground. That thing was probably valuable, but Tillings didn't care. It was useless with me, that's for sure.
Tillings led me across the plateau that the "hangar" was dug into. We passed a watchtower, which had two ISAF soldiers in it, each looking at the falling paratroopers with binoculars. One of them looked at me and tapped the shoulder of the other guard. He then pointed at me and said something softly to his counterpart.
"Nice shooting, hotshot!" called out the one who saw me first.
I wanted to say some wicked cool comeback, but my mind drew a blank. I stuttered and thankfully Tillings interrupted.
"We'll see about that! In two minutes, you two are going to be dead!"
The second guard chuckled and slapped the back of the other soldier.
"Aww… the little privates are threatening us! Don't worry, those damn Erusians won't attack, they wouldn't attack an empty hangar." It became clear that the men in the tower were observation officers, men designated to relaying commands to HQ and throughout the battlefield. It appeared they were taking the situation very lightly.
Tillings waved his hand in the air and turned around, beginning the jog again. Once we got out of earshot range of the sentries, he muttered, "officers…"
This time, the run was much easier. Sure, it was uphill, but at least I didn't have a 30 pound rocket launcher to carry. We were travelling to the peak of the plateau, which was a very rocky area. Tillings was smart, this area was filled with multiple rocks for cover. We stopped at a flat area of rock that overlooked the entire plateau, including the hangar and the watchtower. He drew the M4 and lied on the ground, attaching a bipod to the rifle. He then reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a telescopic scope, of which I had never seen before.
"Woah, sergeant. Where'd you get that?" I said.
"I had it before the war. It's a family heirloom, I suppose," he said. He attached the scope to the rifle, placing it though he had done it a thousand times. Perhaps he had. He changed the subject, "Master Sergeant Owens wants us to charge at the Erusians like a mass of mad Yuktobanians, but I have a better idea. Since we're so limited on ammo, we're going to snipe these idiots. Single shots. I know you don't have a gun, but you can spot for me. Just tell me where the enemies are and at what distance. Take these."
He handed me a pair of binoculars that were inside a worn-out leather case. Perhaps another "heirloom". I pulled them out and drew them to my eyes. Holy cow, these were high tech. Whenever you looked at something, a number appeared at the top of the screen, the distance. This was definitely not standard issue.
"Sarge, are these a family heirloo-"
"Here they come, start spotting or start dying. Pick your choice."
I shut my mouth and crouched behind a rock that was near Tillings. I drew the binoculars and gazed at the sky. There were about twenty parachutes heading straight for our plateau. I recognized their pattern as the group of paratroopers that jumped out of the transport I missed. Whoops…
Tillings stood still as a stone, gazing through his scope at the plateau. I noticed that he wasn't aiming at the air.
"20 targets, 400 meters. 200 meters above the ground and descending," I informed. Tillings adjusted his scope and continued aiming at the plateau. "Uh, sarge? Are you going to shoot them? I asked.
Tillings didn't move, but muttered, "What do I look like, a skeet shooter? No way on Strangereal am I hitting those targets. Heck, the best sniper in the world couldn't do that. Only an idiot would shoot paratroopers at that speed."
At that time, a couple of idiots in the watchtower started shooting at the paratroopers. Every shot missed as the officers forgot to factor the effect of gravity, wind and drag. It was evident that whenever Tillings shot, he would. I noticed one of the paratroopers in the air shoulder his rifle, holding something below the barrel. Now who would shoot from above…
He shot from above, firing an underbarrel grenade launcher at the watchtower. The structure exploded in a blaze of glory and started collapsing. The noise was quite loud, spiking my senses. Just before it crashed to the ground, one of the officers jumped out, landing on the ground after a 20 foot fall. He could still live, though his legs were probably broken. And then I noticed that he was on fire. He glared right at my position and I stared into his face with the binoculars, his eyes wide at me. He howled in pain as he suffered a slow, fiery death. This was the same man who called me hotshot a couple minutes ago. Geez.
I looked away. I can't take it. I almost wanted to vomit, until Tillings knocked me into my senses.
