Hey guys, this is my first fanfic, give it a read and lemme know what u think.
The snow hung in the air like a thick mist. The air was so cold it didn’t fall, it just hovered there as we trudged through the ice, stinging the unprotected parts of our faces. We were 3rd squad, 2nd platoon of the 15th EU Battalion stationed near Champagne, France. Our call sign on today’s patrol was Bishop Four.
The EU and PAC have been at war for as long as can I remember now. When I was born, I was a refugee on an EU transport ship headed for Africa. 20 years later, I was drafted to fight. Every able bodied man was drafted to the cause. It’s not like we had a choice really. The new Ice Age left about 20 percent of the Earth hospitable, and whoever won the war would claim the land as its own. The loser would starve to death or freeze.
My name is Rico. I am a sergeant, with a squad of 5 men under my command. On point was Lucas, the new guy. He was given to us as a replacement for our last sharpshooter. He got a tungsten round through the leg and bled to death outside of Berlin after the PAC took the city. The guy next to me was D’Antello, our medic. Everyone just called him Dee for short. He was definitely someone you wanted near you in a fight. Coming up the rear were our heavy weapons specialists, Crosby and McGovern.
Our mission today was move to contact. Basically this meant we’d patrol ahead of the main force and see if we took fire, which we didn’t expect as my CO told us the PAC didn’t know we were here. The 15th Battalion was a contingent force, made for small operations. We didn’t know exactly what our overall objective was, but we knew we had to get through France without incident.
Lucas dropped to a knee and put up his right hand. Like clockwork, my squad all stopped and drew their weapons, each training their rifles to their assigned quadrants. I hunkered down and covered the 20 meters to Lucas’ position.
“What is it, trooper?”
“The ridge line to the east, sir. I thought I caught a lens flare or a glint of armor.”
There wasn’t supposed to be any enemy troops in this area, but I wasn’t about to risk the lives of my men on an assumption. I’ve lost 4 guys already this week. “Stay here while I take a look.”
“Roger that.”
I dropped down on my chest and elbowed my way over to the tree line east of our position. I didn’t bring my binoculars, but it wasn’t a problem. A few days earlier, I mounted a surplus Dystek sniper sight onto my Baur assault rifle. It didn’t make the rifle itself any more accurate but it sure as hell helped me drop some poor sap at 300 meters, running. I scanned the ridge back and forth a few times and didn’t see anything suspicious. I waved my arm for Lucas to come closer to me.
“Where exactly did you see the flare?”
“Right next to that small mound of dirt, behind the huge pine, center of the ridge.”
That wasn’t good. Lucas was new so he didn’t know. PAC troops often concealed their vehicles behind dirt mounds, as it gave them good traction and natural cover. This might be trouble if there’s a transport over there. I took aim again with my rifle and sighted the spot Lucas pointed out. Jesus, I could barely see the dirt mound through the sight. No wonder Lucas was tasked as a sharpshooter.
A bright flash suddenly erupted on the ridge. “COVER!”
The men of third squad were well trained and all dove instantly for cover. About 15 meters away from our position, a massive explosion split several trees in half. “CORPSMAN!” No leader wanted to hear that.
“Dee!”, I ordered.
That’s all the medic needed to hear to spring to life and rush over to Crosby, who I could see was bleeding from the arm. D’Antello tore the armor off the machine gunners arm and inspected the wound. “It’s just a scratch you pussy, just slap some tech on it and you’ll be fine.” Tech was a nick name we used for some cream we are all issued in the field. In case of minor injury, you just put it on the wound and nano-robots act like platelets and clot the wound, they do it in a matter of seconds.
I could tell by the report, that shot came from a Nekomata, the PAC’s mobile artillery platform. It was reminiscent of our own tanks, except it hovered above the ground on two banks of thrusters. It would be 20 seconds before another round came crashing down on our position. I hopped on the comlink.
“Valdez, Valdez, this is Bishop Four, we have made contact, enemy armor, grid reference Yankee, Juliet, six, five, requesting immediate close air support, over.”
A few seconds later, the comlink came alive. “Bishop Four, be advised, nearest gunship is 3 clicks away, call sign Whiskey One, ETA 30 seconds.”
