Maintaining The Vigilance : "Angels of War"

: “ Hit the Ground Running ”

Flight Deck
TCS Mistral Sea
1400 Hours (CST) (CST)

There were signs that this one would go like clockwork. The commander of the Marine Expeditionary Unit, Colonel "Bull" Dozer, had come out to see them off. He was going to lead them into battle and he wanted every Marine to know that he was concerned for their utmost safety. With a half-lit cigar jutting out of his mouth and laser rifle slung over his shoulder, he had walked from dropship to dropship, and then stopped at each one to see each Marine.

"Be careful," he said, pat the Marine's back, then he'd move to the next man.

"Good luck."

"Be careful."

The Fleet Marines were proud of their status. It spared them most of the numbing non-combat related routine that drove many a Navy Fleetie or Space Force Wing Wiper nuts. The Marines trained for war full time. They were fitter, faster, and first - "Ready to fight! Ready to kill! Ready to die but never will!"

They were the cream, the most highly motivated young soldiers of their generations, selected to fit the Marine Corps's idea of shock troopers. Some were veterans, like Staff Sergeant Jack Irons, a man who has been in the Corps for almost fifteen years. Others were overachievers in search of a greater challenge, like Corporal Daniel Shepherd, who had enlisted out of high school with a 4.0 GPA and decided to forgo college for the moment. Others like Lieutenant Roberts, were there to fulfill obligations.

Some were daredevils in search of physical challenge. Others were self-improvers, young men who found themselves adrift after high school. Others were forced to join the Corps. Lance Corporal Ian Schitz, was given a choice: the Marine Corps or jail. Others were trying to put their past troubles behind, whether it be with psychological problems, the law, drugs, or booze. They were harder edged then most of the young men of their generation.

Most of the Marines had been kicked around, and some had tasted failure. But there were no slackers. Every Marine worked to get here, probably harder then he had ever worked in his entire life. Beneath their macho act, most were earnest, patriotic, and idealistic. They had taken the Corps offer to be the Few Good Men. They have a profound sense of loyalty to the Confed cause and will go anywhere and kill anything to preserve its existence.

They held themselves to a higher standard then others. With their taut bodies, distinct crew cuts, and their Hoo-rah greeting, they saw themselves as the Fleet's soldiers at their best. Many, if they would make it, aspired to get picked for the Marine Commando, the elite, supersecret operatives.

Marine LC Bulldog Three
TCS Mistral Sea
1400 Hours (CST) (CST)

"Hey, what you guys doing in our dropship?" One of the young Marines asked the four grizzly looking commandos sitting near the corner. All of them were dressed in stealthy looking black suits and carried an array of equipment, weapons and no insignias whatsoever. One of the elite Marine Special Forces operatives, everyone called him 'Snake', had spiked hair with a bandana and he was smoking a cigarette. He took a few puffs before blowing the smoke in the young PFC's direction.

"Your dropship, Private?" He grunted at the young PFC, who started to be joined up by a few other young Marines, wanting to be in the 'presence' of the elite commandos.

"Yeah, this is our platoon, sir. Colonel's orders. He told us that our platoon is going to be here. He gave us orders and such."

"Sorry to bust your ego, Private, but we also got Colonel's orders," the Marine Commando said and then moved closely to the young Marines and whispered conspiracy, "Things so secret that the CO had to keep it hush hush at the briefing. He'll fill you guys in when we're on route."

The Private, who now figured he was in the middle of some spy movie, grinned ear to ear.

"Roger that, we are starting approach," the pilot of the Marine LC said. "Hang on!"

Lieutenant Roberts could feel the dropship rumble in anticipation. He took a moment to recheck is webbing and rifle. A whisper into his communications receiver, a glance at his watch, then a sigh to relax is nerves as he sat back and waited.

"Heads up, Lieutenant!" Husted was yelling at Danny's face, "The pilot said that his scanners pick up the presence of humans and aliens on the surface."

Colonel Dozer's face went up in the communications link, "Marines. Scanner detects aliens and humans on the ground. Each of them are in two groups. Right now our Tigershark escorts have scattered the civvies and they are trying to run away from their captors. We will drop right between the civvies and the bugs. When we drop, we will form a skirmish line protecting the civvies. Killing the bugs are next. Once civvies are secure we will start advancing on the bugs and wipe them out. When the commando units tell you to do something, you do it. SEMPER FI!!!"

"We're about to land, engage landing sequence. Activating thrusters and retro rockets."

"Negative on that!" Lieutenant Husted said, "I want you to go straight in and cut the power just before we hit the snow. You get me?"

"Yes sir."

"Guns! Target any alien group that doesn't have humans near it. Let's move!"

Below them, in the chilling wind and the snow, the civilians had heard the noise of the incoming fighters and had started to scatter.

The four Tigersharks flown straight to the ground, buzzing the little crowd that was gathering near one of the cave entranced. The sonic boom rattled through the ground as both human and aliens scattered from the noise. Once that was over some of the humans, who found their captives startled on the ground, did the first thing that came on their minds: run.

"The civvies are scattering!"

"Aw, shit! That just made targeting aliens just a little bit harder!" The copilot said as he was selecting the weapon systems. "We could hit one of them!"

"Goddammit, do what you can do! But don't target a civvie!"

As the dropship ran close to the atmosphere, the side gunners started to take potshots at the aliens with their laser cannons. But with such turbulence and the close vicinity of the humans, all they could hope for was to fire over the aliens heads and hope that it would make some of them duck to cover. Most of the aliens didn't and had started to go after the humans.