"Spot targets, if you please!"
I put on the binoculars and looked at the enemy force about to land. I eyed the soldier who had killed the observation officers as he was about to touch ground. "One soldier, 400 meters, right by the collapsed tower," I said.
Tillings swivelled the rifle towards the designated area and took in a deep breath. He shut his left eye and peeked into the scope like an eagle about to swoop in on his prey.
The soldier landed right next to the charred corpse of the observation officer. He then simply shot whatever remained of the officer to take him out of his misery, as Tillings held his fire. As soon as the soldier was finished, Tillings pulled the trigger.
The shot rang out, piercing my ears more than the bombardment from earlier. Man, I was not prepared for that. I covered my ears and dropped the binoculars.
"Keep spotting!" ordered Tillings. I picked up the binoculars and gazed at the battle scene. Thank God, the soldier that killed the officers was dead. There was a well-placed hole in his head made by Tillings.
I gazed at another fallen soldier who was just detaching his parachute. "One soldier, 347 meters, close to the pit." Tillings moved the gun effortlessly and shot the man in the chest. He fired again to make sure. A group of soldiers had landed near the corpse of the first soldier and were arming themselves. "Seven soldiers, 405 meters out, near the burning tower," I reported.
Tillings rotated the M4 back to the previous position and shot one of the men that had landed. The shot was off, it hit the man in the arm. He fell over as his comrades scrambled for cover. I could hear his scream all the way from our position as Tillings muttered a curse under his breath. He took aim again and shot a paratrooper who was just about to take cover behind the burning tower. This time, the bullet struck home as the soldier died.
The rest of the soldiers had successfully taken cover, all five of them cowered behind their makeshift defense. One of them raised his rifle over the barricade and blind fired in our direction.
He was as green as me, none of his shots got even close to us. He fired off every round in his clip and finally stopped shooting, lowering his arm behind cover. Tillings scoped in on his position and held the rifle perfectly still.
The private then raised his rifle again, revealing his hand, to which Tillings shot. There was another howl of pain as the paratrooper had lost his hand. The rifle fell to the ground and the fire ceased. One of the soldiers finally had the brains to deploy smoke as he threw a smoke grenade over the makeshift barricade right in our line of fire.
Tillings immediately picked up the rifle and said to me, "smoke may be good to cover your own position, but it prevents you from seeing the enemy. Let's relocate." He then glided across the rocks into another location, this one behind a massive boulder providing cover. He crouched and set up the rifle as I walked beside him. I raised the binoculars and gazed at the enemy position. Another group of paratroopers were landing all noticing the firefight below and preparing their weapons mid-flight.
"Six paratroopers, landing 20 meters Northwest of the tower."
Tillings didn't move, but instead focussed on the men behind the tower. This new location provided an even better line of sight, as we could easily see every man behind the tower, including the one who was attaching a bandage around his stump hand. Tillings took a deep breath and prepared to fire. He then let loose bursts of six bullets, each hitting a target save for one. The position was cleared.
The new paratroopers had all gone to the prone position instead of moving behind the once-effective defense that was the tower. It was then that a shot ricocheted off of the rock that protected us, the enemy was firing back. I looked at the hostile enemy and spotted, "One target, 23 meters northwest of the tower, prone."
Tillings swiveled the rifle around and immediately opening fire. The shot was too hastily taken, the bullet hit the ground a few meters from the assailant. A few other shots rang out around us as more enemies engaged us. Tillings closed both his eyes and took another deep breath. This time, he bided his time as he scoped in the man who was attempting to kill us.
The shot rang out as the bullet pierced the helmet of shooter. He was dead.
"One target, six meters west of the last one." Tillings honed in on the next target and shot him dead, also in the head. The next couple of targets, all also prone, were pie for Tillings. He had definitely done this before. I had some questions for him, but now, we were in the middle of the beginning of a continental war.
Several other groups landed on the plateau, all much smaller than the previous ones. Due to the flat terrain, all were killed by the relentless hand of Tillings. It appeared he felt no emotion as he took the life of many other human beings. I don't know how he did it.
