The “Battle” of Brecourt II - Part 2 of 6

Posted on Mon May 15th, 2023 @ 5:34am by Captain David Tonelly [Reece] & Captain Gary Taylor & Lieutenant Colonel Azhul Naxea & Captain Samuel Woolheater & Lieutenant Kurt "Berlin" Vogel
Edited on on Wed Jun 7th, 2023 @ 12:55pm

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: Brecourt II
Timeline: The Past
2739 words - 5.5 OF Standard Post Measure

[ON:]

=== CONTINUED FROM PART 1 ===

-----Space------

Lieutenant Kurt Vogel looked out his screens, trying to see the first signs of enemy fighters. The jamming meant they were there, but it would be hard to see them until they made a move. Short of looking out a viewport, there was just no way to detect an enemy fighter at anything resembling sensor range.

The jamming wasn't perfect, however. Every so often, the sensor screen would come back to life for a second, perhaps two. Mostly it showed nothing but the Starfleet craft and the dropships.

Then, a slight flicker. A blip. It was there, then gone. Then a few more.

"Schiesse." Kurt muttered. He was about to key the ALL channel on his comm when someone beat him to it.

"Alamo, alamo, alamo!" Came the cry. The brevity sign meant to scatter and begin evasive maneuvers. Starfleet fighters went in all directions as enemy fighters descended from 'above' the starfleet craft. Kurt could see the faint glows as fighters took hits to their shields.

"Falcon to Flock: engage the enemy. Weapons free, pick your targets and fire at will. Blue Squadron: stay with the dropships at all costs. The landing is top priority. Once they land, Blue Lower turn Gulf Romero##, Blue Upper turn Alpha Fox***."

"Roger Falcon leader." Replied Blue One, acknowledging he and Blues One through Five would prioritize Close Air Support.

"Got it." replied Blue Six, acknowledging he and Blues seven through ten would prioritize anti-fighter roles.

Vogel turned his comm to the ALL channel; he needed to be able to communicate with any fighter at any time to relay orders, issue directives, or give warnings. Berlin found an enemy that was going for the dropships. He turned to pursue and got behind the fighter. All he needed was another few kilometers, and a kill was certain.

A starfleet fighter buzzed across Kurt's viewscreen, pursued by an enemy. Kurt decided helping a fellow pilot was more important then his personal kill count. Kurt squeezed a shot at the enemy fighter he had been pursuing. most of the burst missed, but enough impacted the enemy's shields that he thought better of his current course and flew away. Kurt immediately took off after the enemy fighter that was after the friendly. Vogel switched on the targeting computer, flipped the switch to tell it to use RADAR and LIDAR for firing solutions and waited. LIDAR and RADAR were not as accurate or as far ranging as sensor packages, but it was better then "guessing", and were much harder to jam. He saw from his overlay that he was six kilometers from the enemy, with a hit probability displayed as 55 percent. He diverted more power to his engines, and noticed the air inside his cockpit cool rapidly as life support was reduced to draw the necessary increase. His breath began to steam as he exhaled. He looked again at his overlay: four kilometers and change, hit probability of 74 percent.

He took it.

He squeezed the trigger, and a burst of orangish-red pulse phasers shot forth from his emitters, impacting the enemy's rear as his shields glowed bright red before failing. The bandit attempted to maneuver away, but his movement took him further into Kurt's burst. Vogel watched as the enemy's port wing pylon disintegrated, sending the enemy craft tumbling on a ballistic trajectory. The friendly fighter that was being pursued briefly waggled his wings in thanks.

-----

Back on the surface, Woolheater watched as the two females were met by three others. They came around and what they were carrying was now visible. It was the body - now - the person was still alive and had been buried in rubble. They were carrying another person out of the combat zone. They had moved inside a decrepit old, very unsafe structure. Probably to assess the nature of the injuries. Sam made the decision.

=A= Falcon one, this is x-ray delta. Abort attack run. I say again, abort. Foxtrot-Lima-Gulf-Tango one-one-three-niner, two-zero-six-zero is ABORT. Non-combatants are hunkered down and are in the way. You birds put any fire on that target and other structures will collapse. ABORT. Do you copy? =A=

The comm sputtered a reply. “This is Blue One. I copy your last. Will abort last target. Standing by for further missions. Out.”

Sam ended the comm and he heard someone coming up the stairwell behind him. He listened, he counted three separate sets of steps. Nobody was supposed to be coming up those steps. He quietly sent out a sensor "ping". It was designed to simply ID any friendly ID's in the area out to one hundred meters. He pinged....but there was no reply.

