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Firestorm - Prologue
Date: 12 September 2005, 7:12 pm
The 5-man Marine patrol moved stealthily towards their objective, the top of the mountain overlooking the Covenant's main recon camp. This part of Earth – Scotland – had, for some unknown reason, not been targeted by any of the Covenant's main assault force. Instead, their main target in the UK was Southern England. They had descended upon it with terrifying speed and force, and the defence had been overrun within days. The rest of the military stationed in the UK managed to flee to their TWP (Tactical Withdrawal Point) – located in the Scottish highlands.
The TWP (code-named: Mount Griffin) had some of the best defences possible, as it was the main ONI location in Europe. Included in these defences were high-resolution scanners (operated by Smart-AI's), a number of miniature MAC cannons camouflaged amongst the rocks, a 4-metre thick wall of the new Tungsten-Titanium armour plating, and the Rapid Response Network.
The RRN was essentially a network of high-speed elevators and tunnels leading from the main vehicle hangar to various strategic points on the surface. When necessary, a large force of 300 modified Scorpion Main Battle Tanks, and 550 Warthog Light Reconnaissance Vehicles (225 of both variants) could be deployed anywhere in a radius of 50 square miles surrounding Mount Griffin. Deployment time: 12.85 minutes.
However, there were more tricks hidden within Mount Griffin. Another large hangar, closer to the surface than the vehicle hangar, contained the impressive airforce of some 500 Longsword fighter-bombers, 500 Pelican Troop Transports, and even 220 Halberdier high-speed fighters, newly developed by the UNSC to combat all the Phantoms flying about. The Longswords and Halberdiers could be launched and be patrolling the area surrounding Mount Griffin within a radius of 100 square miles. Deployment time: 6.2 minutes. The pelicans could also land up to 5000 Marines anywhere within 50 square miles within 5.5 minutes.
There were also undersea transport tunnels linking Mount Griffin to other ONI high-security locales around the world, such as New York, Los Angeles, Rome, Moscow, and even Tokyo. These tunnels were fitted with high-speed transport trains, and the passengers were transported in a cryogenic state.
Sergeant Lister was in the centre of the patrol when the Marine on point, Corporal Sherman, held up her fist abruptly. Instantly, the Marines froze, their weapons held at ready. Lister waited fifteen seconds, then, signalling for the other Marines to hold, he crept up alongside Sherman.
"Status?" he whispered. The patrol had travelled without mics, relying only upon hand signals and quiet speech. The Covenant had recently developed a nasty habit of listening in on the human radio traffic, to try and discover their fallback point.
"Coming up on the ridge now, Sarge," Sherman replied quietly. Lister nodded. Removing an optical sight from his front pocket, he lay prone and crawled forward to the ridge. Positioning the sight to his eye, he scanned the scene before him and swore under his breath.
The Covenant hadn't established a recon camp as he'd thought, but what lay below could only be described as an assault force. Wraiths idled at the centre of the camp, alongside the sleeping quarters for the Elites and Brutes. The Grunts' methane tank lay closest to Lister, and the aliens scuttled in and out of it as he watched. A number of Spectres patrolled the perimeter of the camp; the Elite's manning the turrets alert for any sign of human life. One of the Elites focuses straight on Lister, and he broke into a sweat, as the Elite seemed to decide there was nothing there. Exhaling, Lister wiped the sweat from his forehead with his free hand, and was glad the Covenant didn't have any air support.
Calmly, he pressed the record button mounted on the side of the scope. This would store the video footage recorded inside a small chip, which could be removed, inserted into a computer back at base, and the video could be played and replayed on a big screen for the spooks at ONI to analyse. He slowly moved the scope back and forth, making sure there was footage of the entire camp, and he zoomed in and out on the key areas, such as the Wraiths. Then, the job done, he crawled backwards until he rejoined the rest of the patrol. Replacing the optical sight, he stood up and issued orders via hand signals for the patrol to turn back for Mount Griffin. The patrol moved out.
Halfway back, they encountered an advance scout of 2 Elites and 6 Jackals. The patrol opened fire with silenced weapons, and the aliens fell to the ground, riddled with bullets. Private Martin (on rear duty) commandeered their weapons, stowed them in his pack, and the patrol headed back home.