Finally, it was over. There was a mass of corpses 400 meters from our position. Twenty one men were killed by Tillings. Once the engagement was over, he lifted the rifle and simply said, "Well that ends that."
I stood in awe of him. There was no way that he was just a sergeant! He just protected an entire position single-handedly! All I did was tell him where the enemy was! He just killed twenty men! My face was expressing all these thoughts with an odd look on my face as I raised my eyebrow.
"What's the matter with you?" said Tillings.
"Uhh...Nothing Sergeant. You're just so...so…"
"Devilishly handsome? Well sorry, Altman, but what part of 'don't ask, don't te-"
"Deadly!" I said.
Tillings looked at the ground and contemplated the answer. "Battle just does that to people. That's what my father said."
Aha! That was it! I prodded further as we walked down the plateau toward the dead paratroopers.
"So your father fought? In what war?"
"Grab a rifle from one of those soldiers, you're going to use it." He was changing the subject.
"Was he a sniper like you?"
"Grab a damn rifle," he ordered. Sheesh, someone's got parent problems. I then looked at one of the corpses. It was the man who killed the officers, who was using a G3 rifle with a grenade launcher that had obliterated the tower. Although I didn't want to touch the deadly weapon that had killed two men I had talked to mere minutes ago, I grabbed it. The grenades would be useful later. I grabbed a couple clips of ammunition and started running with Tillings.
"So where are we headed to now, sergeant?" I asked.
"Well, by this time, the Erusians have probably overran the armory and Scion airbase, since they're probably prime targets. So we're going to rendezvous with the rest of the main force, who are probably rallied behind the armory. We'll try to repel the remaining Erusian forces."
So Tillings and I began running back down the path toward the armory, moving at a faster pace due to the downhill slope. The plateau we were on was quite high up, and we could see all around Istas. It seemed as though the whole world was on fire; every major structure had taken a hit from whatever that superweapon was. Pillars of smoke rose into the skies, meeting the contrails of the enemy aircraft like a swirling waltz between black and white lines.
Tillings stopped running and moved his arm to the side to stop me. "Wait," he said. He grabbed the binoculars I had slung around my right shoulder and pressed them to his eyes. He then scanned the horizon and gazed off the path toward a grove of trees. Upon closer investigation, I could see a parachute caught in a tree. Instead of the circular designs that the Erusian paratroopers used, this one was more of a rectangle. In fact, it wasn't even white, it was a light green.
"That's one of ours," he said as he put the binoculars back in the pouch. He shouldered his rifle and started running again. Geez, this was tiring. My whole body groaned in complaint at running again, but I was actually curious at what was going on. We slashed through the trees, running straight through the brush. We were passing several tree trunks and were heading straight to the parachute.
Click. There was a sound of a pistol cocking behind me. I stopped dead in my tracks, as well as Tillings. Neither of us turned around.
"Who are you?" called a hoarse, wounded voice behind me.
"I'm Sergeant Tillings of the Independent State Allied Force, and this is Private Altman, also of ISAF."
"Thank God…" said the wounded man behind me. I heard the sound of a man collapsing and turned around. I saw an ISAF pilot lying on the ground below us, the look of a thousand yard stare from his eyes. I picked him up and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I was about to ask some questions when Tillings beat me to it.
"Who are you?"
"Captain Tyler Faulkner, Independent State Allied Air Forces. I was the squadron leader of Tactical Fighter Squadron 228, I led Omega flight…"
"That's enough. You can rest now. Altman, carry the Captain. We need to get him out of here."
And then we started running again, this time much slower due to the new weight. I was losing my breath quite fast, as we ran for miles. As we neared the armory, we stopped at a ridge about half a mile out, gaping at the battle. We could see the main battle, the clash of hundreds of Erusian paratroopers and the main ISAF defense force. It was an open terrain battle about 200 meters behind the armory, all rocky terrain. It appeared as though the sides had reached a stalemate, each side cowering behind a field of rocks to create their line of defense.
