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1730 hours
August 18th, 2571
UNSC Fortress Sierra
United Kingdom, Earth

The technician snapped to attention as Admiral Jenkins strode into Hangar 2-B.

"At ease," the Admiral said, and Mike relaxed.

"Sir," he said. "We've just finished tweaking the Wildcat engines. They're now 13% more efficient, and 28% faster than during the test flights."

"Excellent job, son. So they're fully operational now?"

"Yes sir, all we need are the pilots skilled enough to fly them."

The Admiral smiled. "I've got just the people for the job. Get these wildcats armed and fueled. I want them ready for take-off at a moments notice." He turned on his heels and left the hangar.

Mike turned to the rest of the technicians. "OK guys, you heard the Admiral, now lets get these wildcats geared up!"

Admiral Jenkins entered his quarters and sat down at his desk. Turning his computer on, he entered his sixteen-digit PIN, submitted to a fingerprint test, and opened his mailbox. Searching through the UNSC pilots roster, he selected twelve email addresses – twelve of the finest pilots ever to fight for the UNSC - and sent the same message to all of them:

/start/
Please report to Briefing Room 4-E at 0930 hours, August 19th, for your new squadron assignments and mission.

Admiral Jenkins.
/end/

Turning off the computer, Jenkins looked up at the holoprojector on his ceiling. It projected a three-dimensional image of the Earth, from before the covenant attacked. The deep blue of the oceans, the lush green of the grasslands… He sighed, as he remembered the Covenant attack. Now, since the covenant occupation began, the surface of the planet was punctuated by deep craters, half-demolished cities, and covenant camps. By sheer fortune, the majority of the UNSC forces had been near their strategic fallback positions – a number of heavily fortified, underground fortresses. Each fortress was deep underground, with a small number of heavily guarded, camouflaged transport routes for infantry and vehicular access to the surface. Heck, there was even a way for the aircraft to get topside. The UNSC had thus been able to launch guerilla attacks on Covenant positions, but they hadn't been able to launch major attacks.

Until now, he thought, smiling. The pilots didn't know it yet – but they were about to give the Covenant the biggest surprise of the century.

0920 hours
August 19th, 2571
UNSC Fortress Sierra
United Kingdom, Earth

Commander Greg Cowley placed his hand on the scanner outside Briefing Room 4-E, and felt a small pinprick as the machine sampled his DNA, matching it with the records to ensure he had clearance to enter. The light flashed green, the door slid smoothly open, and he entered the room.

Someone shouted "Ten-Hut!" and the room's occupants – three women and two men – saluted him. He returned the salutes and sat down next to the only person he knew – Lieutenant Kelly Troy. She was a tall, beautiful, fair-haired pilot, who was – at twenty-four years old – two years his junior. The two had been friends for over ten years, flown as wingmen in numerous missions, and they were the perfect team.

"Hey, Kelly. You get the email from the Admiral too, huh?" he asked her.

"Yeah, sounds like we're finally gonna get some action," she replied, cracking her knuckles.

A red-haired Lieutenant across the room winced. "Kelly, can't you refrain from doing that?"

Kelly grinned at her. "Sorry, Brianna. Forgot you hate it." He turned to Kelly. "Oh, let me give you an intro. That's Lieutenant Brianna Clarke," the woman with the red hair smiled and nodded. Greg returned the gesture, as Kelly continued with the introductions. "The big chap over there with the black hair is Lieutenant Commander Nick Thompson, and the other big chap with the brown hair is his younger brother, Lieutenant Alex Thompson." The pair stopped their conversation, saluted her, and went back to chatting animatedly about something-or-over. Finally, he indicated the other woman on Fiona's left. "That's Lieutenant Commander Fiona Varlhaven." Greg smiled at her, and couldn't help noticing her piercing green eyes.

The door slid open, and a Commander walked in. Everyone saluted, and he returned the salute, choosing to sit near the head of the table. Greg frowned. He didn't like the man's attitude – the lazy manner in which he returned the salute, the slight swagger as he strode to the head of the table, and the arrogant way in which he held his head. Greg swallowed these thoughts, and nodded at the new occupant.

"Hi, I'm Commander Greg Cowley. What's your name?" he asked.