They located the nearest entry point into Mount Griffin, and, after passing through an extensive series of top-of-the-range security systems, they entered the high-speed elevator and plummeted straight sown, toward the heart of Mount Griffin. The Marines sat down on the floor, and Lister replayed the images of the camp in his mind. "There's no way that's just a recon camp", he thought. "Something's up…"
"Something wrong, sir?" Sherman asked. The Sarge looked up at her. 27 years old, with black hair and piercing blue eyes, Sherman was one helluva soldier, and he was glad to have her in his squad. He'd picked her for the patrol due to her keen eyesight, and she was the best shot in the squad, with any weapon.
"Nope," he sighed. "Just wondering when we'll launch an offensive, that's all. I'm sick of all this creeping around."
"Hoo-rah," Martin piped up. "We shouldn't have to play this recon game on our own planet. The sooner we get a crack at those bastards, the better." He was a tough young Marine, at 22, with brown hair and green eyes. "Well on his way to being promoted to Lance Corporal", Lister thought. Martin was an excellent soldier, and excelled with the Covenants own weaponry. He also managed to keep a cool head during battle, something not many young soldiers could do.
Feeling the elevator slow, Lister got to his feet. Whilst the other Marines would go to the barracks and get some food and a shower, Lister had to go visit the spooks in ONI, to hand over the video footage and give his report on the mission. Only then could he relax. The elevator stopped, the doors slid noiselessly open, and he strode down the hallway towards Debriefing. Entering the room, he stood sharply to attention, and saluted Admiral Denver.
"At ease, Sergeant," the Admiral said, and Lister relaxed and crossed the room to hand him the video chip.
"Mission accomplished sir," Lister said, as the Admiral inserted the chip into the computer. The large viewscreen on the back wall flickered to life, and Lister began his report as the video provided visual confirmation.
Afterward, when the Admiral dismissed him, Lister asked "Sir, with all due respect, my squad, and the rest of our troops here, are growing sick of having to recon our own country. When are we gonna get a crack at those Covies?"
The Admiral smiled. "You'll find out tomorrow, son."
Lister smiled back, saluted the Admiral again, and headed for the barracks.
To Be Continued
Authors note: The Firestorm series is in no way connected with my previous works (Halo: The Liberation Of Earth). I have used the time between this work and my previous stories to try and improve my style of writing. Comments would be much appreciated – either leave them in the space provided, or email me at say-it-if-you-mean-it@hotmail.com
HawkEye.
Firestorm - Chapter I: Rollin' Out The Welcome Mat
Date: 16 September 2005, 8:49 pm
Date: 18th November 2552
Time: 1152 hours
Location: ONI facility "Mount Griffin," Scottish Highlands, United Kingdom
Status: Red
Alarms blared inside Mount Griffin, and Lister jumped off his bunk, hit the deck, and entered the 7-digit code for his locker. Grabbing his fatigues, he hurriedly donned his gear. Holstering his M6C pistol, he grabbed his BR55 Battle Rifle and slapped a fresh magazine into it, before sprinting out of his cabin and down the hallway to Gate 6B. Seconds earlier, the Control Centre had detected a large number of contacts heading towards Mount Griffin from the ONI facility in New York, USA, and the whole garrison had been scrambled to their defensive positions. Not just around the gate; Marines were stationed at every Gate where the Covenant could enter.
Lister and his full 42-man platoon were scrambled to Gate 6B, however – the Marines under his command were all very skilled, and on their way to metal. This made it crucial for them to be at the scene of the most danger, and they were always eager to spill some more of that fluorescent covie blood.
Reaching Gate 6B, Lister headed for his platoon's defensive position – to the right-hand side of the Gate, where they could assault the flanks of any incoming enemies. He held a quick registration to make sure his troops were all there, then turned and surveyed the rest of the defences. Much to his surprise, Admiral Denver was striding towards him, carrying an electronic clipboard and a small wooden box. Lister shouted "Admiral on the deck!" and everyone turned towards the Admiral and saluted. Denver returned their salutes, and the troops returned to their posts as Denver stopped in front of Lister.
"Son, we've all felt that this is way overdue, but you've earned it," he said, handing Lister the box. Opening it, Lister felt a lump in his throat. Inside the box was a small military insignia badge – the badge for a Master Sergeant. He looked up at Denver, who saluted, smiled, and said "congratulations, Master Sergeant Lister," before offering his hand. Lister shook it, returned the salute, and signed his acceptance of the rank on the electronic clipboard. As Denver walked away, he turned back to his platoon, most of whom were grinning.
"Congratulations sir," Sherman said, saluting him.
"Yeah, we all knew you'd get promoted sometime soon," added Martin.