The peace was halted when I heard a massive voice bellowing over the scene. "FIX BAYONETS!" it said. Even from the extreme distance, I could tell that it was the booming voice of Master Sergeant Owens. He was rallying the remaining troops for one last stand against the Erusians.
"He's leading a suicide charge," commented Tillings. "Let's move, this will be the perfect cover." Tillings then lightly tapped the shoulder of Faulkner, trying to get him to consciousness. He came to, looking at my sergeant. "Captain, can you fly a helicopter?" asked Tillings.
"Are Erusians cocky?" mused Faulkner.
"Good, you have a sense of humor. You'll be fine, you probably just broke your leg in the fall," reported Tillings.
We gazed at the battle in front of us, Owens taking a prominent point among the ISAF line. He rallied, "Men, today is the day that the Erusians chose to attack us. They thought that today we would be weak! They thought today we would surrender! LET'S PROVE THEM WRONG! CHARGE!"
There was a massive roar of assent as a hundred ISAF soldiers leaped over the rock wall, charging at the enemy like a mad bull.
"Now's our chance, let's move!" ordered Tillings. We then moved into a full sprint, heading straight into the giant furball of combat. The Erusians were caught with their pants down and their pants soiled as a group of rambunctious, young, and loud ISAF soldiers charged at their position with the intent of killing every last one. As we weaved through the emerging soldiers, Tillings put a few rounds on Erusian positions, effectively suppressing them and protecting Faulkner and I.
As the ISAF forces neared the Erusians, the long-range engagement turned into all-out hand-to-hand fighting, as men were using bayonets, the butts of their rifles, and even their fists to deter enemy forces. We moved through the thick of it, running straight past many dead men of many different nationalities. The battle turns into a blur as I struggle to move as fast as I can. I heave oxygen in as my breath gets hoarse. My body tells me to take a break, but my will says otherwise.
And then the butt of a rifle hits my face. I collapse onto the ground, falling next to the corpse of an ISAF soldier.
It's Master Sergeant Owens, with a bullet hole in his forehead. He must've died as soon as the hand-to-hand fighting began. I finally turn my head around to view my assailant, a young Erusian officer. He looks inexperienced, as though he had never seen battle before. He was about my age.
Of course, he was also strangling Sergeant Tillings in a choke hold. I drew and shouldered my G3, aiming behind my sergeant. I precisely moved the sight onto the head of the young officer and fingered the trigger.
And then I pulled it.
The officer fell to the ground as Tillings immediately gave a quick nod to say thanks, then moved to help me with Faulkner, who was on the ground since the first fall. I lifted Faulkner to my shoulder again, wrapping his arm around mine.
"C'mon, let's get outta here!" ordered Tillings as we started the grueling pace once more. We ran as fast as we could through the massive battle as many bullets whizzed past us like hornets with a deadly sting. As we weaved through the battlefield, it became evident that the courage that the ISAF soldiers had at the beginning of the battle was not enough to deter the Erusian forces. Instead of engaging the ISAF men in hand-to-hand, which is what Owens opted for, the Erusians were moving a distance away and picking off the men at a distance. It was pure cowardice, but at least they didn't shoot the wounded like Faulkner.
We finally managed to get out of the battle unscathed, save for a bruise on my forehead from the rifle butt. We began the downward pace once again as we moved down the armory's plateau towards the helicopter base. Gun shots could still be heard even far away from the battle, but it appeared as though the final act of Owens bought us precious time. I finally saw the helicopter base ahead of us.
As we entered the facility through the barbed wire gate, one of the guards stood up from his position at the gatehouse.
"What are you doing here? This area is off limits to standard infantry," he said.
"The hell it isn't! We've got a downed pilot here who needs medical attention," argued Tillings.
The guard must've assumed that we were cowards trying to escape battle, since he said, "I'm sure he is. Last time I checked, all pilots were shot down thanks to whatever those explosions were," he taunted.
Faulkner came to consciousness without me knowing, and said, "It was Stonehenge."
All three of us gazed at Faulkner in a look of awe. No way was that possible. Stonehenge was built to shoot down asteroids, not aircraft.
