Banshee Wave

A young Covenant warrior shoulders the terrifying role of a Banshee pilot in a pitched naval battle.
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“First wave pilots, to your Banshees!” the deckmaster bellowed. He stood framed in the door, arms folded like some ancient god of doom. “Move, worms! Get off my ship!”
Tuka ‘Refum rose alongside a dozen others. He stood unsteadily on the deck, weighed down beneath his ill-fitting armor. His stomach lurched, and not from the ship’s combat maneuvers. His hearts pounded furiously against his chest. This was it. His first real flight. And it would almost certainly be his last.
The pilots stumbled out into the corridor. Anxious officers herded them into lines on either side of the corridor. More Sangheili emerged from other ready rooms to join the grim procession. The deckmaster marched in the center, bellowing instructions at the top of his lungs.
“The humans have launched fighters to disrupt our formation. The vermin are trying to regroup their vessels and escape our holy wrath. You will not let that happen! Destroy those fighters! Guard our vessels with your lives! If anyone returns to the hangar before the battle is over, I’ll execute him myself!”
A warrior in a deacon’s pale armor marched solemnly behind the deckmaster, intoning, “The Didact’s Hand himself has consecrated your souls. Your feet already tread the path. Go forth in faith, my brothers. The gods go with you.”
The gods go with us. That knowledge ought to lift Tuka’s spirits. To his shame, he could not keep his fear in check. My faith is weak. I’m a coward. Gods, please forgive me.
“What should we do?” Ahead of Tuka, young Yiv ‘Uithur whispered to the nearest officer. “I haven’t even trained for formation flying. How will I destroy the human ships.”
“Keep your hands on the firing studs and pull when the humans come into view,” the officer muttered in a resigned tone. “Pray the gods show mercy when they cast fates for this battle.”
The fates were already cast and the pilots in this hall were the losers. Tuka knew enough about fighter strategy to know that in the cold vacuum Banshees were hardly the killing machines they were in land engagements. They existed as a distraction, something for the human pilots to waste ammunition on while the Seraphs—the real fighters—lined up for the killing shot. Some of the pilots in the second wave might get lucky and survive the battle. Most of the first wave would be destroyed the moment they launched.
Oh gods, please be with me. I don’t want to die. I’m not ready to die. Tuka could barely breathe. He would have collapsed to the deck had the warriors behind him not pressed forward and driven him down the hall.
The doomed line reached the end of the corridor. Blast doors slid open and the pilots filed onto the hangar’s upper catwalk. Rows of Banshees lined the catwalk, bulbous hulls already pointed down at the hangar’s lower door. Each pilot hurried to his assigned craft. Tuka couldn’t bear to look down at the door into space beyond. He’d be out there soon enough. He would probably die out there.
Gods, please. Let me live.
“Tuka,” Yiv hissed, gripping his Banshee’s hull for support. “Cover me out there. Please. I’m not ready to die.”
Tuka couldn’t bring himself to look at his comrade.
“Stop mewling,” a passing officer growled. “You are Sangheili warriors, not Unggoy peons. Your ancestors ride with you into battle. Do not dishonor them or our Covenant!”
“Pilots, mount your Banshees!” the deckmaster bellowed.
Tuka pulled himself into the Banshee cockpit. He pressed his face up against the forward display as the  fighter sealed itself around him. The display lit up before him. He was well and truly trapped now, sealed inside a tiny fighter about to hurtle into the void.
“First wave, prepare to launch,” a voice trickled through the Banshee’s communication system. “Target the human fighters and draw them back towards their own vessels. Gods be with you.”
Gods be with me. Please.
Without any further ceremony the fighters released from their holdings and hurtled out of the hangar. Tuka held back a cry of terror as his Banshee broke through the hangar’s energy shields and out into a maelstrom of plasma fire. The tiny craft’s gravity propulsors took hold and quickly—too quickly—the craft’s momentum was under Tuka’s control. He yanked the throttle and soared away from the mothership. Human fire tore through the space around him. Just ahead of Tuka, another Banshee absorbed a burst of fire and vanished in a fireball.
On the squadron display, Yiv ‘Uithur’s status light disappeared.
He had no time to mourn his friend. Tuka fired the Banshee’s plasma cannons at the nearest human fighter. He had no time to see if the shots landed. He jerked away and pushed further down toward the human vessels. More Banshees formed up on either side of him. Another wave of human fire shredded half of them. The survivors pressed on, carried only by faith and courage.
Gods defend me.
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