Chapter II: Blue Devils

Excerpt from Chapter II. The 5th Volstra Fusiliers begin their descent and assault to take capture a foothold on the planet.

II

Chapter Two

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The crimson iridescent glow flooded the hull of the dropship as they made their way to their seats. Ethan ran up the loading ramp amidst the flashing red lights and incessant buzzing of the loading alert. He ran over to an open seat and dropped down, propping his rifle up between his legs. He squinted and peered through the sporadic lighting in an attempt to locate Maksim; this effort was to no avail.

 

“Alright, listen the f**k up!” A voice shouted over the bedlam. He recognized the beast that had walked into the center of the dropship as Lieutenant Rivers; a Volstran career soldier who had fought through the bloodiest conflicts the 5^th had ever engaged in. “You all know what’s waiting for you down there; thousands of Confederate scrap. They’re dug in, they’re battle hardened, and they know we’re comin’ for them.”

 

Rivers was a descendant of the Vinora, of the homeworld planet of Ahlmat �" a gargantuan man that had looked more like a bodybuilder than any soldier on the frontlines; however his reputation as a natural killer and tactician preceded him. Ethan once witnessed Rivers fight three Confederate soldiers in hand to hand combat, crushing the skulls of two of them with his bare hands before breaking the spine of the third.

 

He walked in a clockwise circle around the hull of the ship, making eye contact with each of his soldiers. He moved about with purpose; with an aura of confidence that could only come from battle-tested wit and skill. The troops referred to him as the “Joker”, more so because of the bayonet wounds extending upward from the corners of his mouth �" creating a scarred and pained smile appearance from his lips to the tops of his ears �" rather than because of his sense of humor which was, by anyone’s account, absent and void.

 

“When that door drops,” he said, pointing back toward the bay door which was sealing shut with a hissing of compressed gas, “you stomp everything that’s out there waiting for you, got that?”

 

“Ooh-ah! Fighting Fifth!” The battle chant rang through the ship.

 

The whirring of the security harnesses falling into position reminded Ethan of a carnival ride; the bars flipped down and pressed up against his chest plate with a force that he could feel through his armor. He looked around the hull of the ship, noticing mainly the hundreds of blue eyepieces from the faceplates of their helmets; the blue glowing eyes earned them the nickname “Blue Devils” amongst their enemies. Glimpses of his fellow Fusiliers appeared and disappeared between the blips of red, provided by the lighting system.

 

He felt a sense of weightlessness as the ship broke free of the launch arm; it felt as if his stomach was churning. His head rattled inside his helmet as the ship entered the atmosphere; there was enough anticipation in the room that he could sense it with every passing breath. No matter how many times he had deployed to the surface by way of dropship, it never got easier; it was the feeling of knowing that until the ship landed, you were merely a big target floating through the sky.

 

Through the transponder earpieces inside his helmet, he could hear the pilot announcing the two-minute warning as they entered the upper atmosphere of the planet.

 

As the ship pierced the blue and green painted skyline, the melodic peal of anti-aircraft fire began ringing against the sides of the hull. It sounded like the beating of war drums; deep, rolling, and louder as they neared the landing zone. The ship started juddering as the bombardment of flak struck the sides of his dropship, creating an intense shockwave throughout his body. He looked at his hands; despite having dropped into warzones before, his hands always shook from the nervousness and anticipation of what waited for them.

 

“One minute,” the pilot relayed through the comm.

 

The shaking of the dropship became more violent with each exploding flak shell. The noise was deafening, nearly unbearable; it pierced his ears and caused a throbbing sensation in his head. Ethan raised his armored gauntlet and smacked the side of his helmet as he shook his head and opened his mouth in a desperate attempted to regain his focus.

 

With no warning, a fierce detonation rippled through the hull. Clenching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth to bare the tremendous pressure and heat, Ethan fought through the pain. He opened his eyes to a blurry hole where his comrades once occupied. With his vision regained, he observed a massive puncture in the starboard side of the ship; through it, the once-beautiful skyline had been peppered with charcoal-colored flak rounds. He couldn’t ignore the clamor of wounded soldiers; many stuck like pin-cushions by pieces of shrapnel.

 

“Thirty seconds! Prepare for drop!”

 

An obnoxious ringing directed his attention to the rear of the dropship where the door was slowly lowering as the ship moved into position. He felt the security harness let loose and swing up over his head, freeing him from the shackles that had held him into his seat. The sound of flak shells gave way to the clinking of bullets as the ship began to land.

 

“Give em’ hell, Blue Devils!” Lt. Rivers shouted as he sprung from his seat.

 

Ethan reached up and grabbed the support beam as he jumped to his feet. The buzzing of the door was replaced by a loud, steady ringing which signaled them to unload. As he ran out of the ship and down the loading ramp, he joined his fellow Fusiliers in battle-cry. With every step he made into the soft soil of Minryx II, his suit collected more orange dust; a notable feature of the planet; it was said that prolonged exposure of the fine dust without routine maintenance would lead to frequent weapon jams and damage to the joints on their suit.

 

He raised his rifle to his shoulder  and fired off controlled bursts to provide himself covering fire as he sprinted toward the nearest barrier he could find; the wreckage of a destroyed Republic dropship. He slid down behind what was once the cockpit as the clanking of enemy fire rattled against the hull. Slowly raising his head, he peered over the top of the hull to gain a view of the enemy position. Hundreds of Confederate infantry were scurrying about like ants, taking refuge behind three layers of entrenchments that surrounded the city. From what he could tell, the first trench system was being occupied by colonial militia, as their armor was rag-tag and haphazardly thrown together from various bits of older model armor suits.

 

Beyond the first trench line he couldn’t make out anything but the heads that popped over the trench like prairie dogs. Behind them, he could see artillery pieces which had begun firing off their shells in a stunning display of explosions. He looked behind him; their tanks had yet to land and without them, they would unlikely be able to take the trenches. As he crouched back down he was startled as his eyes met with those of the dead pilot; his face was emotionless as his body hung from the harness.

 

He looked at the pilot’s chest; next to his nameplate which read “Jones, Troy A.” was a gaping wound where he had taken direct flak. Ethan unbuckled the harness and pulled the pilot free from his seat, closing his eyelids shut and bowing his head in respect. “Rest easy brother,” he murmured.

 

He pivoted on his knee back toward the edge of the cockpit; his heart was pounding so hard he thought it would burst right out of his chest. If he wanted to survive he would have to make his way to the trench system before the Confederate artillery began to dial in on his position.

 

 

Author's Note

Please keep in mind this is only a partial chapter. I am looking for suggestions and critiques!

Reviews

[Novel Reader]

Really good with imagery and descriptions. I guess I can suggest to use more dialogue, but that's it since grammar and tense looks perfect.

[PrincessZeldaWannabe]

Really good so far and I don't really have any suggestions or anything to criticize yet!