Captain Michaels’ headset clicked on. “Whiskey One, we have troops on the ground taking artillery fire, call sign Bishop Four at grid reference Yankee, Juliet, six, five, break formation and assist, do you copy?”
“Roger that, Whiskey One breaking to assist. Lincoln, give me contact with the troops on the ground.”
“Affirmative.” The electronics warfare officer spoke calmly from the back seat of the UD-6 Talon, a multipurpose attack aircraft. “Captain, we have Bishop Four on comlink two.”
“Trooper, theres an aweful lot of forest down there, mark the target with laser, over.”
“Roger that Whiskey One, give’em hell!”, came the reply.
A few seconds later Michaels could see a bright spot radiate from the forest at his two o’clock, and dead next to it a Type-32 Nekomata. “Valdez, Whiskey One is inbound and hot.”
On the first pass, Michaels positioned his Talon for a direct attack, putting the tank right in the crosshairs of Lincoln’s HLF-17 missile. The projectile streaked across the sky towards the helpless vehicle. It didn’t have a chance. The missile impacted with a telltale sound, as 50kg of HE shaped charge penetrated the armor of the massive tank. As they swooped over it, Michaels could see the left thruster bank on the vehicle had failed, immobilizing it. One more pass and it would be out of commission.
“Lincoln, any sign of AA?”
“Negative sir, looks like friendly skies.” Michaels arched his VTOL towards the tank and let loose with a volley of unguided rockets. It collapsed to the ground and the rear caught fire, he had hit the engine. It was times like this that made Michaels sick. He knew in a few moments, the hatch on the top of the vehicle would come open with a plume of smoke as the crew, a very human crew, tried to get away from the burning vehicle. And he knew it was his duty to have his EWO eliminate them with the 25mm cannon mounted on the bottom of the aircraft. Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to deal with that today. He had to jerk the thrusters forward to avoid the fireball which engulfed the Nekomata. No one would be climbing out the hatch now.
“Bishop Four, anything else we can do for you boys today?”
“That’ll do Whiskey One, I owe you a beer when we get back to Valdez today.”
“Roger that, Whisky One out.”
Just then, Michaels’ panel lit up like a christmas tree. “Captain, we are being painted!” Shit, the enemy was waiting until we slowed to a hover before targeting the Talon, Michaels thought. Lincoln’s voice wasn’t calm anymore, “Missile loose, missile loose!”.
“You know what to do, Lincoln, wait for my mark!” Michaels jammed the throttle all the way forward and felt 12 G’s push him back in the cockpit. He could see the missile to his nine o’clock and closing.
“300 meters…….200 meters…….75 meters sir!”
“MARK!” With that, the EWO flipped the one switch on his panel that might save their lives, the active defense. It was an electromagnetic force field that was projected from plasma turbines powering the craft. It could only be activated for a few seconds, but it could stop a charging elephant when timed right. The missile impacted with a vacuous sound as the force field took the full force of the blast.
“Sir, second missile loose and closing!” This time, they were out of luck. The shield needed time to recharge and the missile was too close to outmaneuver it. While avoiding the first one, Michaels had flown directly over the SAM site. The alarms in the Talon turned to wails as the craft took a direct hit to the tail. “Sir, we’ve lost power in both engines!”
“Charge your pod, Lincoln!”, Michaels shouted over the radio as his Talon’s death throws grew louder and more manic as the craft rocketed towards the earth. If he didn’t get out soon, he would be too close for the pod to save his life. The pod was an all encompassing caccoon which sealed the soldier in a ballistic foam. The pod would then fire out the bottom of the craft, and crash to the ground, hopefully with the soldier inside still protected by the foam.
“Valdez, Valdez, Whiskey One is going down, I repeat, mayday, Whiskey One is going down, we’re punching out!” With that, Michaels and Lincoln simultaneously activated their pods and were on the ground in what seems like a millisecond. After exiting his pod, Captain Michaels had just enough time to see the Talon crash in the forest to the south in a spectacular explosion of plasma fuel.
It was then that he realized the severity of his situation. Lincoln was badly wounded. His pod didn’t seal properly and he had lost half of his leg on the impact. Michaels was behind enemy lines with a badly wounded comrade. If Lincoln didn’t receive medical attention soon, he would bleed out.