The other Commander's eyes narrowed, as if to see whether Greg was worthy of being told his name, then spoke.

"I'm Commander Jason Hownes," he said, then he turned away as if there was no disturbance.

Greg looked at Kelly, and she shrugged. He shook his head, and she grinned at him. She knew Greg well, and that gesture was typical Greg. He expressed his disappointment with people with that characteristic shake of the head, with wide eyes. It reminded her of their years of friendship, and the hope that they'd both survive to the end of this war.

He's like a brother to me, she thought.

During the newt two minutes, the other five pilots arrived, introduced themselves, and took their seats. Shortly afterward, Admiral Jenkins entered, accompanied by a technician. Fiona shouted "Admiral on the deck!" and everyone stood and saluted.

Admiral Jenkins turned to them, returned the salute, and said "As you were." The pilots returned to their seats, listening intently.

The Admiral cleared his throat. "You twelve are some of the finest pilots to ever grace the UNSC with your skills. You've shown yourselves adept at piloting the vast number of UNSC aircraft. You've all fought in major conflicts with the Covenant, and each of you has at least 200 kills. Therefore, you have been selected for Operation Spearhead."

"Over the past seven years, the technicians in hangar 2-B have been hard at work developing the latest UNSC aircraft: The Wildcat. These are aerospace fighter-bombers which have been developed for the following purpose: to attack key Covenant locations, and thereby pave the way for the reclamation of our planet!"

There was instant murmuring amongst the pilots, and Greg exchanged excited grins with Kelly, before the Admiral called for silence.

"The wildcats," he continued, "have been in development in every UNSC fortress around the globe. Due to limited resources, however, each fortress only has enough Wildcats for one squadron. You are the squadron for Sierra fortress. In three hours, you will be flying these Wildcats on your first mission. In the meantime, however, Mike here is going to give you a rundown on the Wildcat technology." He stepped back from the table and took a seat.

The technician stepped forward, carrying a data-disk. He slotted it into the projector in the centre of the table, pressed a few buttons, and a three-dimensional, rotating schematic of a Wildcat appeared.

"The Wildcat design," he began," is based upon the Longsword. However, the Wildcat is smaller and sleeker, allowing it to benefit from increased engine efficiency and a faster top speed. There are a number of weapon configurations available, but your Wildcats will each be equipped with the following armaments." As he spoke, parts of the Wildcat on the projector were highlighted, showing the locations of each weapon.

"Each Wildcat is equipped with four 112mm rotary cannons, one in the starboard wing, one in the port wing, and the other two in the nose. Also, we have a variety of missiles at your disposal. At various points, there are missile launchers concealed within the design, and they enable a maximum number of fifty missiles per Wildcat."

"For use against airborne targets, the HE-9 missiles will prove most effective. We've tweaked the warhead so that one missile will take down the shielding on a Covenant aircraft. The Wildcats will be armed with 24 of these missiles. You may also be asked to bomb ground locations. For this, there are twelve HE-12 missiles, and twelve IC-9 incendiary missiles."

"However, we have indication that the Covenant are deploying large artillery positions. And when I say large, I mean some of them are larger than houses. They have shielding which the HE-9s, HE-12s, and IC-9s cannot penetrate, even if they're all fired at the same time. Which is why we've developed these."

A new schematic appeared on the holopad: a long, slim missile with a large warhead.

"This," Mike explained, "is an experimental pulse missile, version 5, referred to as an EPX. Each of your Wildcats will have two of these as standard armament, but for designated missions you'll have more. five EPXs will take out a scarab, wherever it hits. The largest artillery positions will need 12 missiles. What happens is the pulse generated by the warhead overloads the Covenant reactors. The result is an explosion which will wipe out anything within 10 meters of the reactor."

Greg smiled. Sounded like they were gonna be causing the Covenant some major losses.

"Sorry for all the technical details," Mike apologised, "but you may be involved in some major attacks, and you need to know exactly what the armaments are capable of. Two final things, though. The first is that each Wildcat now has shielding similar to that of the MJOLNIR armour which the SPARTAN-II soldiers use. This obviously provides the Wildcat with an advantage over the Longswords. The second is that you have each been issued with a standard AI. Now these were extremely hard to obtain, so don't lose them, ok?"

