"Black Squadron, this is Command. Takeoff confirmed, payload requested to clear out targets in wider AO is loaded. AUTHCODE 22131-09-HN."
"Tak-toychna. All Black Squadron air assets are taking off now. Grid 23-21-21. Payload SCARLET hot."
A slew of bombers took off from the bay of one of the UNSC Carriers in high orbit. Around them, the battle continued into the next timeframe as the Federation continued pouring its newest ships and best crews into battle overhead. Damage was consistently minimal across all UNSC Warships, with some bearing the scars of pulse lasers and gun batteries. UNSC MACs roared, muted by the void above the planet. Amidst the debris, a squadron of 20 UNSC Longsword bombers dived down toward the Planet.
The entry into the atmosphere was warm, but the crews knew how to handle it. Angling their delta-winged black bombers nose-up, they kept the bellies of the aircraft exposed, heat shields powering through the heat radiating across the hulls. This was a routine run for them at this point. 'Black' was just one of a dozen squadrons belonging to the 40th Fighter Wing, a newly-reconstituted unit.
Their standard missions here were bombing. Their payloads?
Cruise missiles.
As they entered the atmosphere and the fire vanished, the pilots banked their planes' noses down and fully ignited the fusion engines strapped to the craft's sides. The scramjets roared and the squadron of bombers formed into five units of four each. Wedge formations flying at different altitudes flew over the forestry below, skimming mountaintops and powering through valleys fast enough for any enemy anti-air on the tops and around to narrowly miss them.
The pilot aboard Black-12, a young Russian woman, peered over the tactical map as it continuously updated their positions, then radioed, "This is Black-12, approaching firing position. ETA to payload release is twenty seconds," then she turned to her crewman, a dark-skinned lady and nodded. The two peered at each-other through opaque visors, their faces obscured by oxygen masks.
Two more sat behind them, each facing a computer. The Navigator and the Bombardier. The latter was already making calculations, while the two pilots kept them steady. The Bombardier, a man, reported, "Linking to nearest Drones in the AO to coordinate the strike..." just as their HUDs flared. A window with the linked drone showed images from the aircraft's thermal imaging cameras. A UNSC battalion with armored support was engaging a heavy enemy emplacement at the mouth of the Valley. One of the breakout points that needed to be engaged by the third day of the operation.
The dark-skinned female co-pilot stated, "Reinforcements incoming for our boys. Do not fire yet..." just as half-a-dozen Pelicans touched down out of the line of fire, deploying troops and a pair of tanks from their rears. The Pelicans dusted off and flew back at a lower level than the bombers, allowing the woman to focus the drone onto the target and radio, "All allied units, be advised, Payload SCARLET Incoming. Release point in five, four, three..."
The Bombardier hit a button on his console and the bomb bay doors opened with a whirr. Each Longsword carried two High-Yield Cruise Missiles. Release was a few kilometers out, beyond the enemy's anti-air line of fire. Two birds would fire their missiles and RTB. Black-10 and -12 were up for this one. The rest of the squadron would follow up by hitting another enemy point several hundred miles east of this one, then another on the axis of advance of the 4/10th Marines.
"Release... Greyhound, Greyhound," The pilot called. She pressed her thumb against the middle button on her stick and the decoupling of the two high-yield weapons rattled the aircraft a little. Four missile engines roared to life, trails of smoke and fire following behind them as they flew toward their intended target, their little guidance winglets extending from the sides. 12 and 10 veered right and back toward the ship, though both still watched the thermal camera of the Wombat drone, waiting for the missiles to make contact.
They watched four missiles streak in at just about treetop level now, entering their terminal phase. Their engines cut out mid-flight, a normal procedure, before they banked and glided toward various structural points throughout the defensive settlement. Each struck with the force of a small, non-radioactive sun, detonating at the exact spot it was aimed for. The rippling shockwave blew through the place and caused turbulence for them, while the crews down below cheered over radio.