Lister smiled and nodded his thanks to them. "Come on guys and gals," he said. "Let's prepare the welcome mat!"
Suddenly, the gate's mechanisms groaned to life, as the huge titanium-tungsten gate began to cycle open. Lister exchanged a look of surprise with Private First Class Jerome – a tall, young Marine of 21. His dull brown eyes and brown hair betrayed his true alertness – Jerome was incredibly sharp and quick-thinking.
"How did they get past the security?" Jerome asked – even he didn't think it was possible.
"I don't know, mate," replied Lister, shouldering his weapon, "but they're not getting' much further than this! Let's roll out the welcome mat!"
"All Marines, prepare to fire, but check your aim! Target the largest threats first!" spoke the voice over the intercom. Sherman sighed – must be another of those damn ONI officials – always afraid to fight, but happy to order soldiers to their deaths. She adjusted the scope on her BR55, and checked the M90 shotgun was within easy reach.
The gate slid open, and for a moment there was complete silence. No-one inside Mount Griffin could believe it. Then, a familiar figure strolled through the gate.
"Can't you guys greet people in a friendly way?" the voice sounded familiar to Sherman.
"Could it be…?" she whispered in awe.
Admiral Whitcomb had just entered Mount Griffin.
Date: 18th November 2552
Time: 1410 hours
Location: ONI facility "Mount Griffin," Scottish Highlands, United Kingdom
Status: Green
Earlier that day, Martin thought, as he lifted weights, we thought we we're in for it. Instead, Admiral Whitcomb had walked through the gate, followed by a relief force almost the same size as the garrison itself. The private sighed. Damn. I wanted to get some action.
The door to the gym slid open, and Martin glanced up to see Private Leroy stroll in. At 29 years old, Leroy had seen quite a bit of action. He was a skilful veteran, excelling in close combat, and was Martin's closest friend in the platoon. He nodded at Leroy.
"Hey dude. What brings you here?" he asked, motioning for Leroy to take a seat on the bench.
"I got sick of all the chitchat 'bout the Admiral," Leroy replied, rolling his eyes. "Can't stand gossiping."
Martin grinned. Leroy was well known within the platoon, and his fellow troops knew not to gossip within his hearing. He'd have a go at them, saying it was none of their business, then either get his way or storm off, refusing to participate. Unfortunately for him, this was one gossip event he could do nothing about.
"So, you got any ideas as to why they're all here?" he asked.
Leroy shrugged. "I can only speculate. However, I reckon something's going down in the next few days."
He was wrong. It went down that very day.
Lister received a message on his PDA a few minutes later. Sighing, he reached into his left pocket and withdrew it, entered his security code, and entered his inbox. He frowned. The message was from Mount Griffin HighCom. It read:
// start //
// Master Sergeant Lister, we require your immediate presence in conference room C49. This is important. Bring one member of your platoon. HighCom, out. //
// end //
He re-read the message, his heart thumping. He remembered the end of his conversation with Admiral Denver the day before – you'll find out tomorrow, the Admiral had said. Lister grinned, and hurried to send a message to Sherman. She was the second best soldier under his command, and so naturally she was the best choice for this task.
He told her to meet him at his quarters ASAP, then replaced the PDA and cleaned his sidearm. Soon after, Sherman entered, saluted, and said, "What's up, sir?"
Lister showed her the message from HighCom, and saw her grin as she finished the message. She looked at Lister, and said simply "It's time for some payback."
"Yes," Lister agreed. "Yes it is."
They hurried off to the conference room.
Date: 18th November 2552
Time: 1957 hours
Location: ONI Facility "Mount Griffin", Scottish Highlands, United Kingdom.
Status: Red
With his platoon fully assembled in the prep room – the room where every platoon assembled before an operation - Lister stood to attention as Admiral Whitcomb strode onto the stage The Admiral saluted them, and said "At ease." Everyone relaxed.
"Well, I assume someone has guessed correctly why we're here," Whitcomb addressed them. "It's time someone did something about those covies in the UK."
"Hoo-rah!" the Marines yelled in unison, and Whitcomb smiled.
"Damn right, leathernecks," he growled. "They've plagued this place for far too long! Tonight, after last light, we are going to crush any Covenant forces still camped out around here. Then we'll move south, until the whole of the UK belongs to us again!" He surveyed the platoons of Marines, and everyone was grinning at the prospect of regaining their country. "We will be deploying three platoons to annihilate this camp. These are the First, Third, and Seventeenth platoons. We do not need to use any more Marines than that. These platoons must report to the armoury in 10 minutes. Other than that, you are dismissed." He saluted the crowds, and then left the room. Following him, the Marines departed. Apart from the First, Third and Seventeenth platoons.