Stalker 200
Ymir System
1420 Hours (CST)

Lt. Col. Desautels sat impatiently strapped into his Tigershark waiting for the last of the Marine LCs to launch. Greywolf thought to himself, this whole operation so far was one giant cluster fuck. It wasn't going as planned at all. For example, twenty minutes into the operation, he was still sitting on the deck. What was supposed to happen was Phalanx's and Assassin's Panthers were supposed to launch first followed immediately by a Condor Refueling shuttle and then the Wild Weasel Tigersharks from his sister squadron. Next were to be the Shrike bombers. And of course, the last groups off of the deck are the Marine LCs and their escorts, his Tigersharks. The Death Angels would launch last.

Well, as always, no plan survives first contact with the enemy, and in this case, the enemy was technology. A fully loaded Midway-class carrier should be able to complete a magnum launch in 20 minutes. And well, the Misty is far from fully loaded and Greywolf was still sitting on the deck. First part of the launch went all right. All of the pilots were strapped in their fighters and the Marines were all set in their Landing Crafts before the Misty jumped in system. But of course, something was bound to go wrong, and it did. Two of the catapults went down, so that inflated the launch time. And one of the LCs had an engine overheat, so it had to be shut down and pulled away from the cat.

The way that the CAG had it planned out was for the three escort Tigersharks to launch and then an LC in alternating fashion. Then, all of the LCs were out, Greywolf's wing would launch, thus clearing the deck of all spacecraft. Well, the little delay that has occurred pushed back the entire landing operation, which could spell disaster for some unfortunate colonists.

"Bulldog Five is good for launch," called the pilot of the last of the Marine LCs.

"It is about damn time!" Greywolf said to himself as he watched the catapult take the nose skid of the LC and accelerate it. "Sonic, you're next up, and then Firefly. I am going to be the last out of here." As Greywolf said that, the grappler latched onto Sonic's fighter and picked it up to place it into the launch tube.

"Stalker 208 is good for launch," Sonic said in her unique accent.

"Air Boss to Stalker Lead. We have finished repairing one of the broken cats and you will launch with your wingmen. Standby."

Greywolf thought to himself, You would think that with six catapults we could get all of the fighters out in a reasonable amount of time. I just pray that if we ever get jumped, the fucking Technology fairy is paying us a visit. Greywolf reached over and keyed his mic. "Aight Air Boss, just get me in space as soon as possible." A minute or so later, Greywolf felt the jolt of the hoist latching onto his fighter to load it into the launch tube.

Combat Information Center
TCS Mistral Sea
1430 Hours (CST)

The organized chaos that was the operation of the Misty's nerve center was in full swing. Techs were hunched over their respective monitors. Supervisors running around the room making sure that all was well. Today, the scene seemed more chaotic than normal. People say that the appearance of the enemy on your view screen makes your heart pound a little faster. This could explain that little bit of tension that filled the CIC on this day.

In the corner of the CIC there was an empty chair. That was normally occupied by the CAG. Col. Butler had yet to return from his meeting with the Admiral, but when he arrives, that is where he would oversee the battle and direct flight ops from.

Over the hustle and bustle that was the CIC on this day, there was a crashing sound. The sound was coming from the turbolift shaft, and it was getting louder as time went on. Finally one very loud crash broke the concentration of everyone in the room. As they all looked toward the turbolift, the shaft opened up to let Col. Butler exit. As the CAG exited the turbolift, onlookers looked in shock as they observed the devastation that laid there. The CAG had torn out control panels, ripped off lights and it looks as if he even tried to put his fist through one of the wall plates.

"Lieutenant Hatcher, get someone to fix that fucking thing," said Butler as he got his breathing under control.

To all who looked on, the CAG seemed visibly pissed off. No one had known why either. They just kept shifting their eyes from the turbolift to the CAG who was at this time making his way to his computer terminal in the corner of the CIC.

"Tell me that I can't fly." thought Butler to himself, "that fucking old bastard has never even been in a cockpit. He has no idea of what it is like to have to sit on the sidelines and watch as his men go off into battle and you can't do shit."

The CAG's meeting with Admiral didn't go very well. The CAG had asked for permission to lead the attack on Ymir from the cockpit of one of the Death Angel's shithot Vampires. Admiral Putnam didn't even hesitate when he denied Butler's request. He had cited his need for the CAG to remain on the sidelines and to direct traffic from the safety of the Misty. Butler turned that around and said that he would be better off if he could be out there in the mix of the shit. Butler had said that he had always been a lead from the front personality. That it went back to the days where he was in the Marines and was a part of him through and through. Once again, the Admiral turned the table on Butler citing Butler had never been in command of this large a compliment of fighters. And that with this type of engagement was entailed that he remain in a position of safety.

It was a good thing that the Admiral's office is soundproof. If it were not, the rest of the crew would have been listening to an argument heated enough to spark a hydrogen packet. Both the Admiral and the CAG were both adamant about there viewpoint. Neither man gave an inch on the topic. Finally, against his wishes, Admiral Putnam gave Butler a direct order to not lead the attack. It was at this point that Butler knew that he had lost the argument. Putnam had dropped the rank bomb and Butler was in the wake path. So Butler reported out and stormed out of the Admiral's office.

Lt. Hatcher left her post and walked across the CIC to where the CAG was. "Col. Butler, the maintenance crew is on their way to fix the lift. Captain Greenberg is on his way over here. The maintenance chief was kinda pissed off that you fucked up his lift and he messaged the captain."

By this time the CAG was getting his composure back. He looked up from is monitor and motioned for Lt. Hatcher to take a look at the screen. "Do you see all of those fucking blips? The blue ones are my men and women out there risking there lives and I am stick in here, powerless."