Reports of good BDAs and fair skies played through the radio just as the two bombers went into the hangar of their carrier, touching down while the next wave of craft took off. The pilot told them, "Take five, drink and eat. We're going out after we're rearmed and refueled..." And she stood up, taking her helmet off and pulling out a cigarette which she slid between her lips, before kicking her feet up on her console as the magnetic locks engaged on the ship and the cranes brought them over to the rearm point.
The others pulled out their food items and started eating, making sure to cover their consoles so they didn't get damaged. A yogurt here, coffee there, a sandwich in a paper bag down and a fresh burger up. There was no stopping a conveyor of death like this. Especially not since resupply ships had been making the rounds for the past few days, giving out these new PGMs like they were candy.
Not like the aircrew was complaining. It was keeping them busy while their buddies in the fleet CAP were engaging enemy fighters. She pulled up a feed on the screen next to her, watching as the UNSC fleet continued engaging enemy 'new arrivals'. Sensors still showed dozens of enemy warships coming in every day, but the bastion of the UNSC fleet merely needed to hold orbit for now, let them exhaust their numbers on the bulwark.
... Down below though, it was the Infantry doing the hard job. The 2/5th advanced over the cratered remains of the building that Black Squadron had just bombed, watching as the other bomber pairs diverted, each going for a target. Parisa sighed and radioed, "Command, confirming target checkpoint ECHO destroyed. Advancing with the rest of the armor."
Pushing through the smoldering wreckage of what had once been a mighty defensive wall, lined with guns from top to bottom and meant to take any attack the UNSC would've thrown at it, the Marines of Third Platoon, minus Jake for now, scanned the area with their rifles. Each window and cratering hole could've been a new hiding spot, a point to shoot from.
Though the mangled corpses of the Feddie troops that lay sprawled across the street ahead told of the damage. Armored vehicles that had been set up around corners and inside alleys were now broken wrecks, their crews probably dead from the blasts and overpressure in the air. Advancing in a diamond with the tanks behind and in front of them through the narrow, formerly-defensible streets, the Marines listened to their boots crunching glass and debris.
As they scanned the windows and holes, Niko asked Jane, "How's Jake?"
"Hospital says he'll walk it off by next week," She replied, "Dumb sonofabitch nearly died on us, though..."
Marta quipped, "Jake doesn't have a good track record with melee. You guys remember that Elite in Mombasa? The one that nearly slit his stomach open with his dagger?" which got more than a couple of the people to wince. New Mombasa was one of the bloodiest fights the Third had ever partaken in and it was still very fresh in their memories.
"We missed NM," Junttila commented as she spun slowly while walking with the rest of the unit, eyes locked down the length of her weapon and toward the walls. She asked, "Was it really that bad?"
"Scarab tanks, Covenant all over the damn streets and some civvies that never managed to run away," Parisa quipped, causing Junttila to wince. The group exited to the other side of the fortress, watching as other units from the 2/5th and their armored support moved forth into the wide open plains up ahead. Overhead, CAS aircraft from the airbase they'd secured flew in fast, dropping payloads of bombs on retreating Feddie units.
The battalion commander radioed, "All units, begin setting up defenses. ELINT reports a possible enemy counterattack incoming in the coming hours, so I want firing positions and trenches set up..." Just as a swarm of TAC Fighters up ahead engaged their CAS. The Broadswords that'd been supporting their advance suddenly found themselves face-to-face with gatling cannons and actual enemy AAMs.
The air overhead began to fill into a furball, with Parisa sighing and commenting, "Shovels out, boys and girls..." as she pulled her entrenching tool off her backpack. At least the ground felt soft enough for the little digging adventure. She told them, "Remember, zig-zagging patterns, up and down. Build side trenches. We're probably not gonna be here for long enough."