Lister was the CO of Seventeenth platoon. He turned and addressed his troops. "OK guys, we've been hand-picked for this op by Whitcomb himself. So we're not gonna let him down! Corporal Sherman and myself," he said, nodding at Sherman, "have spent the past three hours perfecting this plan to a tee. Each platoon has a different approach – First will take the left flank, third will take the right flank. That leaves us charging down the centre. It will be a night op, so gear up for the occasion.
"Nothing that'll give us away – make sure everything is secure and doesn't rattle. We'll be travelling as light as possible – you'll need 7 days rations in case we get cut off. Everyone will have their COM systems, but they are not to be used unless I give the order. Lots of ammo – we'll be in a big-arse firefight at some point, so I don't want people running dry. Two sidearms. One primary medium – long ranged weapon. One secondary close-range weapon, unless you pick dual SMGs. But I do want 10 snipers – Sherman's chief sniper, any volunteers?"
A number of Marines raised their hands, and Lister chose Leroy, Jerome, Private First Class John Wilkins, Private First Class Rachel Smithdon, Private Brendan Hertford, Corporal Michael Watson, Private Lyndsay Ferrier, Private Michelle Chantelle, and Private First Class Tom Bradley.
"Excellent guys," Lister said, with a nod of appreciation. "You'll be split into five groups – Corporal Sherman will take Leroy, Jerome, Chantelle and Smithdon on point, whilst Corporal Watson will take Wilkins, Hertford, Ferrier and Bradley on rear-guard. The rest of us will split into three groups – I'll take 9 in the centre, Martin will take 11 with him on the left, and the remaining 11 will be with Anderson on the right." Anderson was a veteran, who'd just been promoted to Sergeant, following Lister's promotion. He was an African-American, with masses of strength and was a demolitions specialist.
Lister surveyed his platoon one more time. "During this op, you'll be reporting to your respective section leaders. They'll take their orders from me. Everyone ok? Good. Let's get kitted up. I'll see you in the armoury in a few minutes."
Lister saluted his platoon, then turned on his heels and walked off to his quarters. He inserted his Officer's keycard into the electronic lock, and the door slid open. He strolled in, and removed all non-essential items from his combat fatigues, before entering the 7-digit code to unlock his locker and removing his BR55. After giving it a visual inspection, he grabbed 12 30-round magazines and stuffed them into his ammunition pockets. Next, he inspected his two M6C pistols, before holstering them on his thighs and stashing 12 clips of ammunition for them in his daysack. He jumped up and down a few times, to check that nothing rattled, and then he left the room for the armoury.
The armoury was a hive of activity. Marines cleaned weaponry, grabbed and secured ammunition and grenades, and chose their ration packs. The available choices were beef or turkey. Lister strode into the room, and headed towards the corner where he could see his platoon was assembled. He sat down amongst them.
"Everything ok guys?" One of the reasons why Lister got so much respect from his troops was the fact that he didn't treat them as his soldiers – he made the effort to be friends with every man and woman under his command.
"Yes sir," they answered.
"Good. Make sure you grab some night vision goggles before we leave. Remember, we depart at 2259 hours – I want you all to be ready for action back here at 2250 hours. OK? Good. Dismissed."
Date: 18th November 2552
Time: 1502 hours
Location: ONI facility "Mount Griffin," Scottish Highlands, United Kingdom
Status: Red
Admiral Whitcomb let out a low whistle. "Is that a Halberdier?"
"Yes sir," replied the technician.
Upon hearing about the Halberdiers, Admiral Whitcomb had requested to see them for himself, and Denver had promptly arranged for him to have a personal tour of one of the fighters, after the briefing. Whitcomb and the Techie – who's name was Lucas - were now standing in the middle of the aerial hangar in front of a Halberdier, which had been brought out to show them. It was rather like an elongated Longsword, with the wings swept back for increased aerodynamics. As they walked round the Halberdier, Whitcomb noticed a large number of alterations to the Longsword design.
"I've noticed the larger engines," he said, as they passed the back of the starboard wing.
"Yes sir, the Halberdier was designed primarily to be a long-range high-speed fighter. The larger engines effectively double its top speed."
