Halo: Dawn of Darkness

==Synopsis==
The year is 2555. The UNSC has continued its inexorable march to retake the colonies abandoned and claimed by secessionist forces during the Human-Covenant War. In 2553, the Victorian Independent State fell. In 2554, the Glabetovan People's Republic. It is now March of 2555. The Gilgamesh Free State is on high alert, prepared for all-out war with the UNSC. Its army and paramilitaries have been mobilized, and the population of the Free State are now well aware of the quickly encroaching war.
==Chapter 1==
===Briefing===
New Belgrade Air Base
New Belgrade, Gilgamesh, Alpha Chandra System
2241 Hours, February 28th, 2555
"Gentlemen, take your seats."
Feeling his eyelids begin to droop as soon as he sat into the chair, First Lieutenant Alex Vens quickly slapped himself in the face, and as it had many times before, he was wide awake once again. Looking around the auditorium at his fellow pilots in the Capital Defense Brigade, his eyes focused on the man who had just walked in and replaced their squadron commander behind the podium in the very front of the room. He was not in a green flightsuit, instead, he was wearing the standard Gilgamesh Free Army issue green drill uniform. Whispers quickly began to circulate around the room. One of his fellow pilots turned to him, and said "It's Marshal Garan.". Vens looked at the man behind the podium. He had met Garan once before when he had greeted him Vens and his fellow Glabetovan pilots when they had arrived in 2553 to learn how to fly the F/A-440. That Marshal had been confident, with a firm handshake and a charismatic air. This Marshal that stood before the Brigade was a different one, though. He seemed as tired as the other pilots in the room, with evident dark circles under his eyes, and seemed stressed, running his hand through his hair or smoothing over his eyebrow at random intervals. Finally, he cleared his throat, the whispers died down, and began to speak.
"Gentlemen, evidently from the whispers among you, I do not need to introduce myself. As you know, the UNSC is more than likely going to attack in the very near future. With your reorganization and retraining on new aircraft, I'm certain that you all have also discerned our strategy is a new one, and indeed, it is. Tonight, most of you will be loading into your aircraft and relocating to new positions. However, I am not here to tell you that, those specifics are in the sealed orders issued to your squadron commanders. Instead, I am here to ask for ten volunteers to stay behind and fight the UNSC in order to ensure that they do not know that we have pulled our forces to the frontier to counterattack when possible. I ask that those willing to volunteer please stand so that you may be recognized for your willingness to fight in the face of the odds, and possibly make the ultimate sacrifice."
As the speech ended, hushed talking erupted among the pilots. Vens looked around the room, not sure what to do. Watching as the number of volunteers increased, among them all of his fellow Glabetovans, and some Gilgameshans, he quickly stood up. The Marshal continued speaking. "Those of you who have stood up, please come forward to be recognized." he said. Feeling weak, and his hands shaking, Vens held onto the row in front of him as he moved his way out into the aisles. Walking the length of the aisle, he and the nine other volunteers came up to the podium, lining up beside it, facing the audience. "These men have chosen, of their own free will, to stay behind and stand against the odds so that the Gilgamesh Free State may not perish from this planet. The medals, please."
Vens continued standing at attention, watching from out the corner of his eye as the Marshal pinned the medals onto each man's flightsuit, shaking their hands and saying something quietly to them, perhaps words of encouragement, or words of comfort for what they had just volunteered for. But they seemed sincere all the same. Finally, he reached Vens. Looking down at the medal he was holding, Vens spotted a silver cross suspended from a navy blue ribbon. Then he looked at Garan, who smiled at him, and said "Captain Vens, you came to Gilgamesh to learn how to defend your own nation's freedom. Now is your chance to avenge what happened to Glabetov. For your freedom and ours. Best of luck, make your nation proud.". 