"Back-breaking hard labor," Snorted Heikkala as she tossed her own gear aside and pulled out her own entrenching tool, "Nothing quite like digging a brown hole to get the blood pumping..." before looking to Junttila, who glared at her. The little innuendo was rather obvious to her friend, but it seemed as though the rest of the team didn't comment on it.
Niura, however, snorted.
Nobody laughed after like half-an-hour of digging fighting positions and then another hour of linking them into a proper series of defensible nests and such. Niko breathed heavily as he set up his LMG, then murmured, "First, my many times great grandfather in fucking Kherson with the ZSU, then my less times great grandfather in the Rainforest Wars, then my father in Trebuchet and now my ass in this fucking war, blyad... This family can't escape Trenches."
"You're part Uke?" Parisa snorted. He nodded and two more Marines popped their heads up over the cover and greeted the man in their language. He laughed and greeted the Ukrainian Marines back, with Parisa murmuring, "And the Infantry's two jobs:You ain't fighting, dig the trenches..." as she sat herself down, leaning against the wall of the two-person trench.
The two Ukrainian soldiers sang the tune, too, with Niko snorting at that as he, too, sat himself down and checked his ammunition boxes. Behind them, amidst the ruins, command built an HQ and a firebase. He could see the stalk-like barrels of their MAKO artillery cannons sticking out from amidst the rubble, camouflaged with nets. As night began to fall, clouds gathered and the Furball began to dissipate, with still-sporadic sky fighting ongoing by the time the crews had fully finished their trenches.
The two Ukrainian-born Marines approached Niko in his MG nest. One was a woman that was built like a brick house, though she had the face of an angel. Beside her was her brother, with a similar built and just a slight height difference. They greeted him in Ukrainian and brought out some food from home, as it seemed, handing it to him as they joined his little watch.
Parisa chuckled as she saw that, then looked to Jane as she ate something from a can and murmured to herself. She elbowed her Corpsman and asked, "Worried about the lad, eh?" while also peering overhead to look at the defenses interspersed between the triangular trenches. Quick-laid barbed wire, tanks with their hulls down and only turrets poking over the edges of holes dug by machinery that now sat in the rear and
"How can I not be?" The girl sighed, "It looked pretty bad."
Another Corpsman approached and offered her a can of coffee. He told her, "Here you go, Touma. Gotta keep ourselves up in case shit instantly hits the fan tonight," to which the girl looked up and smiled. She nodded in thanks, taking the can, before the Corpsman, one Private Ross Watts, patted her on the shoulder and walked off, battle rifle in hand, to patrol the trenches.
Parisa hummed, "I see Ross ain't changed much..."
"Nope," The girl replied, popping the can open, "Dude's nice all the time."
"To you especially," Parisa murmured, "You don't think...?"
Jane seemed to be trying to ignore the question that now hanged in the air, unspoken. She sipped from her canned coffee, licked her lips and took her helmet off, shaking her head. Parisa joked, "What if Jake really doesn't like you back?" in a whisper. Jane had almost slapped her goddamn CO on the chest, but chose not to, scoffing and sipping from the coffee. She did, however, flip up her middle finger, which got a laugh out of Parisa.
"Thunder." A female voice called out.
"Flash," Parisa snorted, then watched Niura slide down the lip of the trench and sit herself down beside them just as rain began to fall. The Lieutenant sighed and murmured, "Great fuck, we're gonna be soaked again..." while already pulling out her poncho. Niura snorted and shook her head, cradling her shotgun between her arms and legs as she pulled out a cigarette and slid it between her lips.
"Can't be any worse than that Christ-forsaken dip we took when we were hitting the Rebs on Biko," The Sergeant quipped, taking a deep drag from her cigarette as the raindrops intensified. She took it out, flicked some ash to the side and added, "So much glass and we find the one fucking puddle that still has any amount of water to dive into while fighting URF Remnants," then put it back between her lips.
