"Congratulations ladies and gentlemen. You have passed your crash course on dive bombing, and how to pilot the Nemesis Wrath. Your next mission will be against the enemy." Pilgrim took a moment to look at the pilots and crew assembled on the parade ground. None of the pilots looked particularly happy at having graduated. Struggling to find anything encouraging to say, he gave up, stepped down from the podium and approached Mass and his flight members. They stood stiffly at attention, their gunners and ground crew paraded behind them in front of their respective planes.
He made his way down the line, presenting each of them with a unit patch, their Dive Bomber Designation badge and their pilot's blade, a short knife with a fifteen centimetre long blade, giving each of them a swift but firm hand shake, making sure that he looked each of them in the eye. Not one failed to meet his eye. Not one failed to communicate their disgust at the situation.
Getting to the end of the line he nodded at Kingsley who bellowed, "Parade, turning to the left, to the left, turn! Dismiss!"
Pilgrim waited until the unit had dispersed before turning to Kingsley. "Well, that's it God help them. Seven bloody days to get them to a point where they won't kill themselves by flying into the ground."
"That's right sir," Kinglsey slapped him on his shoulder, "and we never did get round to teaching them how not to dogfight in the damn things."
They both chuckled, but Pilgrim's stomach twisted at the thought. No matter what their crimes, these were his people and he felt guilty that he hadn't been able to train them properly. Although he was more than prepared to execute any of them on the spot should it be required, he still felt that until that possibility arose, it was his solemn duty to give them every chance necessary in order to stay alive, and keep fighting.
"There's a crate of whiskey in their barracks. Be a god chap and help them find it." He returned Kingsley's salute and watched him leave. Sighing, he turned on his heel and went to the officer's mess to get well and truly drunk.
*
"Snee! Tighten up you lazy bastard." Mass was well and truly sick and tired of having to constantly chivvy the errant noble along. The thought of detonating his collar was more than tempting, but he didn't want to kill Snee's gunner or lose a valuable plane either. When this mission is over I’ll be having words with that bloody idiot!
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"Target in five minutes. Repeat, five minutes. I confirm that you are weapons free." He glanced down at the additional control board that all Keepers had as he spoke and flicked each plane's arming switch, "test fire on my mark. Mark!"
Tracer hissed away and each pilot confirmed they were weapons free and clear of any problems.
His switched vox channels to an Imperial Guard preset, "Ranger five, this is Avenger 1-1311. We are inbound, four mikes from target, please mark position."
*
"Reload, I need another reload.”Sergeant Holly Terrance of the 5th Winchester Rangers, the Black Berets, caught the power cell as it sailed towards her, slamming it into her pulse rifle and letting loose with a burst in one smooth movement. His pulse bolts stitched their way across an enemy soldier’s chest, dropping the mad mid stride. As the solder fell, a grenade rolled free of its hand, bibbling along the ground before exploding, flinging debris and bits of the soldier’s brothers-in-arms through the air.
Her ear-bead crackled and she squinted as she tried to make out the message, "Ranger five, this is Avenger 1-1311. We are inbound, four mikes from target, please mark."
Thank the God! “Ranger five to Avenger 1-1311, roger that. Marking with smoke to north of position. Warning, danger close, repeat, danger close." Terrance pulled a smoke grenade from his chest rig, pulled the pin and threw the grenade little more than twenty metres in front of his shell scrape.
She risked a quick look up, scanning the sky for their rescuers. A bullet punched through the sandbags, forcing her to duck down, but not before she glimpsed six dots flying towards them. "Incoming! Bombers incoming! Take cover." Her message blasted out over the platoon's comms and the rangers hunkered down, ears covered and mouths open to lessen the damage to their ears from the blasts.
*
Trooper Choi, proud member of the ChinKor Republican guard frowned in surprise as the incoming fire from the ECAF positions suddenly stopped. Popping his rifle over the lip of the shell crater he was sheltering in, he used his sight to check out the enemy position ahead. None of the enemy soldiers were visible above the sandbags, whereas previously the entire line had been lit up with the muzzle flashes of their weapons.
Just seconds before he had been expecting to relieve the order to withdraw, the enemy fire destroying wave after wave of his people. But now, the thought that the enemy had retreated filled his heart with hope. Checking his scope once more, blood racing, he roared in triumph, ‘Get up , they’ve retreated!’
The soldiers around him roared in triumph. Screaming their regimental war cry at the top of their voices, bugles blatting, whistles shrilling, they charged through the shattered land, eager to finally get to grips with the men and women that had been holding them off for so long, killing so many of their friends.