On any other day, Vens might have been solely honored to hear those words from the leader of the Free State. But as he snapped up his salute and thanked the Marshal for his wishes, he had this underlying feeling of doom that came with them. But he put them aside. He had been trained by the best, and he had nothing to worry about, he wasn't going to die. Shot down? Maybe. But die? Never. And he knew that the Marshal's words held some truth. He would never be able to see his family and friends on Gilgamesh again because he was an enemy of the UNSC, and had they decided to leave his home alone to go its own way, he would never have been in this position. He wanted to fight them, he wanted Gilgamesh to stay free. He couldn't lose another home. He thought of the one he lost, of all the friends and family he'd never be able to see again, even though they were probably alive, or the lands he'd never be able to fly over again in a brand-new fighter. The thoughts filled him with equal parts remorse and anger.
By the time he came back to reality, Vens realized that as he had spaced out, the Marshal had said some final words, and was gone, leaving only the Brigade's commander, himself, and the other pilots and aircrew. As the ten went back to their seats, their commander took the podium, and began his own briefing.
"Gentlemen." he said. "The following information is classified Most Secret. Unfortunately, you will not be able to notify your families personally of your departure. They will, however, be notified through official channels by tomorrow morning. If you feel it necessary to record a voice message for your families, time will be allotted to do so. Tonight, those of you who are not remaining behind at the airfield with the pre-selected aircraft will be loading into the remaining ones, and flying to new bases, where you will receive further orders. These locations have already been uploaded to each of your aircraft's NAV systems. Are there any questions?" he continued. The room was silent. "That concludes this briefing. Retrieve your flying gear, and prepare for departure immediately." he said. 
As the rest of the Brigade's pilots and aircrew stood up and headed to kit up and fly out, Vens did the same, but instead congregated with the other nine pilots as they walked out of the briefing room, and towards the door leading to the flightline. As he walked, Vens looked at the medal that he had been awarded for a moment, before taking it off and putting it into his flightsuit's pocket.
As they walked out of the briefing room, Vens and the other Glabetovans retrieved their flight jackets. Made of brown leather with real fur lining, and the unofficial patch of their flight on their sleeve, a side-view of an eagle above four F/A-440s, enclosed within a shield with a scroll beneath it reading '1ST GLABETOVAN FIGHTER SQUADRON', they were their pride and joy, privately made on Glabetov before they had left. As the group walked out to the flight line, with the night's cold wind blowing at his flightsuit, Vens followed suit with the others and put his on. Standing outside the Brigade's building, the ten looked around the flightline. The wings of the Brigade's building for the two squadrons composing it had the lights on inside, and you could see the shadows of men moving around, and hear indistinct chatter between the pilots as they scrambled to get ready for departure. The other pilots shuffled around, silently trying to stay warm in the freezing air outside, and regretting that they had come out. Vens piped up. "So...drinks afterward at the Sky Kid?'" he said.
"Count me in." Captain Zupad, the flight leader of the Glabetovans, responded. As if they were all waiting for someone higher than them to say yes, the other pilots answered in the affirmative as well. Vens smiled. With his fellow pilots by his side, he almost felt invincible. Most of them had seen combat, and while the UNSC might outnumber them, and they might not be able to hold them off forever, they'd be able to survive long enough for their friends who were leaving tonight.
As he looked around, he realized that the other pilots were coming out, and the other nine were heading over to say their goodbyes. "Man, I really need to stop spacing out." he thought to himself as he sheepishly went over, trying to act like nothing was wrong.
Phrases of 'Good luck boys and girls, give 'em hell', 'Roll over on 'em' and various ones of affirmation and likewise wishes were exchanged between the pilots as the departing ones snapped up salutes to the ones who remained. One of the pilots stopped, turning to Vens. It was Captain, now Major, Lampert, the man who had instructed him on the AT-65 during initial flight training. He smiled, looking at Vens, and said "Looks like we'll finally be breaking up eh? Remember Vens, I trained you, and no one, here on Glabetov or wherever the Oonskies train their pilots, could make a better pilot than I can. So be an ace, make me proud. See you when this war's over."
Vens chuckled at Lampert's statement. "You judge how good a pilot is by how many bullets he sweats during the course of his training?" he said. "And I'm flying a jet, so I expect you to be a double ace." he continued. "Sir." he added on quickly.
"Smartass. I'll show you." Lampert responded, playfully punching Vens in the shoulder.
"Best of luck."
"Likewise."