Air Superiority

Venter grabbed the officer by his tactical vest and dragged him forward. The rebel squirmed in his grip, eyes darting down to the edge of the Falcon’s passenger bay. “The broadcast station,” Venter demanded. “Is it holding?”
“It hadn’t fallen when we took off,” the man admitted. “But the UNSC pressed the attack on that district over an hour ago. They’ll be swarming all over there!”
Venter released the man and pounded on the back of the cockpit. “Get us over to the broadcast station,” he ordered the pilot over his headset. “Now.”
“But sir, we have to evacuate! They’ll have air superiority in less than—“
“Then we’re already running against the clock. Get us there now or you’ll have something much worse than the UNSC’s missiles to deal with.”
The line buzzed for a moment. Then the Falcon jerked, turning back towards the embattled city. Its wingmates faltered, then turned to follow it in. Venter braced against his seat, fastening a safety harness to his combat webbing. His fingers tightened around his assault rifle. Every inch of his body was already sore from days of combat. Behind his fierce front, he understood the others’ terror. They’d only barely escaped with their lives. There were hundreds of fighters in this city who wouldn’t be that lucky. And now they were headed back into that firestorm.
I don’t have a choice, he thought grimly. I’m not leaving a comrade behind. Not again. He was sick of being the one who escaped while his friends died.
“Eyes peeled!” he barked at the door gunner. “If you see anything that even looks like UNSC, cut it in half!”
The woman nodded, flexing her hands against her gun’s firing studs. On the other side of the troop bay her fellow gunner had already opened fire at a building below them. The machine gun cracked to life, pouring fire down on the troops below. Venter leaned over in time to see a dozen tiny Marines rush for cover. Not for first time since the battle had begun, Venter felt a faint twinge of guilt run through his body. Not too long ago those had been his comrades, the men and women he’d fought and bled alongside during the Covenant War. Looking out at the city below, he wondered if freedom from Earth was really worth it. Had they really survived the Covenant just to go right back to slaughtering each other?
But he had chosen his path. This was his fight now.
The Falcon jerked and swerved, a trio of missiles streaking past a foot overhead. The door gunner swore and turned her machine gun to fire a sustained burst down at a UNSC Pelican trying to get a missile lock on the rebel flier. The bulky dropship weathered the storm of bullets, rising up through them like a rock through water. Then a burst cut through the cockpit. The dropship wavered, then slowly, almost gracefully, slipped back down towards the streets below.
Category:The Weekly