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Delta Squadron: Chapter One; Delta Squadron
Posted By: Steele<hoffmansteele@hotmail.com>
Date: 19 July 2003, 11:48 PM
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Delta Squadron: Chapter One; Delta Squadron
1400 Hours, August 7, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
UNSC HQ, Earth, Milky Way System
"You wanted to see me, sir?" asked Commander
James "Priest" McCoy.
"Yes I did, Jim. Have a seat," Lieutenant General George MacLanahan answered.
Jim nodded and sat down in the plush red chair opposite the General and took a look around his office. It was large and wooden, with personal articles everywhere. One picture in particular caught Jim's eye. It showed a young George MacLanahan standing beside a SkyHawk atmospheric fighter along with a bunch of buddies. They all seemed happy and carefree.
If only that was the case today, Jim thought. Today's military was dreary and oppressed. While all held hope and determination, the Covenant reality was still there. It's only a matter of time, some said, before we're all dead.
"James?"
Jim snapped his attention back to the present. "Sir?"
"Would you like anything to drink?"
"No sir."
"Well suit yourself," MacLanahan said as he reached under his desk and pulled out a bottle of well-aged brandy and helped himself to a glass. "I suppose you're wondering why I transferred you from Admiral Reichen's staff to mine."
"Well, yes sir. It's kind of odd for a Navy wing wiper to be part of a leatherneck's staff."
"That's just it; you're not going to be a part of my staff. Instead you're being put back into squadron command."
Jim could barely contain his excitement; he hated staff duty. "My old squadron, sir?"
MacLanahan shifted uncomfortably. "Well no, not really. You're to head up a new squadron. A black squadron. An elite squadron. Delta Squadron."
Jim's mind reeled. I've heard of these 'black squadrons.' They're sent deep into Covenant lines, with no support, operating entirely on their own. They serve as pirates against the Covenant. Extremely dangerous. Extremely satisfying.
"I'll do it, sir."
MacLanahan smiled. "I figured you would. You'll have to assemble your own team; if you want somebody just let me know, I'll get 'em for you. You even get an AI. You're scheduled to arrive at Diego Garcia at 1900 hours.
There'll you find everything you need and you'll be able to call in any pilots; you'll also find your XO there."
Jim stood up and saluted. "Well, guess I better be packing, sir."
"Yes, guess you better be. And Jim?"
"Sir?"
"Good luck."
0900 Hours, August 15, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
UNSC Pelican transport en-route to Diego Garcia, Earth
Lieutenant Albert "Razor" Harrison shifted uncomfortably in the seat harness and gulped. He hated not being in control of anything he was inside of. It just felt wrong that he wasn't flying the Pelican.
Looking around he could tell some of the other pilot's felt the same way. Of the nine other pilots in the drop ship, Al recognized only one and that didn't give him too much comfort. The pilot was Colonel Ivan "Rusty" Broadvosky and well known for being one of the leading aces in the Marine Corps.
Al had no idea what he was doing or where he was going. All he knew was that three days ago, he had been approached after maneuvers with his squadron on Mars and asked if he wanted to join an elite squadron. The pay was good, but the danger was high. He had accepted and here he was now, aboard a Pelican headed to some isolated base.
He had no idea why he'd been asked, but was pretty sure it had something to do with him receiving the Congressional Medal of Honor three months ago. He still remembered that battle that had nearly cost him his life—that had cost him his ship and wingman. But, he had somehow stopped a Covenant Battle Cruiser form glassing a small planet.
The Pelican started its descent and touched down. Al popped his seat harness and climbed out, grabbing his bag in the process. He started to leave the Pelican, but noticed a female pilot struggling to get her own overly-stuff bag out of the all-too-small compartment. Noticing that everyone else was already off he walked over to her. "Need some help?"
"No, I go—" she started to say when her bag suddenly popped free, sending her stumbling.
Al reached out a hand and caught her before she could fall. "You okay?"
"Yeah, fine," she mumbled, bending over to pick up her bag. He could tell she seemed slightly embarrassed. She stood back up and turned around, smiling. Sticking out her hand she said, "Captain Alice Cole, but you should call me Stumpy. You know, callsigns only.
At first Al didn't even hear her. She was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Shoulder-length red hair curled around her slender neck and she looked up at him with bright green eyes.
Al said the first response that came to mind, "You're a little young to be a captain aren't you."
She gave him a patronizing look. "I'm a Marine captain, not a Navy captain. And you are?"
"Oh." He took her hand and shook it, holding on longer than necessary. "Lieutenant Al Harrison or Razor."
"Well, I guess we better report to our new Skipper."
"Yeah, guess we should," he said as she walked past him and unto the flight line. Shrugging to himself he turned and followed her. They entered the main hangar where ten chairs sat, awaiting them. Al took a seat on the end beside Alice; all the other pilots had already sat down.
A tall brown-haired commander walked in and motioned for them to stay seated. "Hello. I'm Commander James McCoy, but call me Priest. And this," he pointed at the short dark-black haired man beside him, "is Lieutenant Colonel William "Smoke" Jackson.