Dana looked into the CAG's eyes. She could see that he was genuinely concerned about his people. She remembered back to the beginning of this little pleasure cruise, when she was first assigned to the Misty. She had looked through the records of all of the commanding officers that would be going along with her. In her browsal of the service records, the CAG's service record had been the most note-worthy. She recalled in his psych profile, that the CAG had always been a lead from the front type of leader. On his last tour before getting the CAG position on the Misty, Butler had been the Wing Commander on the TCS Saratoga, a Concordia Class Fleet Carrier. Aboard the Saratoga, Butler had made a habit of flying lead on very important missions. Butler says that he did it so that he could always have a feel for what was going on. Unfortunately, for this tour of duty, he ran into a CO who played everything by the book.

"Lieutenant, if you don't mind my asking, isn't there something that needs to be done? I am not going to be shitty company until this whole operations is done with, so you might not want to be around me for the next few hours." Butler snapped as he turned back toward his monitor.

"Well hell, Colonel, if you are going to be like that, why the hell don't you just get out of here?" retorted Hatcher as she across the room.

The CAG's eyes followed the Lieutenant across the CIC. As he turned back to his monitor, he began to think about what Hatcher had said to him. He spent the next few minutes staring at the blips on his screen and thinking. Then, all of the sudden, it hit him; "Holy shit, she is right." he thought to himself. "Putnam couldn't bitch at me if I were to go out in an SWACS. In this way, I would be that much closer to the action, while still keeping to the Admiral's little rule about me in combat."

Butler jumped out of his seat and bolted across the room. He looked over at Lt. Hatcher's consol. She was hunched over it making it look as if she were busy. He stopped quickly at her station. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he exclaimed as he gave her a pat on the back. And continued on to the recently repaired turbolift and disappeared as the doors shut.

Dragon 700
Ymir System
1430 Hours (CST)

Lt. Colonel Justin "Phalanx" Kugler glanced over the instruments of his Panther Space Superiority fighter. "Twenty minutes until the interception of the enemy fleet." Kugler thought to himself as nestled himself back into his acceleration chair as the autopilot continued to gracefully fly his unblemished fighter through space. He looked off to both sides to see how his squadron was doing.

He still felt very uncomfortable in this new piece of hardware that he was flying in. He wished that he could have had more time to get accustomed to his new surroundings and new fighter. Phalanx barely had time for him and his wife to move their stuff into their stateroom before the Mistral Sea had to set sail for the Ymir System.

Over the course of the two months that he had been in Confed, Kugler had a long list of things that he had to accomplish. First of all, he had to learn how to fly a fighter that was a bit alien to him. Unlike what his XO had told him, the Panther was a little harder to get used to. He had logged countless hour in the simulator trying to get used to a new fighter. Along with all of the sim time, Phalanx placed himself on BARCAP patrol after patrol getting is feet wet in the new fighter.

Second, he had to study all of the new data on the alien menace that called had been named "Nephilim" by the Intel Gurus at Fleet Intelligence. New data was pouring in daily about the new enemy. Phalanx laughed to himself as he thought about the memorandum from Confed Intel as to the eating habits of a sample population of captured Nephilim soldiers that had crossed his desk last week. He had wonder why the fuck it would matter what the Nephilim ate. It wasn't like he and Caroline were inviting one of them over to their place for dinner.

And the last thing that he was tasked with, was probably the most time consuming of his tasks. It entailed trying to get a brand new squadron comprised of both Border World and Confed pilots to put dissension behind and mesh together. A few of the younger Confed pilots in his squadron had some type of animosity for the Border Worlds. Major Chency, the XO, even had to pull rank to force the younger pilots to show respect for the new CO. It was quite evident that they didn't like being under a Border World Convert. Situations had arisen during simulations where some of his pilots would go after each other because ego would take over. Phalanx still had a lot of work to do to get his men to work together. As of right now, he had to assign wings of Confed pilots and he had to keep his two fellow converts on his wing. He just hoped that this type of engagement will do the morale of his unit some good, because as of right now, there was little to no esprit de corps on his squadron.

Bringing his attention back to the task at hand, Phalanx once again glanced over his instruments and looked over his squadron.

Phantom 300
Ymir System
1430 Hours (CST)

"Time to target, 30 minutes at current velocity, autopilot engaged and working at 98% of maximum efficiency," said the soft voice of the AI in Lt. Col Jon "Assassin" Chapin's Panther Space Superiority fighter. Assassin took a look at his radar screen, "Man there is a hell of a lot of dots on this damn thing." he said to himself.

Assassin looked in front of him to see the glowing engines and turret of one of the Shrikes from the Warhammer Squadron that he was escorting. The Phantom Eyes Squadron had been assigned a simple task on this little cruise; protect the Shrikes as they took on the transports in orbit around Ymir IV. It was probably the easiest assignment that had been drawn. The Green Dragons were assigned to take out the fighter cover around the destroyer while the Death Angels, with a strike loadout, would come in and put the alien destroyer out of it's misery.

"Hammer lead to Phantom lead, you there, Assassin?" inquired Lt. Col. Johan 'Mastermind' Ramius, Squadron Commander of the 54th Bomber Squadron "Warhammers".

"What the hell do you want Mastermind? I was just about to take a half hour nap," replied Assassin. Chapin was thankful that Mastermind could only see his helmet. Behind his face shield hid a big smile on his face. He loved to play with people's minds, and Mastermind was probably his favorite person on the Misty to play with.