The Admiral stood up. "Report to hangar 2-B at 1300 hours for your first mission. Make sure you've chosen your wingman first. Make a wise choice: you'll be in these pairs for the whole of Operation Spearhead. Oh, and I want each of the Lieutenants to be wingman to a higher-ranking pilot."

Everyone stood up and saluted, replying "Yes sir!"

As the Admiral and the technician left the room, Greg let out a low whistle. "Our own AIs, huh?" he said to Kelly. "Sounds like these missions are gonna be tough."

"Yeah, well, that's why they picked us, isn't it?" she replied. "Who's your wingman?"

"That's a stupid question, isn't it," he replied, punching her lightly on the arm. "It's always been you. You watch my back and I'll watch yours. That's how it's always been."

She grinned at him. "Fine by me. You better watch out though – I'd hate to show you up by getting more kills. I mean, what with you outranking me and all."

"You can try!" They laughed, heading toward the recreation centre.

"Hey, Kelly - You wanna grab some time in the simulators? I haven't flown for so long, and I'd rather not be rusty for the first mission in a new aircraft."

"Sure, why not. We've got a couple of hours to kill anyway."

1300 hours
August 19th, 2571
UNSC Fortress Sierra
United Kingdom, Earth

The twelve pilots stood at attention as they received their first mission briefing.

"Ok, pilots," the Admiral barked. "Covenant forces have set up a large barracks outside Bristol. As we speak, a convoy of their transports have left a drop point in Wales, and will be passing over the Bristol Channel. They'll be using the bridge. Now, I doubt any of those suckers can swim, so blow those bridge supports and sink 'em. Wait until they're all on the bridge though. Got it? Good. Commander Hownes!"

The arrogant Commander stepped forward. "Yes sir!"

"You'll be Echo One, and CO of One Flight. Note that this does not give you command over the whole squadron, only over your flight. I trust you've chosen your wingman?"

"Yes sir, I've chosen Lieutenant Ewan Ford to be my wingman!"

"Good. Lieutenant Ford, You'll be Echo Two."

And so it went, until each of the pilots had been designated a callsign and assigned to a flight. Greg was Echo Nice, CO of Three Flight.

"For this mission," the Admiral said, "One flight will take out the southern supports. Two flight will take out the northern supports. Three flight will provide cover against airborne threats, and any anti-aircraft ground units. Do you copy?"

"Roger that sir," the commanders replied.

Admiral Jenkins nodded. "Good. Now get to your ships, familiarize yourselves with the cockpits, and prepare for takeoff. Departure scheduled for 1320 hours, so don't delay. Return via evasion maneuver alpha-two-tango as soon as the mission is over. Good luck"

They saluted, and the Admiral left. Greg and Kelly walked off with the other two pilots in their flight – Lieutenant Commander Fiona Varlhaven (Echo Eleven) and Lieutenant Jacob Saunders (Echo Twelve) – to their designated Wildcats. Before they entered them, Greg had a quick word with them.

"OK guys, stick with your wingmen. Echoes Eleven and Twelve – you'll be above and behind echo ten and myself. Don't so anything stupid – if it get's too hot to handle, don't be afraid to call for help. See you guys in the air."

They saluted him, and entered their Wildcats. Kelly turned to him. "Seems like ages since I was in the air again. Lets make it a good run, yeah?"

"Hell yeah, you know it," he replied, as she walked up the ramp of her Wildcat.

Entering his own, he quickly familiarized himself with the control layout, and strapped himself into the pilot's seat. Then he noticed the AI. He had the impression of a tall, lean ODST, stood at attention. "Hello, Commander Cowley. My name is Fielden, and I am your personal AI for Operation Spearhead. How may I be of service?"

"Power up all systems, please," Greg asked, and the Wildcat instantly came to life.

"Attention, Echo squadron," came a voice over the COM. "This is Control. You have been cleared for takeoff in two via access tunnel Yankee-Nine, over."

Greg keyed his COM. "Copy that, control, access tunnel Yankee-Nine, over."

"Please activate belly jets and retract landing gear, over."

"Copy control, firing belly jets and retracting landing gear, over."