To Be continued...
The snow hung in the air like a thick mist. The air was so cold it didn’t fall, it just hovered there as we trudged through the ice, stinging the unprotected parts of our faces. We were 3rd squad, 2nd platoon of the 15th EU Battalion stationed near Champagne, France. Our call sign on today’s patrol was Bishop Four.
The EU and PAC have been at war for as long as can I remember now. When I was born, I was a refugee on an EU transport ship headed for Africa. 20 years later, I was drafted to fight. Every able bodied man was drafted to the cause. It’s not like we had a choice really. The new Ice Age left about 20 percent of the Earth hospitable, and whoever won the war would claim the land as its own. The loser would starve to death or freeze.
My name is Rico. I am a sergeant, with a squad of 5 men under my command. On point was Lucas, the new guy. He was given to us as a replacement for our last sharpshooter. He got a tungsten round through the leg and bled to death outside of Berlin after the PAC took the city. The guy next to me was D’Antello, our medic. Everyone just called him Dee for short. He was definitely someone you wanted near you in a fight. Coming up the rear were our heavy weapons specialists, Crosby and McGovern.
Our mission today was move to contact. Basically this meant we’d patrol ahead of the main force and see if we took fire, which we didn’t expect as my CO told us the PAC didn’t know we were here. The 15th Battalion was a contingent force, made for small operations. We didn’t know exactly what our overall objective was, but we knew we had to get through France without incident.
Lucas dropped to a knee and put up his right hand. Like clockwork, my squad all stopped and drew their weapons, each training their rifles to their assigned quadrants. I hunkered down and covered the 20 meters to Lucas’ position.
“What is it, trooper?”
“The ridge line to the east, sir. I thought I caught a lens flare or a glint of armor.”
There wasn’t supposed to be any enemy troops in this area, but I wasn’t about to risk the lives of my men on an assumption. I’ve lost 4 guys already this week. “Stay here while I take a look.”
“Roger that.”
I dropped down on my chest and elbowed my way over to the tree line east of our position. I didn’t bring my binoculars, but it wasn’t a problem. A few days earlier, I mounted a surplus Dystek sniper sight onto my Baur assault rifle. It didn’t make the rifle itself any more accurate but it sure as hell helped me drop some poor sap at 300 meters, running. I scanned the ridge back and forth a few times and didn’t see anything suspicious. I waved my arm for Lucas to come closer to me.
“Where exactly did you see the flare?”
“Right next to that small mound of dirt, behind the huge pine, center of the ridge.”
That wasn’t good. Lucas was new so he didn’t know. PAC troops often concealed their vehicles behind dirt mounds, as it gave them good traction and natural cover. This might be trouble if there’s a transport over there. I took aim again with my rifle and sighted the spot Lucas pointed out. Jesus, I could barely see the dirt mound through the sight. No wonder Lucas was tasked as a sharpshooter.
A bright flash suddenly erupted on the ridge. “COVER!”
The men of third squad were well trained and all dove instantly for cover. About 15 meters away from our position, a massive explosion split several trees in half. “CORPSMAN!” No leader wanted to hear that.
“Dee!”, I ordered.
That’s all the medic needed to hear to spring to life and rush over to Crosby, who I could see was bleeding from the arm. D’Antello tore the armor off the machine gunners arm and inspected the wound. “It’s just a scratch you pussy, just slap some tech on it and you’ll be fine.” Tech was a nick name we used for some cream we are all issued in the field. In case of minor injury, you just put it on the wound and nano-robots act like platelets and clot the wound, they do it in a matter of seconds.
I could tell by the report, that shot came from a Nekomata, the PAC’s mobile artillery platform. It was reminiscent of our own tanks, except it hovered above the ground on two banks of thrusters. It would be 20 seconds before another round came crashing down on our position. I hopped on the comlink.
“Valdez, Valdez, this is Bishop Four, we have made contact, enemy armor, grid reference Yankee, Juliet, six, five, requesting immediate close air support, over.”
A few seconds later, the comlink came alive. “Bishop Four, be advised, nearest gunship is 3 clicks away, call sign Whiskey One, ETA 30 seconds.”