"Well, EXCUSE ME!!!" retorted Mastermind. "I was just calling to your attention that we have attracted the interest of some of our little friends. "We have incoming from the planet."

Assassin looked quickly down at his radar screen. He didn't see anything on his radar. "Mastermind, are you sure? I don't have anything on my radar."

"The planet is just on the edge of my scanners. I read three wings of fighters, 20 plus fighters of mixed class."

Assassin remembered that the Shrike had a better sensor package than his Panther, so it would be the case that the Shrikes would see the incoming fighters before he would. "All right Mastermind, we'll handle them." Assassin switch to his squadron's tactical frequency. "Okay ladies, the Shrikes have spotted inbound enemy fighters from the planet. Afterburners in 10 seconds. We need to put some space between us and the Shrikes when we engage the fighters. Wingmen stay with your wing leaders, attack sequence Baker. MARK!!!!!"

The exhaust ports of the 16 Panthers in the Phantom Eyes lit up with a brilliant flare as they pealed off toward the attackers. Assassin felt the sudden acceleration push him back into his acceleration chair. "Computer, time to intercept?"

"At current velocity, you will intercept the incoming fighters in T minus six hundred seconds," replied the AI.

Assassin felt the hair on his body begin to purk up and the adrenaline begin to flow through his veins. It was this pure rush that kept Assassin in the cockpit. A better high than any drug could ever deliver. No one outside of pilots could ever come close to knowing what this type of rush is like. Killing was just a bonus to the adrenaline rush. Assassin just fed off of the rush as the gap between his fighter and the enemy began to tick off.

Stalker 200
Ymir System
1500 Hours (CST)

"Stalker lead, Stalker lead this is Nest," a call came over the battle frequency, "Greywolf, this the CAG. Over."

What the fuck could he want? The battle hadn't even started yet, and already the CAG was playing traffic cop, Greywolf thought to himself. He knew beforehand that the Butler was known for this type of crap. He was more of a hands-on leader. He took a quick glance around his instrument panel before he answered. "Greywolf here, what can I do for you CAG?" he replied, trying to keep the disdain out of his voice.

"The Phantom Eyes have run into fighters from the planets surface. Assassin reported, that they were met by a squadron of light fighters lead by a Devil Ray. There is no telling what type of base, if any, that the bugs were able to set up. I have dispatched the Green Dragons to pick up the escort of the Shrikes that Assassin was escorting while allowing the Phantom Eyes to deal with the fighters."

"CAG, has there been any communication as to what is down there?" Greywolf asked already knowing the answer.

"There hasn't been any communication with the survivors on the planet. The last word from the survivors said that these ships were new to the area. These ships could be here to resupply some type of a base here on the surface. I want you to proceed on course and join up with Phalanx. From there, you are to leave the Marines with the Phantom Eyes and get your ass down to the planet to see what the fuck is down there."

"So for all we know, we could be heading into a fucking bug base planet side, risking our lives and equipment, just to rescue, what in all likelihood could be someone's dog!"

"Wolf, we know shit. Actually, we know less than shit. At this point, shit would be a step up from what those Looney Toons in Intel have been feeding me."

"Great!! Well, at least we have our party crashing dresses on."

"I don't need any dead heroes. All I want you to do is go down there and find out what the hell is down there. I need Intel more than I need dead bugs. Go down there, find out what we are up against. And if you find something, soften up an area for the Marines to land."

"Aye, aye sir!" exclaimed Greywolf as he closed his comlink. 'Jesus Christ' he thought to himself, 'Just what I need, my squadron to go down to the planet, just to fly into downtown Bugsylvania and get our asses off. Oh well, here goes everything.'

Greywolf examined his telemetry. There was still 15,000 klicks to the edge of the atmosphere. He reached over to his communications panel and clicked open a channel to his squadron. "Aight Stalkers listen up. I have an update. The CAG just informed me that the Phantom Eyes have run into fighters that originated from the southern continent. Our mission is to help out the Panthers and then recon to see what the hell is down there. Possibilities range from fighters that escorted a transport, to the bugs set up a small base on the planet. Since there has been no communication with the planet, we have to assume the worse." He paused for a second to let the new info sink into the heads of his players before continuing. "Upon the disposal of the last fighter above the planet, we are to leave the Marines in orbit with the Panthers and proceed to the surface of the planet, blowing away the shit in our way."

"Hey Boss!" Firefly spoke up. "If it is a bug base that we are up against, what then?" he said with a slight quiver in his voice. This was to be the first real combat for the second lieutenant out of the Academy. He had a good reason to be scared. Horror stories of what the Nephilim were capable of had spread through the ship like wildfire. Gossip mill had started to work overtime as the Task Force crept closer and closer to Ymir.

"Well, if there is a base, we blow a hole in the defensive network for the marines to land, and then we sit around and blow up anything that comes near us. Personally, I chose to fly the 'Shark and its predecessor the Hellcat because it gave me the opportunity to fly fast, and drop shit in support of ground forces. And drop shit we shall."

"Mate, there is no greater rush than when you see the enemy ground troops run for their lives as take your lasers and Rockets and blow their guts all over the place." chimed in Greywolf's XO.

Conversation over the Squadron tactical channel continued for another few minutes. Greywolf watched as the distance between his fighter and the planet ticked off. As the distance rolled off, all of the sudden, he came into radar range. Blue and Red blips lit up his radar screen. "Aight ladies cut the chatter. I have enemy on the radar. Looks to me like the Phantom Eyes are holding their own against the enemy fighters. I still read sixteen friendlies and looks like 10 enemy fighters."