Parisa shot back, "I wasn't there. Was still a reservist before the UCF hit us," and she peered over the trench again, watching as the varied patrols in the area continued milling about. She sighed and sat herself back down, then murmured, "We got Fed defectors on patrol out there. Bets on'em surviving the next fight, anyone...?" rather morbidly. Both Jane and Niura snorted, long desensitized to that type of comment.
"I'll drop twenty credits on it," Voiced Niko as he walked up to them with a set of warm food containers. He set them down beside them and said, "Warm soup. Got orders to divvy it up to our platoon. Already gave some to Junttila and Heikkala..." before turning to his MG nest and jabbing a thumb back, "Mikhail and Valentina are watching the nest for me."
"Heh," Snorted Parisa, "Sit down, Molodoy Niko."
"So, we betting on the lives of our 'Allies' now?" Asked the man as he crouched. Parisa shrugged, which made him say, "Not all Feds seem to be assholes..."
"He's just saying that cuz he banged that one Feddie girl at the Inn," Niura quipped, with the girls laughing. Niko shook his head and grinned, though, not denying it, seeing as he had no real reason to deny the fact the was in love with the girl. The Sarge snorted and added, "You gonna marry her? You two seemed cute together," which made Jane blink and blush a little, hiding her face, while Niko, though a bit embarrassed, took it in stride.
"Maybe if I make it off this rock, though I'd rather not raise a Death Flag so soon," He shot back as he sat down properly, only to watch a pair of Marines move at a fast-march toward the other side of the trench. He put on his own rain poncho and sat back down, then whispered to them, "I think we're being watched. Nagging feeling in the back of my mind that Heikkala and Marta seem to share."
"They been scanning?" Jane asked, leaning forward.
"Thermals on their scopes haven't picked up anything. Probably going to be a bit harder with the rain," He replied as he watched the girls pull out their mess kits. He did the same and was poured a full bowl of soup for which he pulled out his spoon. Taking one spoonful, he let out a noise of contentment, before stating, "Mm... Corps brought actual vegetables this time..."
Another pair of men travelled up over the rear of their trench, carrying packs of supplies. One of them dropped to their knees in front of the group and handed them warm bread. He grinned upon seeing surprise across their faces and said, "Turns out it pays to help the local villages, like, goddamn. Local bakers just dropped a whole lot of fresh stuff off with the Supply Corps!" then gave a thumbs up and grabbed his rifle off the floor, rushing off with his buddy.
"... God bless Hearts and Minds," Parisa snorted as she bit down onto the bread.
... From the distance, in a shell hole, Iris radioed over, "Confirming UNSC forces have set up positions in front of the fortress. Be advised, enemy defenses are makeshift, but thick. Expect armor resistance. RAVEN, out," and then sighed as she turned off her radio, sliding it onto her belt. She peered through her SRS-99's ORACLE scope toward the trench as rain fell around them, pattering down on her own poncho/non-heat-emitting blanket.
Her spotter beside her said, "Still worried about facing the Third... They picked their side in this war."
"Need I remind you we're only with these guys until we manage to get enough casualties inflicted on the Aliens to back the fuck off?" Iris replied with a little anger. She peered through the scope again, "Of course, I'm not looking forward to fighting a Veteran platoon of UNSC Marines. ODSTs we avoided to get into this position for scouting were bad enough..."
"Iris, for the love of fuck, you're more worried about having to shoot your boyf-" The Spotter gasped as she grabbed him by the collar, glaring at him with a pair of burning blue eyes. He sighed and said, "Fine..." as he lifted his spotting scope and looked through again after Iris let him go. He murmured, "Touchy subjects, Yallah..." as he kept watching them.
Field Hospital, near the seized Airbase
Jake sat in his bed, the bandages over his injuries having been freshly cleaned. He was reading reports on the UNSC's troop movements over the past few hours, noting that they were still advancing at a slow, if steady pace. Units as far as the Northern section of the continent were encountering fairly heavy resistance from more dug-in enemy units and even these newfound Feddie troops, the Deep Space Vanguard.