~Shit!~ he said inwardly. They were coming up the stairwell behind him. He could hear their boots on the broken concrete steps. Sam got up from the prone position so he could face the doorway behind him. He rekeyd his COMM and called to the Colonel,

=A= Mama bear? Did you send in any reinforcements my position? I estimate three unknowns inbound at my six. Copy? =A=

Naxea did a quick check on the area from her helmet HUD command personnel locator that gave positioning of all Marines in an operational area. =A= Negative. There are currently no reinforcements in your area.=A=

=A= Copy. I have probable three unknowns coming up the stairwell at my six. PING failed. =A=

These were the moments that mattered. Hours of mind-killing boredom followed by minutes of pure terror. Sam got behind some defalade and his heart was beating fast. Friend or Foe? He had to know. Last report was that there was little to no resistance as the 33rd moved into position. The damn reports indicated that the hostile forces were leaving. There should not be anybody coming up here. ~ Either they are some dumb ass civillians or maybe some friendlies with damaged equipment or its off? Or...else...SHIT!~ Sam thought to himself.

He decided to call out, "ON THE STAIRS...FLASH!!"

The footsteps stopped. Samuel held his breath. There was a terrible stillness. And Sam's heartbeat felt like it was in his head. He pinged an ID sweep again. Nothing. There was some muffled voice and then some movement. They were just beyond the door. ~fuck!~ he thought. He was screwing this whole OP up. "STARFLEET MARINE! FLASH!!" he issued the keyword challege again. Sensors told him that three people were just along the wall. Sam aimed his rifle into the dead open space and squeezed the trigger. To issue a warning shot in case these were civillians or the universal translator was off line.

Then, the wall exploded inwards. Sam called for help, =A= This is position x-ray delta - I am under fire. Mama bear...it's a trap! I'm taking fire! Request..."=A= The COMM was jammed and Sam pulled it away from his ear in pain. The device overloaded and exploded.

The firing stopped and the wall in this room was gone. In stepped two Brecourt Mercs. Big, gnarly looking ones too. In full camo gear. They had a prisoner. Anotheer marine from the 33rd battalion. He was gagged with some dirty, bloody cloth around his mouth and neck. He was dropped to the floor. Still alive. The two big ass mercs spoke Brecian, which sounded like someone being forced to drink castor oil. Very gutteral and globby sounding. The UT did it's best - Sam got the "gist" of it.

"Drop your weapon!" one said.

Sam was about to mak a colorful remark when two more appeared. They dropped in from the outside. This whole thing was looking more like a trap by the second. The Brecourt were taller and bigger. They picked up the human by the back of his armor and kicked his weapon away. Then Sam was pushd into the wall, gut punched and dropped next to the other marine. The Brecourt picked the other guy up so that both marines were on their knees. They removed the gag from the first. He coughed and spat blood. It looked like he was missing some teeth. His body armor indicated he was from the 33rd batallion. Sam made eye contact and the marine said, "...its a setup. 33rd....infamtry was squashed." He spat out a tooth, "...infantry. We didn't have a chance. Some kind of shield that sensors get fooled. We never knew what hit us."

Sam looked at him and asked, "But...Ive seen the 33rd on the scope. I heard the comm traffic!"

"All fake....sensor ghosts. AI generated comm traffic to make us think there's no one here. The retreat? Used to draw us in closer. Not just us here. Up there in orbit. Brecort fleet will be here in minutes to wipe Starfleet out."

"ENOUGH TALK!" the largest of the four Brecort yelled. They set in front of the marines a visual communicator tht would send a holographic image. Sam and the other marine whom he did not know, were on their knees. Hands behind their heads. Two Brecourt were behind them with their disruptors aimed at them. One Brecort stood in front. The message was simple.

=A= We have your soldiers. If that's what you call them. When you land, surrender immediately. Respond with your acceptance of these terms! =A=

While they were talking, Sam got a look at one of the Brecourt version of a remote operations console. It was integrated onto their body armor. Like a computer PaDD but with physical buttons to accomodate the larger fingers of the Brecourt. Sam could see that high in orbit the battle was getting hotter.

Naxea's mind worked fast. She knew one thing for certain, she would not surrender. She looked at David, Gami, and Man'darr. "Prepare for an antigrav jump," she told the three. "Drop in and take those jackasses out as we land."

Man'darr and Gami quickly donned Anti grav boot attachments kept stored in the drop ship's cargo storage onto their boots. They knew such an action was risky as hell, but it would be a move that the enemy wouldn't expect with little time to prepare for.

Hearing that the shit had hit the fan, and his brother-in-law and sister Marines were getting caught up in it, David's features darkened noticeably. The last time he had this same look. Of determination on his face was when Greene and his enhanced soldiers attacked the ship. Kissing the small locket that Baeryn had given him, David let it fall down against his chest, inside his battle armor.

Activating an internal control, his helmet cycled up and over his head. In seconds, his suit was sealed. David then moved over to where his sniper rifle was secured in the dropship. After magnetizing it to the back of his armor, he pulled out his trusty tomahawk. "Lemne at em, Boss! Rebecca is thirtsy!"

