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Delta Squadron: Chapter One; Delta Squadron
Date: 19 July 2003, 11:48 PM
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.
Delta Squadron: Chapter Two; First Engagement
Date: 24 July 2003, 12:00 AM
Delta Squadron: Chapter 2; First Engagement
0500 Hours, September 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Vanyiardian System
"Estimated Slip space drop in ten seconds," said Commander James "Priest" McCoy over the COM channel. "Remember we hit them hard and fast."
Lieutenant Al "Razor" Harrison nodded to himself. They'd gone over the plan a dozen times already. It was pretty simple; a Covenant frigate was supposed to be heading through this system on a routine patrol. When it jumped out of Slip space the Bullet was going to hit it with her MACs and Archer missiles while Delta Squadron engaged any fighters and strafed the frigate.
This would be their first engagement as a squadron, but everyone in the squadron was a veteran. Al looked up and saw the section of space in front of his fighter boil and expand, spitting out a sleek, shark-like Covenant frigate. His computer immediately tagged it as the Purity of Soul.
The one advantage the human ships had over their Covenant counter parts was that when a Covenant ship jumped in-system it was dead in space for the first couple of seconds. Many UNSC captains had learned to take advantage of this.
Almost before the frigate had exited Slip space a MAC round streaked across the void like a bolt of lightning and slammed into her bow, punching all the way through and exiting out the starboard launch bay. Immediately the frigate started an uncontrolled roll caused by explosive decompression.
Coordinated Archer missiles arced over and plummeted downward, exploding on the Purity of Soul's armor. Chunks of super-heated metal geysered up as explosions chained the length of her hull.
Another MAC round leapt out and the frigate seemed to jump upwards as her midline suddenly exploded, neatly slicing her in half. The two pieces drifted about, atmosphere leaking out of ruined sections of hull as debris drifted everywhere.
"Priest this is the Bullet; I'm picking up multiple contacts inside the debris field. Signatures match those of Seraphs," Captain Jack Smith said.
"I copy, Bullet. Deltas engage."
Al clicked his COM twice in acknowledgement and accelerated toward the debris field, his sensors searching for a target. Two seconds later he got one. A box popped up in his HUD giving data on the target and his earphones started ringing signifying a solid lock.
Depressing a button on his control column, he said, "Fox Two!"
The IR guided missile jetted out of its launch bay and shot toward its target. A bright blue flash in the distance told him he had hit his target. "Splash one."
As he entered the debris field his sensor board lit up, informing him of a Seraph attempting to get around on his six. No you don't, he thought as he kicked his fighter up on its port wing and banked left. Shoving his throttles forward into afterburner, he pulled back on the stick and tapped his left rudder.
His Dagger's aft slewed to the left as his nose came up, causing the Seraph to go shooting by perpendicular to his nose. Al released the rudder and followed the Seraph. Flicking weapons control over to 'Gun' he got an immediate lock—just as the Covenant fighter inverted and dove.
Crap! Al rolled his Dagger and followed the Seraph through a tight loop. His fighter was more maneuverable than the Covenant fighter so he exited the loop in what was known as 'nose-off,' but it was a favorable 'off. He cut thrust and the Seraph centered itself right in his sights.
His finger tightened on the trigger, vomiting scores of 20mm rounds at the Seraph. The Covenant fighter seemed to disintegrate into flaming debris. "Splash two."
"I've got two on my six, can't shake 'em!"
Al heard the shout over the radio and immediately recognized who it was. Lieutenant Jason "Cain" Bourne. "Hold on, Cain. I'll be right there."
He looped his fighter around on an intercept course for Jason. "On my mark break left."
"Copy."
"Mark."
Jason's fighter, which was now directly in front of him, suddenly broke left, exposing the Seraph. Al got an instant lock; so he pulled the trigger, saying, "Fox Two!"
The Seraph's closure rate with the missile was extremely high, causing Al to never see the missile; all he saw was an explosion right in front of his canopy. Instinctively he snap-rolled his fighter to the left and turned, missing the most of the explosion, but his shields still beeped.
"Splash three."
"Bullet's sensors are clear. No more Covenant in sight."