Phantom 300
Orbit Around Ymir
1515 hours

"Shit, I can't shake this fucker. Someone get over here and give this asshole something else to shoot at, my rear armor is at 30%." Exclaimed one of Assassin's pilots.

"I am on him!" replied another.

Assassin looked down at his own tactical layout. He was down to his last two Friend or Foe Missile and one of his two Cloud Dust Cannons was only firing on every third round. This was an improvement from before where it wasn't even firing at all. His repair system was working overtime trying to Acceleration Dampeners and right intake duct that were both damaged when he was forced through the debris of a recently exploded enemy Moray.

His squadron was doing very well considering. While escorting a half squadron of Shrikes to attack the enemy capital ships that were in orbit around the planet, they were engaged by enemy fighters from the planets surface. Leaving the Shrikes to engage the enemy fighters, his squadron fought hard to dispose of the enemy fighters. The first wave of fighters consisted mainly of light Morays and Lampreys. However, clearing them out had depleted their store of missiles by a third and left a couple of the Panthers slightly damaged. The second wave of fighters outnumbered his; close to three to one, and were of a heavier class than the first. "Status report!!" he called over the squadron tactical frequency. Most of his pilots reported minor damage and being down to their last couple of missiles. Two of his pilots had reported major damage. Those pilots were ordered back to the Misty.

Assassin locked his sights onto the flume of a Manta Heavy Fighter at his four o'clock. He swung his Panther Superiority Fighter around to the right. The increased turn rate caused by the horizontally mounted thrust module made short work of the turn. He gave his afterburner a short burst to close the distance between himself and the Manta. Closing into guns range, Assassin squeezes off a few burst of full guns in the direction of the Manta to check the distance.

Two of the burst hit the rear shields of the Manta and were absorbed in a flash of green energy. Upon the second hit on his shields, the enemy Manta realized the danger and went evasive. He quickly snapped into a roll while yanking back on its flight stick. The resulting maneuver placed the Manta on a vector that shot underneath Assassin's fighter.

Assassin met the Manta move for move. He was just able to keep a half of step in front of the Manta. He lined up and fired off a high deflection shot of full guns that impacted the Manta just rear of the cockpit. He then pushed down on his flight stick while stamping down on the modular peddles. This placed the Panther into a resultant yaw dive. The exceptional yaw rate of the Panther gave Assassin enough advantage to roll out a step ahead of the Manta. He fired a volley of full guns at the Manta. The volley rocked the Manta as Assassin adjusted the attitude of his fighter to keep his shots on target.

The Manta pilot tried to jink away from the danger that Assassin was imposing on his fighter. He rolled left and dove right. But whatever he did, Assassin was always one step ahead of him. Then, the bombardment of the fighter stopped, just to be replaced by the warning of an incoming missile. The rear shields of the fighter had been whittled down to nothing and the fighter would not have been able to survive a missile strike.

Assassin had just released one of his two remaining missiles. He continued to pursue the enemy fighter. He knew, that the FoF missiles were easily fooled by alien decoys, so he pressed on to make certain of the kill. His foe had flown well. Assassin looked on as the Manta began to drop decoys like there was no tomorrow. The missile tracked in on the enemy fighter. All of the sudden, the missile changed vector and began to track one of the decoys. Assassin swore under his breath and wished that the tech could have loaded his fighter up with IR missiles instead of these FoF pieces of shit. He looked on as the missile made a circle around the decoy and then locked back onto the Manta. Making way on an intercept vector, the missile once again tracked in on the enemy Manta.

Once again, the enemy Manta began to drop decoys out the back. However, this time, the missile was not to be fooled. It bore in on the enemy fighter. Closer and closer it came. In a last ditch effort to shake the missile, the Manta pulled into a vertical climb. But this was to no evail, the missile struck just aft of the cockpit and the fuel of the ship ignited blowing the ship apart in a fantastic explosion.

Assassin gave a quick smile under his helmet. "Ah, never the thrill I am looking for." He said softly as he began to scan for the next victim.

"Stalker lead to Phantom lead. How are you holding up over there Assass?" The decorative helmet of Greywolf appeared on his Vidscreen. He switched to transmit on the Wing Tactical channel. This was the comm. channel that the squadron commanders spoke to the CAG on.

"Well, sweetheart, I am a little busy right now. I have two fighters that are pretty well fucked up; they are retreating. And after blowing through one squadron and working on the second, we are running a little low on the shit that makes the bad guys go boom," replied Greywolf's counterpart.

"Well, honey, how would 12 Tigersharks fit in at your little party?"

"I would be lying if I were to tell you that I couldn't use the help over here. And if you could, send one or two of your guys to get my damaged fighters out of harms way."

"Roger that. Four of my guys are going to hang back and cover the Marines, and then the rest of us bitches will be in range to help you whores in 3 mikes. Think that you ladies can hold it together until we get there?"

"I know we can. Well, as long as we don't have any more of our friends drop in from the planet. Just get your fucking bitch ass here as fast as you can."

"All right, I radioed back to the CAG, a refueler has been dispatched to your escorted by a couple of Piranhas. We are lighting up right now. Be there soon, save a dance with a Devil Ray for me," exclaimed Greywolf.

Stalker 200
Ymir System
1520 Hours (CST)

"All right, ladies - attack formation. Wingmen stick to your wing leaders like glue, they will keep your asses alive. Isis and Firefly peel off and cover the two Panthers as they retreat toward the Misty."

"Roger, Wolf," replied Isis.