As he spoke, he fired the thrusters and felt the Wildcat leave the ground. Flipping a switch above his head, he retracted the landing gear, and pulled the stick to the left. The Wildcat turned to face the entrance for access tunnel Yankee-Nine.

"Attention, Echo Squadron, this is Admiral Jenkins. You are cleared for immediate departure. Please leave in flight order, over."

"Copy, Admiral, three flight ready for departure, over."

"Safe hunting, Echoes."

As flights one and two departed, Greg eased the throttle forward, and felt the Wildcat slowly drift forward. After Echo Eight had cleared the entrance, he keyed his teams COM.

"OK, three flight, follow my lead. Let's go get 'em!"

He pushed the throttle to 25%, and the Wildcat glided through the tunnel. Emerging into the sunlight 30 seconds later, he saw flights one and two circling above, and keyed his COM.

"Echo Nine in the clear, over."

Echo Twelve was the last to leave, and as Lieutenant Saunders emerged, the Wildcats turned towards their target location.

"Echo nine to three flight: push throttles to 100%, over."

"Copy that, Echo nine. Throttle to 100%. Over," came the reply from Kelly.

Twelve Wildcats streaked into the distance.

The Covenant convoy was halfway across the bridge when an IC-9 streaked through the sky and detonated on a Spectre. The alien machine exploded, and the flaming wreckage spun through the air. One piece even struck the pilot of a ghost, who was killed instantly. His corpse slumped forward onto the controls, causing the skittish vehicle to accelerate off the side of the bridge.

"Great shot, Echo eleven," Greg said as he launched a missile at a phantom. The missile exploded, the phantom's shields overloaded, and Greg opened up with the rotary cannons. The enemy aircraft shook from an internal explosion, billowed smoke, and circled into the convoy below, crashing into a transport.

Kelly slotted her Wildcat in behind a Seraph. The alien aircraft began twisting and turning, in an effort to evade her, but the Wildcat was too quick, too maneuverable, and Kelly wasted no time in shooting the Seraph out of the skies. Suddenly, plasma bolts raced past her cockpit, as an enemy Seraph latched onto her six. She slammed the stick hard to the left, twisting the Wildcat into a barrel roll, and gradually pulled back on the stick at the same time. The Wildcat began corkscrewing in larger and larger circles, and the Seraph, which couldn't match the maneuverability, ended up overshooting it's target. Immediately, Kelly killed the corkscrew, lined the Seraph up in her crosshairs, and unleashed one HE-9 followed by a three-second burst from the rotary cannons. The Seraph seemed to just disintegrate as it flew, and Kelly began searching for other targets.

Greg swore. He'd taken on two seraphs, and whilst he was attacking one, the other looped over his head and slotted onto his tail. He'd twisted and turned, but the pilot was incredibly skilled, and managed to keep on Greg's tail. A shrill sound filled the cockpit as Fielden said "Sir! The enemy Seraph has a lock on the Wildcat!"

"Jam it," Greg said, as he punched the left rudder. The Wildcat shot off to the left, the Seraph followed, and the shrill tone continued.

"Sir, I can't jam it. Plasma torpedo launch in seven."

Then, Greg remembered a technique he'd used before, when an enemy was on his tail. He wasted a second hoping it would work, then dropped his flaps and raised his nose. His Wildcat effectively stopped in mid-air for a second, as the Seraph shot past – right into Greg's crosshairs. He unleashed a missile, watched the shield overload, pulled the trigger, and watched as the bullets tore through the cockpit, killing the elite in a storm of gunfire. The Seraph tumbled out of the skies.

"Echo One to Echo squadron: southern supports down, over."

Greg twisted in his seat, and saw the southern end of the bridge begin to dip down towards the waves. Almost immediately, another report came in.

"Echo Five to Echo Squadron: northern supports down, over."

The lack of supports meant only one thing: death for the Covenant convoy. The whole bridge seemed to shudder, and then fell into the channel with an almighty splash. Within minutes, there was no trace that the bridge ever existed – everything had disappeared below the waves. Echo squadron remained for three minutes to wipe out the Covenant air forces, then they headed home.

Mission one complete, with no casualties. Greg couldn't help but smile. The Covenant had never known what hit them.

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