Word of mouth was that was an actually professional part of their fighting force. Jetpacks, better guns, equipment that more-so matched the UNSC Marines than the standard MI Recruit's. He sighed and set the tablet aside, dropping onto the bunk and staring up at the wooden ceiling. He murmured to himself, "Shouldn't've gotten yourself hurt, Jake... Fuck are you gonna do now?"
"Learn to enjoy the break, corporal," Joked a deep, booming ,yet very friendly voice from beside him. The man blanked and straightened up, looking over to see a pair of Marines from Second. He smirked as the man with a broken arm, Cole, told him, "Good to see you, Weston. Didn't think you'd ever get hit, you bastard. You were almost untouchable in the War Games."
He shrugged, "Luck had to run out some time, man," then peered past the dark-skinned man and saw another of Second's, this one a veteran.
She waved at him, her neck in a brace, then said with a raspy voice, "Before you ask, I had a fucking tank shell explode next to me," and motioned to the rest of her body. Bandages, a tube in her hip and both legs broken, not to mention what seemed to be various stitches across her now-bald head. She scratched her chin with her sole good hand and said, "Good to see ya, Jakey."
"Likewise, Adwoa," He replied, "Abrams?"
"Nah. Rickety old T90M..." She laughed, then groaned, "Fired its HE-FRAG at me... Still can't believe the assholes are pulling out old MUSEUM Pieces to kill us..."
"Hey, if the metal ain't rusty, it can still kill," Jake murmured. A second of quiet passed before the distant drone of a Pelican's engines, muted by the windows, was heard. He asked them, "You guys seen Iris since...?" making both pause. They shook their heads. A little pang of guilt hit the man. He hadn't been really able to keep in touch with the poor girl during her recovery.
So, what came next surprised him. A mail call. A nurse rolled up with handwritten mail for the patients, a couple of which were addressed to Jake. From extended family that'd just found out he was alive(Surprising?) to some unpaid bills he had just sent an invoice for and to... A letter from Iris. He popped it open and read it to himself, first and foremost. "Hey, Jake... Sorry for not contacting you sooner. Physio went well and I'm back on my feet after everything. Letter's gonna be a bit short, though, and I'm sure with the ongoing war, it's gonna arrive late. Wanted to tell you so much if we could meet, but I'm guessing you are either somewhere I can't reach for now, or... I don't know. What I wanted to say is, write to me if you have the chance. Maybe when you have Shore Leave again we can meet, if this whole cluster with the UCF doesn't start something... Iris."
The Date on the letter itself was literally months ago. Just before the Third was recalled to active duty and the War started. He sighed and was about to fold the letter, but paused as he saw a printed photo clipped to the bottom, hidden almost out of sight by the envelope. He lifted it and smiled at the sight. Despite her scars, Iris Thompson, ever the shy one, still looked like one of the most beautiful women in the world. Damned be the Covenant... He read the Post-Scriptum at the bottom of the photo "PS. I was forced to take this photo by Andrea..."
He sighed and pocketed the photo, then leaned back down as Cole quipped, "Guess she reached out to you first, eh?"
"A while ago, man," He sighed, then leaned back his head and whispered, "Gotta get some sleep. Recover quick and head out..." all while listening to the noises outside. They were fighting far away from their current location and, yet, Jake felt completely helpless with his injuries keeping him confined to the bed. He was a 'walking wounded', yes, but the Docs warned that any sudden movement or strain might break his stitches and might actually lead to him dying due to his blood going full external.
Pain in the ass, he thought as he stirred in the bunk. It was a pain in the ass he got unlucky enough to be wounded. It was a pain in the ass his squad was fighting without him. It was a pain in the ass he had no direct link to any of them. And it was especially a pain in the ass when he couldn't know where the hell the person they'd managed to save was and what she was doing in the middle of all of this. Was she back in the service? Was she doing something else to help?