"Good hunting," she told the three as they lined up at the emegency dorsal hatch. Man'darr slapped the hatch control, causing the door the slide open revealing the clouds dissipating as the drop ship passed through them, revealing the rubble below that had once been a city.

Naxea spoke into the comm to the pilot of the drop ship. "At two thousand feet, level off for ten seconds and slow your speed, and flash the warp nacelles to blind any enemy watching and then proceed to land."

"Acknowledged, Colonel," came the pilot's reply.

A moment later the three Marines dropped through the hatch and out of sight just as the nacelles flashed, casting a bluish light in the compartment before the hatch closed.

---Space---

"Stabilizer's gone!" a voice cried out desperately from Vogel's comms. The German pilot looked out to his side in time to see an out-of-control fighter disintegrate into nothing, the pieces floating possibly forever in the ebony void of space.

"This in Green 6....!" Another voice shouted out. "This guy's all over me!"

"This is Eight, Ill be right there!"a reply came.

"I'm HIIIIIITTT!" Green 6 shouted.

Kurt saw the Green fighter careening towards the Marine convoy, its rear trailing flames that quickly snuffed out by the vacuum of the cosmos. The stricken starfighter impacted against a dropship, destroying both vessels in a hail of fire.

Berlin had no time to mourn. His sensors registered hits to his left rear quarter as his fighter shook as if kicked in the stomach.

"Scheisse!" Vogel cried out before jerking his stick hard to the right while shoving the aileron full to the left, forcing his ship into a tight barrel roll to dodge the fire. A warning light glowed amber, telling him his rear shields were down to 40 percent. Once he had barrel-rolled for three seconds, the German yanked the stick back, until his craft was turned 180 degrees, before rotating on its axis to now streak the other way; an Immelmann turn. But his opponent would not be dissuaded; he still rained fire upon Kurt, the impacts against his shields making his panel screech loudly in protest.

Kurt looked desperately out the rear, trying to find his opponent, gauge his next move. Vogel slowed radically, juked to and fro, even tried to rotate on his vertical axis after shutting down engines to rapidly change direction, and still his foe pursued him, his green weapon fire cascading around him like a waterfall of death.

Kurt grew impatient, and impatience is death, as they taught at flight school. "What are you? The damn Red Baron, himself?" Vogel growled into his cockpit.

Kurt keyed his comm to an all channel. "Berlin to all: I've got a bandit on me. He's on me tight. I cant shake him."

"Hold on Berlin." Gary's voice came through the com. "I've got him. Dive to the right, in three, two one!" As Gary triggered his own weapons on the enemy fighter giving Berlin fits.

Kurt did as he was directed, diving hard to the starboard side, firing port thrusters to give him just a bit more turning power as he did so. He turned to his left to see his pursuer get hit on his shields. The enemy turned up to evade, but Reaper's fire caught him, and the vessel exploded into two fragments, the cockpit seperating from the hold.

Hope the prick suffocates Kurt thought to himself. Outwardly, he turned on his comm.

"Thanks Reap. Good shooting."

"Glad to be of service Berlin." Gary replied crisply.

"Watch out! two from your below you!" Vogel called out.

"On it." Gary replied as he spun his fighter violently away from his position above Berlin. "Diving right, you go left."

"Roger." Kurt replied, banking left to turn on the rearmost of the two fighters. He got on his tail, and squeezed a burst at him, which missed.

Kurt! You impatient prick! Vogel chided himself. He willed himself to wait for a firing solution. The enemy, most likely sensing his intention, juked and jived and random intervals to spoil his aim. He glanced quickly at his HUD.
47 percent. It was his highest percentage so far. He took the shot.

Another red-tinted curtain of amplified photons shot forth. The burst hit the enemy on his starboard nacelle, crippling it. As the foe began to spiral, Berlin let loose another burst, which impacted the enemy amidship, turning it into fragments.

"Splash one!" Kurt called out into comms. "How you doing Reaper?"

Gary didn't reply instantly as he was lining his foe up for a kill shot, they danced through the air each trying to get the upper hand until Gary had finally gotten up and behind his foe. He toggled his switch to send forth a volley of photons, striking the enemy fighter taking out his engines. Another volley and it was destroyed. Now he replied to Berlin. "Splash two Berlin."

"Copy that." Kurt replied. The German pilot switched his frequency to the ALL station. "All Falcons, this is Falcon Leader: report BDA, over."

I hope those Jarheads are doing ok down there. Kurt thought to himself.


=== END PART TWO ===

[OFF:]


Legend:

*Close Air Support - Fires provided by aircraft to support ground forces
#Bandits - Enemy aircraft
**Pollack - Fighter slang: to paint a target with infrared lasers to aid in detection for targeting. Term comes from the noted painter Jackson Pollack
##Gulf Romeo - Brevity code: Gun Run
***Alpha Fox - Brevity code: Anti-fighter
###BDA - Battle Damage Assessment
****Alpha Charlie - Atmospheric Combat