"Everyone else, Break and attack!! Let's show those fucking bugs what type of predator a Tigershark is!!" exclaimed Greywolf over his mike. His little speech was met with loud cheers as the squadron broke and accelerated to engage the enemy fighters.

By the time that the Stalkers had arrived. The Panthers of the Phantom Eyes had destroyed all but six of the enemy fighter. From the looks of it, the Phantom Eyes had done quite well for themselves. The two Panthers that were retreating were quite fucked up. One of them looked like they had taken a direct hit in the left exhaust duct and the other looked to have Maser blast holes in it's armor and a mangled right side.

From the looks of it, the other Panthers in the squadron had fared a little better. A handful of them had taken damage to their Ion Drives, and a couple of Maser scars on their hulls. Other than that, there was no more visible damage on them. This just proved that Assassin had trained his people very well.

"Assass, the cavalry has arrived," boasted Greywolf.

"Great, just as we are about to finish off the last of the Indians, Col. Custer arrives," retorted Assassin.

"Eh quit your bitching. We are here and no one is dead. What more can you ask for?"

"Your wife in my bed and a box of Centurion cigars."

"Neh, my wife doesn't go for the insane street trash crowd."

"Touch�. Now get your ass over here. I left you a fucking Devil Ray to kill just like you asked for. But you had better get to it before it decides that one of your newbies is a target."

"Blah, blah, blah. I am on him. Talk to you again when all of the bug spray has been dispensed." Greywolf said as he released his transmit button. He began to scan for that Devil Ray that Assassin had just mentioned. For the bugs, the Devil Ray was their best fighter. According to Intel, it was the fighter of choice for the bug Aces. And just like Greywolf's worst fear, the motherfucker had locked onto one of his new pilots and was vectoring in on him.

"Bigfoot, a fighter is bearing in on you, bring yourself around to the right and help me engage."

"Affirmative, sir."

Greywolf could hear the trembling in the young pilot's voice with those couple of words. He banked his fighter to the left to try and get in behind the enemy fighter, his wingman Sonic stuck to his wing like white on rice. "Sonic, we need to get this fuckers attention before he gets into firing range of Bigfoot. Charge up your Mass Drivers to full power and when you have a clear shot, let it go. I will be right with you."

"Five credits says I cause more damage Wolf."

"Okay girl, your on." Retorted the senior pilot. Sonic was a talented pilot, he had to give her that. And she was afraid of nothing. Her only problem was she had this invincibility ideal in her mind that might get herself killed one of these days.

The distance to target dropped off quickly and the Devil Ray Superiority Fighter came into guns range. Greywolf and Sonic both lined up their shots. Sonic acquired her target and fired off her fully charged Mass Driver volley. The highly energized particles in the Mass Driver shot out of her cannons and streaked toward the enemy fighter. It appeared that the enemy was concentrating on Bigfoot's Tigershark, because it never made any evasive. The volley hit the shields of the heavy fighter just fore of the exhaust duct. Then, all of the sudden, a second explosion occurred in the same spot. Just after Sonic had fired off her shot, Greywolf had taken his potshot at the Devil Ray. The two shots were not enough to destroy the enemy fighter, but the were enough to get his attention.

The Devil Ray rolled left to try and get out of harms way. Greywolf and Sonic both took off after him. The shields of the enemy fighter were quick to reengage, but the damage had been done. The enemy fighter had lost some of it's speed and was unable to outrun the two medium fighters.

"Okay Sonic, switch to full guns and toggle up an IR missile. No fucking around this time, we have shit to do." instructed Greywolf. The two fighter bore in on their prey. Bolts of Laser Cannons and Mass Drivers shot out from two Confed fighters, striking the Devil Ray on the rear shields.

Feeling the impact on his fighter, the alien pilot jinked left and spun right, trying desperately to outmaneuver his attackers and bring his big Gorgon Cannon to bear on his pursuers. All of his efforts were in vain. As he made a movement toward a small cluster of fighters, he heard a missile alert sound in his cockpit. Spraying decoys out the back of his fighter was the only thing that he could do. His rear shields were at ten percent. Not even enough to protect his already damaged tail end. All of his efforts went unrewarded as a Speculum IR missile struck the tail end of his fighter, igniting his fuel and causing a brilliant explosion.

"Okay ladies, that is the last of them. Warlock, you can bring the Marines into orbit around the planet. All Stalkers form up on me immediately." Greywolf's words were met with a round of clicks from his pilots. He switched frequencies to talk to Assassin. "Aight Chapin, CAG wants you to guard the LCs while we go planetside to find the origin of those fighters."

"Roger Wolf, good luck down there and happy hunting."

Stalker 202
Atmosphere of Ymir IV

Major Walker "Bloodsport" Lewis squinted his already slanted eyes even more as he crossed the boundary of the atmosphere. Even with his tinted face shield down, the glimmer of the sun reflected off of the atmosphere was a blinding site. His Tigershark Multi-role Fighter buffeted as it entered the atmosphere of the planet. The transition from the void of space to congestion of a planet's atmosphere was far from smooth.

"Stalkers, trajectory of the enemy fighters places them on near the southern pole of the planet," said Greywolf over the squadron frequency. "the squadron is to split into two. We are going to come at this fucking this, whatever it may be, from two sides. The first team will be lead by Rage, while I am giving the other flight to Bloodsport."

Lewis was taken back for a second. He had joined the squadron when it was being transferred to the Misty right before it set sail for this little pleasure cruise. He was still trying to figure out his new Commanding Officer. Greywolf was a big puzzle to him. At first glance, he appeared to be like any other CO that he had ever come across. However, as he became more integrated into the squadron, he found out that Grey was a lot more.