"As you all know, you've been selected for this squadron. Before I get ahead of myself let me explain to you what this squadron is. It's a black squadron, named Delta Squadron. Black squadrons operate a lot differently than standard squadrons. We operate on our own without support and our procedures are quite different than from what you're used.
"I can't go into detail with our assigned missions and objectives, but I can tell you that it'll be very dangerous. We won't be playing defense, we're taking the fight to the Covenant, but the pay is significantly greater. Now before I can continue, you must decide whether you want to be a part of this squadron. If you so choose, you may get up and leave right now back to your original station. If you want to leave please stand."
No one stood.
"Good. Now I'll tell you that we're being sent behind enemy lines to act as pirates. We're going to raid Covenant shipping and attack anything we can handle. Our only support will be in the form of a UNSC small frigate, the Bullet. You've been chose because of certain specialties.
"For example, if we needed a Covenant Battle Cruiser destroyed by a single Dagger we'd ask Lieutenant Harrison here," Commander McCoy said as he pointed at Al. A few of the pilots chuckled.
Alice turned to him, her eyes wide. "I didn't know you were that Lieutenant Albert Harrison."
Al just shrugged. He knew that his name had been spoken quite regularly a few weeks ago and that most people considered him a hero. I'm not feeling too heroic right now.
Priest continued, "Well, find your bunk and get settled in. We'll start training tomorrow." The Commander turned and walked out, his XO in tow.
Al stood and picked up his bag. "I better find a good room."
Alice jumped up beside him. "Why didn't you tell me you were THE Lieutenant Harrison? And where's your CMH? I don't see it on your uniform."
He shrugged. "I don't wear it."
"Why not? You should wear that medal."
Al was getting irritated. "Why? I'll tell you why. On the mission I earned this my whole squadron was destroyed. Destroyed no survivors. They're the ones that took down the Battle Cruiser, all I did was get a lucky shot in."
She nodded and turned away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude in your business."
He reached out and touched her shoulder. "No, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's just that a lot of people get on me about the same thing." He grinned. "Would you like to go get something to drink with me? There's a civilian cafeteria just around the block."
She looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, I'd like that very much."
1300 Hours, August 29, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
"Razor roll left!"
Al responded immediately. He slapped the control stick the side and pulled, sending his Dagger through a hard ninety-degree bank. Pulse lasers sizzled by his fighter and he rolled another ninety degrees, completing the inversion, and dove.
The simulated Seraph following him dove also, but was transformed into a miniature sun by a missile from Priest.
"Thanks, Priest."
"Sure thing, Razor. Good sim run; you got what, five kills?"
"Six if you include the one I caused to crash."
"I'll include it. You just got the highest score."
Al nodded and climbed out of the simulator, wiping sweat from his face in the process. The rest of the squadron was already there. Priest climbed out of his simulator and looked at the rest of the squadron.
"Well, now that you've all passed the sim run using the new C742Js we're officially mission qualified. We will be shipping out in two days, but I have a surprise for you all. Two C702X Longswords and their crews are joining us. We'll need their firepower if we run into anything larger than a frigate.
"Consider the next few days R and R. Write letters, sleep, do whatever you want. But be warned this is the last time you're allowed to contact family, friends, or spouses. Act wisely."
Al was glad they were finished with training on the C742J. It was the most complicated fighter he'd ever flew. It was also bad to the bone. The newest Dagger variant incorporated Covenant shield technology and new weaponry. The shield itself could take survive a fighter-sized Plasma Torpedo, but multiple Pulse Lasers could eat through it with ease.
Along with the shield the C742J had a Slip Space Drive, Plasma Decoys, and advanced armor. But there was a drawback. The Dagger's atmospheric ability was severely limited.
"Hey, Razor?"
"Yes, Stumpy?"
"You know I hate my callsign, so why do you use it?"
"Because I love you so, Stumpy."
"Shut-up!"
Al chuckled and tickled her. She giggled and slapped his hands away. "What if someone sees us," she hissed. "Personal relationships within squadrons are not encouraged."
He smiled benignly. "This is a black squadron. We could die at any minute; we're allowed a more free reign." They had gotten very close in the past weeks; he was really starting to care for her. "Maybe we can share a Longsword."
She shook her head. "The only Longsword I want is yours. Now come, it's time for some R and R."
He laughed and followed her back to her room.
1200 Hours, September 1, 2552
Commander James "Priest" McCoy groggily climbed out of bed, wondering who in the hell would be calling him at this hour. He reached out and grabbed the phone, placing it to ear. But the ringing continued. Realizing he was holding a banana up to his ear he quickly dropped it and grabbed the phone.
"Commander McCoy?"
"Yes. Who is this."
"That doesn't matter. Prepare Delta Squadron for their first mission. Captain Smith of the Bullet has your orders. You're to be leaving Diego Garcia within twenty-four hours. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Click.
"Well, I'll be damned," Jim mumbled to himself. Delta Squadron was already getting its first mission.
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