0120 Hours
Waypoint White
The Hawk was fast. Very fast. It zoomed away from Ryck and headed straight to the destroyers. The pilot was good. He was very good. He dodged round after round of 62 Squadron’s notoriously famous accurate fire, and before Mongoose 33 knew it, the Hawk was right in front of him. Before managing to block, Mongoose 33 had three solid 40mm shot in his chest, causing the unit to fall down and burst into flames. His last words were a screech of terror in the 62/187 Squadron channel.
The others tried to retreat using their 3DM Gears, but to no avail. The Hawk, Ryck hot on his tail, caught up with Mongoose 35 and 36, who were headed towards the compound where the fallen ship sat.
Mongoose 35 turned around to fight, but he was too slow. The Hawk, mid-flight, holstered his 40mm autocannon and pulled out a cylindrical tube similar to the ones the Daggers had. The Hawk charged at 35, cutting his feet off and neutralizing the unit as a threat. The last one was Mongoose 36. He fired a couple of wild shots at the Hawk, but before he knew it, 36 had his right arm cut off after a swift fly-by from the Hawk. The 120mm cannon and the arm holding it, dropped. Only the chest-mounted 40mm remained. Trying to turn, 36 was way too slow before the enemy Hawk–who had effectively destroyed 62 Squadron in less than a few minutes–charged at him with his beamsword. Stabbed right in the cockpit and through the engines, Mongoose 36 disintegrated into a dozen pieces, leaving no human remains to bury.
Ryck clenched his teeth. He had to take this bastard down.
Sophie came in the radio suddenly. Ryck had not realized that she was down, but found that out himself, after the destruction of 62 Squadron, that he, the enemy Hawk, and the enemy Arclight launching towards the compound were the only remaining AFUs in the area. The mission had gone to shit, for the AFUs at least, and Ryck had to make it up by taking this bastard down. “Reaper 03, this is Reaper 02. You’re taking on Spade-77. We can’t fight him.”
“Spade-77?” Ryck said in surprise.
When the Hawk turned away from the destroyed Mongoose 36, Ryck saw the insignia on his pauldron. A spade. The two numbers painted in white. 77.
The two units faced each other amidst the sand and the burning remains of 62 Squadron. Four units downed. This bastard’s a real hotshot.
Ryck stood there, a couple hundred meters across. The two had identical weapons, but Spade-77’s unit had way higher maneuverability. He could not even dream of beating him in close-quarters combat. He could not run, either. There was no other option but to fight. He had no long range weapons, and the only gun he had as the single 20mm Vulcan built into the unit’s chest, itself low on ammunition. He locked his legs on the sandy ground and charged the throttle. Ryck locked on his sights at the Hawk. At least I could take him astray from his actual objective – neutralizing Waypoint White.
“Phee,” Ryck said through the radio. “Get the 62 pilots safe. I’m taking him on.”
“But Ryck!” she said.
“Get out of here, Phee.” Ryck said, and paused. “Phee,”
“You’ll be the last thing in my mind if it happens.”
“Ryck, no!”
Ryck clenched his teeth and tightened the grip on his control stick. He throw the headset he was wearing away and killed comms. Shitty cards at hand but it was do or die. All-in or go home.
He tried to predict where he was going. If he went left or right and went behind him, he was dead. If he went high, Ryck had time to reposition. He tried to spot any dropped weapons. There was a 40mm autocannon next to a destroyed Arclight. If he could just go there
He unlocked his feet from the ground and, in a leap of faith, launched against Spade-77. In a furious cry, he jumped into the fray, knowing that he would die in an iron coffin, with no remains to be buried, a name lost through the ages.
But only the dead have seen the end of war.
***
The situation at the compound was dire. Although Waypoint White had been cleared out of any enemy resistance, with the surrendering men being rounded up by members of Devon Company, fast-moving enemy forces were converging on their positions. Lieutenant Knuttson had called in enemy movement coming from the south in the form of an air transport squadron, while from the north, an enemy Arclight AFU had broken off from the main clash and was headed to WHITE quickly. On the rooftop of the main office building, Knuttson had formed up a weapons platoon with machinegunners, anti-tank gunners, and VAIMS-armed Marines to fight off this attack.
From the distance, Knuttson could see the futility of AFU warfare. The navy Dagger had been taken down by the enemy, although having managed to take down one of the Hawks and one of the Arclights. The Destroyers, surrounded and cornered, were being cut down easily by the remaining enemy Hawk, the Royal Marines Dagger trying to catch up with the Hawk before it was all too late.
With the Royal Marines Dagger heavily engaged with the enemy ace fighter, the Arclight launched towards the compound with no hindrance. Upon alerting Captain McAllister, and in turn 126 RMC command, the specialist snipers and anti-materiel riflemen were quickly scrambled to well-concealed over watch positions all around the compound. VAIMS launcher-trained specialists were quickly deployed. Looking onto the horizon to the south and north, the Marines of 57 Commando Brigade prepared for the inevitable.
Lieutenant-Colonel Falkirk and Captain McAllister joined Knuttson at the rooftop. Worried for reinforcements, Knuttson was ordered to call into 57 Command, requesting the quick arrival of reinforcements. “Lightning 57, Lighting 57, this is Charlie Zero-Two. Where are our reinforcements, over?”
“Charlie Zero-Two, Charlie Zero-Two, this is Lightning 57. They are en-route to WHITE, ETA fifteen minutes. Crow Three-Five of the 71st Panzergrenadier Regiment will be the first one to arrive, accompanied by 211 Attack Squadron. Break. Be advised, you will have DEFENDER reinforcements coming from 632 Squadron Alpha-Alpha-Charlie ETA five-mikes. How copy, Over?”
“Lightning 57, this is Charlie Zero-Two. Solid copy, but we don’t have five mikes! Our DEFENDERs are getting chewed up. Break. We have a large enemy airborne force heading to our position. How copy, over?”
“Charlie Zero-Two, solid copy. Wait one.”
A pause came from 57 Commando Brigade HQ. The Signals officer, the one probably manning the radio, seemed to be asking his commander for the right answer.
“Charlie Zero-Two, this is Lightning 57. Relay from 57-Actual. Hold out. Do not lose Waypoint White at all costs. Godspeed. Out.”
“Fuck!” Knuttson threw the radio on the ground.
“No joy, mate?” McAllister said.
“Negative, sir. They told us to hold out for five mikes at the quickest for AFU support. Rest of the task force is fifteen mikes away. Christ.”
Lieutenant-Colonel Falkirk, Hrasvleg Royal Marines Commando, a stern, moustached, highly-respected career officer in his 40s, came to the commotion between McAllister and Knuttson. “What does Brigade HQ had to say about it, Ellis?”
“AFU support in five minutes best case scenario.”
“We don’t have much of a choice, do we?”
McAllister shook his head. Their only option was to dig in, fight hard, and hope for the best. They were Marines. They were, in all forms of warfare, supposed to be surrounded and facing terrible odds.
***
ns 15.158.61.20da2
