"Banshees! Fast and low!"
Ice flooded through Private First Class Byron Wells's veins at this latest development. As hot and heavy plasma projectiles rocked their bird from side to side, the pilot and the sarge shouted at each other over the sounds of this recovery mission going to hell in a handbasket. The whine of the Pelican's engines, the ghostly whir of the Banshee fliers, the combined discharges of human and alien weapons. The worst of it by far was the constant thudding against the Pelican's closed bay door. But things only continued to go downhill from there.
"Lost our thruster!" the pilot reported. "Hold on!"
"Get a hold of her! Sergeant Johnson barked.
The pilot replied, "Negative, we're going down!"
Wells felt the back of his head explode just a moment later.