"Report," Priest barked over the COM.
All the pilots reported in and it turned out that Al tied for the most kills with Major Justin "Broadway" Jackson.
"Dock with the Bullet. We're getting out of h—"
"Priest, this is the Bullet. Incoming Slip space contact. It's big."
A hole opened in space and a Covenant Destroyer fell out. His IFF tagged it as the Gods' Will. The Bullet immediately started to retreat out of range; she was no match for a Covenant Destroyer.
"Do we engage?" Al asked.
"No. We get out of here," Priest responded, his voice as calm and cool as usual.
"Not an option, Commander," Captain Smith said, sounding strangely resigned. "Any possible slip space jump will violate the Cole Protocol. The Destroyer is blocking our only exit. We're gonna have to bring it down. I want you and the Longswords to use your Shredder missiles and punch a hole in her shields. I'll prep a Shiva and send a MAC round when possible."
"Are you sure this is the only option, Captain?"
"Yes, Commander. This is our only chance and I will NOT violate the Cole Protocol. And besides, Covenant Destroyers have no fighter bays, so all you need to worry about is a hole in her shields."
"We'll do our best. Smoke slave your Longsword's targeting computers to ours. Your Longswords are larger targets than our Daggers. Wedge formation, slave targeting to me, Deltas."
Al complied by flicking a few buttons on his instrument panel. Slaving this targeting to Priest's would ensure that all missiles struck the exact same spot. Shoving this throttles forward; he took up position and followed the rest of the squadron.
Almost Before they were in range, Plasma and pulse lasers came soaring up to meet them, forming a sheet of energy they had to fly through.
"Launch in three...two...one...NOW!"
Al immediately fired two Shredder missiles, watching them trace long trails of fire toward their target. Thirty-two missiles were launched at the Destroyer. Of those thirty-two, only twenty-one made it. They hit the shield and exploded brilliantly. Electrical lines formed their way along the Destroyer's shields.
"Bullet, we've punched a hole through her shields, now it's your turn."
Captain John Smith of the UNSC Bullet didn't like this one bit. His frigate was about to take on a Covenant Destroyer. Those Covenant Destroyers are more than a match for THREE human Destroyers, much less a human Frigate. We're screwed.
"Lieutenant, just how fast can we fire the MAC?" he asked his Weapon's officer.
"Sir, if we re-direct power to charging the accelerator coils I can give you six rounds per minute.
"What's our range advantage on the Plasma Torpedoes?"
The ship's AI, Napoleon, replied instead, "Our best chance for survival is to wait for the Destroyer to close into range then launch MAC rounds before retreating and repeating."
"Can you maneuver a Longsword inside the shields?"
"Yes."
"Do it."
Lieutenant Erickson keep us out of range; Lieutenant Harris put as many MAC rounds inside that shield as you can.
"Aye, sir."
"Aye, aye."
The Bullet lurched to port and her MAC fired, sending a spear of death across the void of space, through the hole in the Destroyer's shield, and into her hull.
"Damage?"
"Minimal, sir," Napoleon replied. "The Destroyer's superstructure is very sound. It'll take a lot to break her apart. I've docked the Longsword inside her shields."
"Alright. Order the Deltas to get out of there. We're they're clear detonate the Shiva Warhead."
"Yes sir."
"Captain, Plasma Torpedoes incoming!"
Smith looked through the viewscreen and his stomach flip-flopped. The giant azure projectiles arced toward his frigate. "Impact?"
"Ten seconds."
"On my command fire the starboard pods." The pods would literally knock the Bullet on a new course.
"NOW!"
The Bullet flew sideways, causing the first torpedo to miss by mere feet. The second, however, just curved straight toward the Bullet.
"Sir, I've lost ship control!"
"What? Napoleon detonate the nuke."
Al rolled his fighter around a Pulse Laser and continued his retreat from the Covenant Destroyer just in time to see what happened next. A Plasma Torpedo turned and slammed into the Bullet's bow. The front half of the Frigate just exploded, creating a beautiful display of colors, but Al didn't have time to enjoy it.
A sudden shockwave rocked his Dagger, causing his head to snap forward and slam into the instrument panel. Blackness.
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