Captain Michaels’ headset clicked on. “Whiskey One, we have troops on the ground taking artillery fire, call sign Bishop Four at grid reference Yankee, Juliet, six, five, break formation and assist, do you copy?”
“Roger that, Whiskey One breaking to assist. Lincoln, give me contact with the troops on the ground.”
“Affirmative.” The electronics warfare officer spoke calmly from the back seat of the UD-6 Talon, a multipurpose attack aircraft. “Captain, we have Bishop Four on comlink two.”
“Trooper, theres an aweful lot of forest down there, mark the target with laser, over.”
“Roger that Whiskey One, give’em hell!”, came the reply.
A few seconds later Michaels could see a bright spot radiate from the forest at his two o’clock, and dead next to it a Type-32 Nekomata. “Valdez, Whiskey One is inbound and hot.”
On the first pass, Michaels positioned his Talon for a direct attack, putting the tank right in the crosshairs of Lincoln’s HLF-17 missile. The projectile streaked across the sky towards the helpless vehicle. It didn’t have a chance. The missile impacted with a telltale sound, as 50kg of HE shaped charge penetrated the armor of the massive tank. As they swooped over it, Michaels could see the left thruster bank on the vehicle had failed, immobilizing it. One more pass and it would be out of commission.
“Lincoln, any sign of AA?”
“Negative sir, looks like friendly skies.” Michaels arched his VTOL towards the tank and let loose with a volley of unguided rockets. It collapsed to the ground and the rear caught fire, he had hit the engine. It was times like this that made Michaels sick. He knew in a few moments, the hatch on the top of the vehicle would come open with a plume of smoke as the crew, a very human crew, tried to get away from the burning vehicle. And he knew it was his duty to have his EWO eliminate them with the 25mm cannon mounted on the bottom of the aircraft. Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to deal with that today. He had to jerk the thrusters forward to avoid the fireball which engulfed the Nekomata. No one would be climbing out the hatch now.
“Bishop Four, anything else we can do for you boys today?”
“That’ll do Whiskey One, I owe you a beer when we get back to Valdez today.”
“Roger that, Whisky One out.”
Just then, Michaels’ panel lit up like a christmas tree. “Captain, we are being painted!” Shit, the enemy was waiting until we slowed to a hover before targeting the Talon, Michaels thought. Lincoln’s voice wasn’t calm anymore, “Missile loose, missile loose!”.
“You know what to do, Lincoln, wait for my mark!” Michaels jammed the throttle all the way forward and felt 12 G’s push him back in the cockpit. He could see the missile to his nine o’clock and closing.
“300 meters…….200 meters…….75 meters sir!”
“MARK!” With that, the EWO flipped the one switch on his panel that might save their lives, the active defense. It was an electromagnetic force field that was projected from plasma turbines powering the craft. It could only be activated for a few seconds, but it could stop a charging elephant when timed right. The missile impacted with a vacuous sound as the force field took the full force of the blast.
“Sir, second missile loose and closing!” This time, they were out of luck. The shield needed time to recharge and the missile was too close to outmaneuver it. While avoiding the first one, Michaels had flown directly over the SAM site. The alarms in the Talon turned to wails as the craft took a direct hit to the tail. “Sir, we’ve lost power in both engines!”
“Charge your pod, Lincoln!”, Michaels shouted over the radio as his Talon’s death throws grew louder and more manic as the craft rocketed towards the earth. If he didn’t get out soon, he would be too close for the pod to save his life. The pod was an all encompassing caccoon which sealed the soldier in a ballistic foam. The pod would then fire out the bottom of the craft, and crash to the ground, hopefully with the soldier inside still protected by the foam.
“Valdez, Valdez, Whiskey One is going down, I repeat, mayday, Whiskey One is going down, we’re punching out!” With that, Michaels and Lincoln simultaneously activated their pods and were on the ground in what seems like a millisecond. After exiting his pod, Captain Michaels had just enough time to see the Talon crash in the forest to the south in a spectacular explosion of plasma fuel.
It was then that he realized the severity of his situation. Lincoln was badly wounded. His pod didn’t seal properly and he had lost half of his leg on the impact. Michaels was behind enemy lines with a badly wounded comrade. If Lincoln didn’t receive medical attention soon, he would bleed out.
To Be continued...