Whitcomb nodded. "Impressive. I assume they're fitted with larger fuel tanks too? They must burn a lot of fuel in combat."
"Well, we increased the size by another 120% to account for longer combat times, but we trimmed the engine outputs a little, which resulted in a 23.5% increase in efficiency," Lucas said, proudly. "That was my task"
"Excellent job, son," the Admiral said, appreciatively. They rounded the aft of the Halberdier and proceeded up the starboard side. "What's the standard armament?"
"Three 122mm rotary cannons – one mounted under each wing, and one mounted under the fuselage."
"Why the increase in size?"
"One of the Halberdier's main roles is to eliminate the Covenant phantoms as quickly as possible, whilst conserving as much ammunition as possible. The cannons now pack a significantly harder punch."
"So does that limit them to a lower ammunition capacity?" the Admiral asked Lucas.
"Theoretically, it should, but the increased size of the Halberdier negates that effect. In short, the Halberdier can annihilate more targets than the Longsword."
"Excellent. Are they limited to atmospheric use?"
"No sir, although they were primarily designed to be used in atmospheric conditions – hence the increased aerodynamics. When Halberdiers are more popular amongst UNSC airbases, the Longswords will be used exclusively in space combat."
Just then, Whitcomb noticed a significant anomaly. "I don't see any archer missile pods."
Lucas. "No sir, we pulled them from the design."
Whitcomb spluttered. "How on Earth do you expect Halberdiers to take on the Covenant with only 3 rotary cannons?!"
"Easy, sir. We pulled them from the design to make room for a new weapon. Hidden in the wings are some High-Explosive Incendiary homing rockets – 45 in each wing, to be precise. These things create one hell of an explosion, and light up the wreckage for the next 30 minutes at least. Guaranteed to make one hell of a distraction, and also one hell of a beacon. Three rockets can down a Phantom. They're also incredibly useful against clusters of ground troops."
The Admiral shook his head in amazement. "Good idea, son."
Lucas grinned even more. "That's not the half of it, sir. We've built in a remarkable system in the bottom of the Halberdier – it deploys fire-and-forget air-to-surface high-explosive missiles. They simply fall out of the racks, activate, and blow the target to crap. Useful if there's an armoured position the ground troops can't take out, and where Longswords would get tagged by anti-aircraft fire. The fact that the Halberdier is long-ranged negates the anti-aircraft fire. The Halberdier can carry 10 of these missiles."
"Ingenious idea – adds a bit of flexibility, doesn't it?"
"Sure does, sir. If there's enemy armour on the ground, and the Longswords are too busy to deal with it, we send in a Halberdier."
They completed the tour of the outside of the Halberdier, and proceeded to the entry ramp. Lucas pulled out a swipe-card, and swiped it through the reader to open the ramp. They proceeded inside, and the first thing Whitcomb noticed was how similar it looked to the interior of a Longsword. Lucas must have noticed this, because he said "The similarities between the cockpits of the Longsword and the Halberdier are to enable pilots to easily make the switch between Longsword and Halberdier, depending upon the situation."
"So if they've been out on bombing runs in the Longswords, and there's threat from phantoms etc, they can just land, hop in a Halberdier and take them out?"
"Exactly," Lucas agreed. "Also, remember that whilst you asked me what the standard armament was. Well, it's what I told you, but the Halberdiers design allows for virtually limitless combinations – we can fit mine-laying systems, nukes, and we could fit archer missile pods too, if we wanted. Not to mention most of the new stuff that we're developing."
Lucas motioned towards the controls. "We've installed Smart-AIs into every Halberdier, to aid in battle. But each Halberdier can have a pilot and co-pilot, if there's a lot of weaponry on board. They can also carry two cryo-tubes for emergency evac."
They left the Halberdier, and the ramp slid smoothly up after them. "Fantastic tour, son – thank you," Whitcomb said, shaking Lucas' hand.
"No problem sir, just glad to be of help."
Date: 18th November 2552
Time: 2327 hours
Location: Roughly 2.5 Klicks south of ONI facility "Mount Griffin," Scottish Highlands, United Kingdom
Status: In Operation
Sherman led her sniper team through the darkness, toward the Covenant camp. Behind her, Lister's section followed, and Watson's section followed them. Martin and Anderson were on the group's flanks. Sherman traversed the top of a hill, and begun her descent, when she saw lights in front of them. Immediately, she signalled for everyone to stop and lay prone – it was pitch black, but the night vision goggles solved that problem.