In the first week that Bloodsport was in the squadron, he had spoken extensively with the other members of the squadron. He had asked them what to expect from him. Most of the people that he had spoken to had said that Greywolf had the heart of a drill sergeant stuck in the body of one of the best pilots in Confed. They said that if possible, Greywolf would chain each and every Stalker to a simulator until they were needed for a mission. However, in the same breath, they said that he was the easiest person to get along with. He is one of those leaders who leads from the front, and never asks of them what he is not willing to do first.

Bloodsport was brought back to reality with the end of Greywolf's little motivational/directive speech. "Okay people, let's get in, quell all defenses, let the marines land, and be home for dinner. Break and Attack.'

"Aight. Vega Flight," which Lewis named after his home system, "get your asses in line behind me. Let's get in and get out. Bitch with the most fucking damage buys the first round of drinks tonight." Cheers erupted from the members of the flight. One thing that Bloodsport was good at was inspiring the people under him by giving them incentives.

"Oh shit" he thought to himself as Greywolf appeared on his vidscreen.

"Bloodsport, I don't think that I need to tell you what this mission means. I put you in charge of a flight because I need to be able to evaluate you. My wingman and I are in your flight. I will give you enough rope to hang yourself with, but if it starts to get bad, I won't hesitate to step in."

"Danke sir, but I assure you that you can concentrate on kills this time around."

Stalker 300
Ymir IV

Breaking through the clouds five thousand feet above the ground, Greywolf's worst fear on this mission was realized. Greywolf flipped the transmit switch. "Stalker Lead to Nest, Stalker Lead to Nest!!!" exclaimed Greywolf.

"What is it Wolf?" replied the CAG.

"CAG, we have a huge problem down here. It looks like the bug indeed have a small base here on the planet. Computer says that the base is built form the remains of Bug Cruiser that must have crash landed on the planet in the initial raid on the Ymir System. I am reading no fighters but that most of the defense turrets from that cruiser were salvaged and rearranged to defend the base. Looks like Captain Bugheimen has been a busy little bug."

"Answer me truthfully, can your squadron take out the defenses on this base so the Marines can land?"

"Yes sir. I divided the squadron in half. One flight is going to end up arriving before the other initially drawing the fire from the turrets. Once the second flight arrives, the defenses should fall. I don't think that the turrets are hardened enough so that the rockets won't penetrate. With over 400 Rockets, I think that we can do the job."

"Okay Grey, I am counting on it."

Bug Base
Planetside, Ymir IV

Glistening in the shine from the star in the Ymir System lay the large glaciers of the South Pole of Ymir. This bastion of frozen blue was marveled at by explorers and lay untouched by settlers. That was until the Nephilim showed up. This once pristine landscape now scarred by the wreckage of a crippled Nephilim Cruiser. Sprawling from the remains of this Cruiser developed a small base. Maser turrets that had once been the backbone of the cruisers defenses were now spread out over the perimeter of the base, as well as defending the pieces of the hull that now acted as small bunkers.

"Bloodsport, this is Greywolf. On our initial pass over the base, I want you to detail someone to take a couple of memorabilia photos. We might only get one pass at this bitch and I want to know what we are looking at if this bitch is armed better than we think."

"Roger." Bloodsport rolled his eyes a little. He felt a little pissed that even though he was in charge of the flight, that 'wolf was still telling him what to do. He was a little more pissed off at himself for not thinking of the idea first. Shaking off the frustration, he opened up a channel. "Bigfoot, I want you to hang back a little bit and take pictures as we go by. Your camera should be able to get most of the base as we fly passed."

"Yes, sir," replied the young second lieutenant.

The flight of Tigersharks bore in on the Nephilim base. The scarred frames of the fighters glistened in the sunlight, leaving frightening silhouettes on the Ymirian surface. Bloodsport looked down at his tactical display, 10 minutes to target. "Ten minutes until I can finally prove myself as a leader." he thought to himself. He sank back in his acceleration chair. He drifted off with his thoughts with the low sound of idle chatter in the background.

Ymir's Surface
Marine LC Bulldog Three

The dropship was approaching the ground with such incredible speed, and just before it hit the ground the pilot killed the throttle and activated the retro rockets and the anti-gravity units to ease up the "hit." With a giant crash, Bulldog Six hit the snow, bounced twice, and then started to skid among the snow, kicking up snow and smoke everywhere. Meanwhile inside the cargo hold, the Marines were holding on for dear life, trying to keep their breakfast in their stomachs.

"I got it under control . . . " the dropship pilot said as he held on the flight yoke as it rumbled in his hands, trying to slow this sixty-five meter long behemoth down. It took a while but he can feel the ship decelerating. And it finally came to a stop on top of an Alien Warrior that unfortunate enough to stand right in front of it. The dropship had landed and the platoon was safe. And it was on the ground.

Third Platoon's Sergeant needed no further encouragement. "Let's go Marines! Go! Go! Go!" Staff Sergeant Irons yelled as the ramps opened up and Third Platoon came charging forward, the Marines running out with their war faces yelling "Arrrggghhh!" As they ran, a digital recorder blared out a cavalry charge.

"Roberts! On me! Let's go!" Husted said as he grabbed Danny's shoulders and pulled him along as he ran giving orders. Danny tried to keep up as he too ran along Husted, his assault rifle on his two hands.

"The commando..." Danny said as he pointed at the team of Marine commandos that had ran out of the dropship and had started to run off when Husted turned around, "Dammit Roberts! They got their own orders! We got our own to carry out!" Roberts needed no further encouragement.