"I used to be in Erusea's air force. I have information about Stonehenge that needs to get back to ISAF HQ," said Faulkner.
The guard stood in awe, finally forced to an answer, "Well then, I suppose you can pass. But not these men. They need to stay at the base."
"They're with me," said Faulkner.
"I'm not so sure about tha-" said the guard
"The proper response is 'yes sir', sergeant. I am a captain after all."
"Yes sir," muttered the guard as he opened the gate.
We then waltzed right into the base unopposed; the guard must've informed the rest of the base of our presence. Inside the base was an antenna, a couple fuel tanks, and of course, several helicopter pads. Thankfully, one of them had a CH-47 Chinook on it, which was guarded by a couple of privates and an officer. We approached them as Faulkner spoke up.
"Do you have a pilot here?" he asked.
The officer of the guard, a lieutenant, stepped forward to meet us, saying, "No sir. We presume you are one?"
"Yes I am, and I intend to leave this God-forsaken place."
"But what about the remaining ISAF forces? Perhaps some of them need evac?"
This time, Tillings piped up, "Sir, there are no remaining ISAF forces in the area, they were all just killed in a mass attack we witnessed. Captain Faulkner here needs to leave because he has crucial information about the superweapon the Erusians are using."
Faulkner nodded in assent and continued, "That's right. I believe that you men here are the only remaining forces in this section of Istas, so you all are welcome to join us. I'm a bit wounded, but I'm sure I can operate a helicopter just fine."
The officer gazed at the chinook and then around his base.
"We could pull it off," he said with a grin.
Just then, the officer's radio activated as a muffled voice came through, the voice of the gatehouse guard, and said, "Sir, Erusian forces are making their way down the hill. They're coming right for us!"
The officer squeezed the trigger of the walkie-talkie and ordered, "All men of Istas Fortress Post 29, report to the Chinook, we are retreating!"
In about a minute, Faulkner was in the pilot seat of the Chinook, starting the two massive blades of the craft. About 20 ISAF guards were also inside, all preparing for evac. I was standing closest to the pilot seat along with Tillings. At each side of the aircraft, there were two windows for gunners. It looked like you could put a wicked big gun there, but now, we had to suffice with our rifles.
I looked outside the window toward the front gate of the camp. The Erusians were getting closer and closer with every second. Tillings came behind me, gazing at the oncoming force likewise.
"Why don't you use that rifle of yours?" he said. "When I tell you to, I want you to shoot those fuel tanks with your grenade launcher. Not too late, not too early."
"Yes, sergeant," I said as I aimed my G3 at the fuel tanks near the front gate. This would be fun.
The Erusians, upon noticing our helicopter, started an all-out sprint to our base. I took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. Why wouldn't this helicopter take off already?
The men were at the gate, I could see their features. They were the same men that were at the earlier battle, and now they were hungry for more.
Finally, the massive chopper lifted off the ground. I was practically hyperventilating in fear as the Erusians used a grenade launcher to blow open the front gate. Tillings sensed-err, heard, my plight and came behind me once again. "Calm down, all you gotta do is pull a trigger once I tell you to. Wait for it…"
The Erusians entered the gate.
"Wait for it…"
The Erusians regrouped at the front of the base, about 20 of them. Our chopper lifted off even more.
"Wait for it!"
One of the Erusians opened a bag he had on his back. Inside was a rocket launcher.
"Not now!"
The Erusian shouldered the rocket launcher as many more entered the front gate. Our chopper was practically airborne.
"Now!"
I pulled the trigger as a large projectile left the barrel of the launcher. A loud poof could be heard from the launcher. And then it struck home, hitting the fuel tank right between the figurative eyes. The explosion was a massive fireball of intense heat and power, sending a couple Erusians soaring and screaming.
Dang, I'm a good shot.
Our helicopter finally managed to clear the barbed wire fence as we soared through the air. I moved up to the front seat to speak to Faulkner.
"Sir, may I ask where we're going?" I said.
"Anywhere but here!" he remarked.