Activating the scope on her silenced S2 AM, she peered down the scope at the lights, and saw that there was a small Covenant watchtower set up. Two Elites were in the tower, armed with carbines, and a couple of Jackals were sitting around the base of the tower.
Lister gave them permission to eliminate them, and so four of the snipers took careful aim, and fired. The Jackals crumpled without a sound, but the Elites were thrown from the top of the tower and landed in a bloody pile at the base of the tower. For some reason, their shields hadn't been active.
Sherman surveyed the area again through her scope, then, confident there were no further threats, they moved on. After another 20 minutes, they reached the hilltop overlooking the Covenant camp. Lister told the snipers to take out the guards in the towers. Twelve silent shots were fired, and twelve carbine-wielding Elites crumpled, but one landed awkwardly and his carbine fired. Instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch, the whole camp burst to life. Searchlights burst on, and began sweeping the area for hostiles. Elites poured out of their accommodation and scrambled, manning Wraiths, Spectres and Ghosts, and searching the darkness for their hidden enemy. Meanwhile, Lister's platoon lined up around the hilltop and opened fire.
It was complete chaos. BR55 tracer fire tore through the darkness and downed Grunts and Jackals. Sniper fire was focused upon the Elites, and confusion reigned amongst the Covenant. Until they saw the muzzle flashes off the Marines weapons on the hilltop, and fired back. The sheer weight of fire poured on them was enough to keep the Marines heads down, and Lister immediately got on the radio to the other platoons.
"First platoon, come in First platoon!" he yelled into the COM. "This is Seventeenth. Come in, over!"
"Seventeenth, this is First platoon, over," a familiar voice shouted back.
"Walker, we are under heavy fire right now. Any chance of you guys distracting them from your flank?"
"Negative, Seventeenth," walker shouted, "we are also under heavy fire and cannot, repeat, cannot mount any distractions, over."
Lister swore. He switched COM frequencies and tried with Third, but they were in a similar situation.
Just then, Martin came hurrying towards him. "Sir, we're all under heavy fire. Nothing we can do."
Lister shook his head. "It's ok, son, I know. I tried to get First to mount a diversion, but they're holed up too. Third is in a similar situation."
"Sir," Martin said. "Why not radio HighCom? Get them to send in a flight of Halberdiers?"
Lister stared at him. Once again, the Marine's quick thinking had revealed a simple solution. He switched COM frequencies, and yelled into his mic: "Seventeenth platoon to HighCom, come in HighCom, over."
"Seventeenth, this is HighCom. Status, over."
"HighCom, we are under heavy enemy fire. Requesting Halberdier support, over."
"Roger that Seventeenth. One Halberdier on flight to your location. ETA seventy-three seconds. HighCom out."
One Halberdier? Lister thought. What are they up to? He stood up, and fired off a couple of three-round bursts into the enemy below, nailing a pair of Grunts. Further down the line, Martin pulled the pin out of an incendiary grenade, and lobbed it towards the Grunts' methane tank. It sailed through the air, and exploded on contact – punching a hole through the fragile coating and igniting the volatile gas within. A ball of fire erupted upwards, and lit up the whole area for a few seconds.
It made one hell of a beacon.
Meanwhile, back at Mount Griffin, Lieutenant Nicholls had just received a new order, and had just arrived in the aerial hangar. He sprinted towards his Halberdier, produced his swipe-card, swiped it through the reader, and ran up the ramp. He jumped into the pilots seat, and brought the Halberdier online with the fifteen digit PIN number. The holographic panel beside him flickered to life, and the Smart-AI appeared. His name was Gethin, and he had the appearance of an Admiral in his white uniform.
"Good day sir," Gethin said to Nicholls. "How may I be of assistance?"
"There's no time for chit-chat, Gethin," Nicholls said hurriedly whilst starting the engines. "Bring all systems to immediate start-up – we've gotta go bomb some covies ASAP."
Immediately, all the systems onboard the Halberdier were brought online, and Nicholls eased up the power to the vertical thrusters. He felt the Halberdier rise off the deck, and pulled the lever above his head to retract the landing gear.
The gear clicked into place, and he turned the Halberdier towards the exit, requesting clearance to depart from control.
"Control to Sierra Nine; you are cleared for departure. Go get 'em."
Nicholls smiled. "Roger that control, Sierra Nine outbound."
He waited for the gate to cycle open, and then pushed the throttle to 80%. The engines screamed, as the Halberdier shot forward, through the tunnel, and into the night.
To Be Continued…
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