Husted was shouting orders among the communications display, "Form a skirmish line! Form a skirmish line! First Squad follow me! Second Squad form a line fifty meters to the right of the dropship! Third Squad take as many civvies as you can and get them on the damn ship! Let's move it!" Already energy bolts had started to lit up the sky, as the Marines were trying to decipher their infra-red contacts as either alien or human and as the Alien warriors were shooting at everything that seemed to move.

Lieutenant Husted was in the front charging, his legs pumping as he took the forefront of the assault. Marine officers lead from the front, no excuses. He ran fifty yards from the dropship, Lieutenant Roberts and twelve Marines following him. Second squad was on the other side of the dropship, doing the same thing. Once in position he dropped prone on the snow and brought up his assault rifle.

His infra-red Scouter flashed the known contacts through the smoke, snow, and the wind. Contact! His Scouter said. Two aliens! Range seventy-five yards and closing, firing at the Marines of Second Squad. Husted reacted without thinking, dropping to one knee and hefting his assault blaster rifle on his shoulder, lining up the alien figures with his targeting scope. He put the "death dot" on the chest of the first Alien Warrior and fired a trio of 3-round bursts into his center of mass.

The rifle discharged its energy bolts with a rapid "brrraaap! brrraaap! brrraaap!" as Husted saw the first alien figure clutch at its body and fall towards the ground. He aimed for the second one, but saw as one of the minigunners stitched the alien creature with a long automatic burst. Smoke, alien guts, and what was left of the smoking corpse crashed to the ground.

"Good job Marine!" he yelled back at the Marine who fired the burst and then charged forward.

2nd Lt. Danny Roberts

"Dropship's taking off!" With a roar, Bulldog Six slowly lifted into the air, with forty-six shocked but uninjured civilians.

"Attack! Attack! Attack!" Husted yelled as he stood up and motioned his hands forward, rallying his men up for a counterattack. "Chaaarrrgggeee..."

It was at that moment in which Husted was shot. He was killed instantly. The green energy bolt penetrated the helmet visor, entered his forehead, and then the energy dissipated just after it vaporized the front half of his skull. His body flopped over the lap of PFC Grizzly, who cried out in horror, covered with his company XO's blood and brain. Already the remnants of Husted's brain were pouring out all over Grizzly's hands.

"Lieutenant's hit!" he screamed. "Lieutenant's hit!"

Just then, over the communications, came the voice of Captain Mendieta. "How are things going?"

Lieutenant Roberts ignored the Captain and shouted back towards Grizzly. "Calm the fuck down Grizzly! What's wrong with him?" From the angle, he couldn't see Husted's head, or what was left of it.

"He's dead!" Grizzly was starting to freak out. "He's dead man!"

"How you know he's dead private? Are you a medic?"

"I told you man! He's dead! As in kicked the bucket! Stopped living! Blown away! In the next dimension!"

"Calm down Grizzly, how you know he's dead?"

"Fuck man, his brains are all over me! He's fucking dead man!" Grizzly then ripped off Husted's smoking helmet, showing Danny the remnants of the Lieutenant. "He's shot in the head! He's dead!" Grizzly's voice was getting frantic now. He was to the point of panic.

"Just calm down." Danny said, "We got to keep on fighting."

"No man! He's dead! He's fucking dead! AHHH!" Grizzly stood up, shouldered his rifle, and started to fire it on rock and roll full auto. He fired everywhere and at anywhere, at anything that moved. Aliens or Marines. The Marines ducked to avoid his fire.

"L-T, we gotta do something! He's gonna fucking kill us!" Corporal Jiminez said. "Somebody do something!"

"Hey, Grizzly. Get down."

"Fuck off!"

Just then, it seemed as if someone switched a light bulb in Danny Robert's head. He sprinted forward and jumped at Grizzly's back at full speed. Grizzly went down like a sack of beans, his rifle falling out of his hands. Roberts laid on the top of his back as he applied a chokehold, something that he had learned in The Basic School. Grizzly went limp as he was secured.

Danny took Grizzly's rifle and safetyed it. He hated beating one of his own men, but he was a dangerous liability. Then Captain Mendieta's voice came on again, "Goddammit you people! How's it going? That's a fucking order!"

Danny replied, "Roberts here. I don't want to talk about it, Captain." Mendieta did not like that answer.

"You got any casualties?"

"Yeah� one, sir." Roberts tried to leave it at that. Nobody else on their side had gotten killed, so far as he knew, and he didn't want to be the one to put news like that on the air. This was what they had taught him at Officer Candidate's School. He knew there were operators listening to their conversation. They monitored all the bands. And men in combat drink up information like water; it became more important than water itself. In combat, a Marine is driven by the desire to know what is going on.

As an officer, Danny knew that Marines fought better when things are under control. But once it started to way to the other side, it would be hard for the units to fight as a team. Panic was a virus in combat, a deadly one.

"Goddammit, Roberts, who is the person? And where the hell is Lieutenant Husted?" Danny demanded.

"It's Husted, sir. He's the casualty."

"What's his status?"

Roberts held the microphone for a moment, debating about it, and then reluctantly answered, "He's dead."

At that sound of that word all the radio traffic, which was busy, had stopped. Long seconds of silence followed. Danny turned to Corporal Jimenez, then gazed into the battlefield. He took a long look at the three Marines standing around him, waiting for his next order.

"Call in gunfire support over!"

"Fire mission!"

"Zulu Five Seven, this is Sweet Pea: Adjust fire, over."

"Roger that, Sweet Pea."

A couple of seconds later intense orange/red light reached from the heavens and then.

FINIS