Long Way Home (#wattys2016)

10

Dracoth IV, Galactic West

The platoon was formed up by the launch pad. The Eagle Carrier Was being loaded with supplies, while the Falcons were being loaded ready for what added up to combat patrol.

"Fucking resupply mission. Why did we get this bullshit assignment?" One of the soldiers murmured.
"Better than being stuck on base for a week." Frago shot back. That silenced the trooper.

A noncom walked over to them.
"The transport is ready for boarding."
"About fucking time." Frago led the men, marching across the tarmac and up the back hatch into the interior of the aircraft. 25 seats lined the edges. One soldier per seat. This variant was often used for drop platoons to insert into enemy territory.

Engines started up, a dull roar. Looking through the window opposite, we saw the blue flame of the retro-boosters igniting, trying to push the heavy craft into the air. Slowly, shaking my, the Eagle ascended. The Falcons took to the skies, forming a protective triangle around the transport. Picking up velocity, they turned and began the long journey south.

The aircraft shook as it flew into a bubble of turbulence. Jameson gripped tightly to a support by his seat. The other troops were doing a variety of things. Some were engaging in light hearted banter. Others just tried to sleep.

After about an hour, Frago stood and made his way to the cockpit. The navigator looked over as the door slammed down.
"How far are we from Southern Command?"
"Quite a way sir. We're barely an eighth of the way there."
Frago grunted.

There was a crackle on the radio.

"Eagle 185 you are ordered to put down here and disembark unarmed. Failure to comply will result in you and you guards being shot out of the sky."
The pilot looked nervous.
He pressed a button and replied.
"The is Eagle 185, please identify."
A pause.
"Eagle 185, this is Southern Dig Site 3"

"Southern Dig Site? Never heard of it." Frago muttered. "Descend slowly. Let us know when it's safe to do a combat drop."

He slammed a button beside the door and stepped back into the main compartment.

"On your feet. Get set for a combat drop!"

"What? What's happening?"

"Fuck if I know. We're being told by southern troops to descend and surrender."

"Why? We're on their side, aren't we?"

"Not any more. Once we're dirt side, treat anyone armed as hostile. Consider that a standing order."

"We're low enough. You can engage a drop."

Frago smashed a button on the side. The back hatch slid open.

"The light is green. White team, go."

Five men stood, made their way over to the entrance and jumped, diving to the surface.
"Blue team, go."

Another five did the same.

"Green team, go."

Again.

"Black team, go."

They too jumped, leaving Frago with his personal squad.

"Crimson team, go."

The four men filed out. Frago took one last look around the interior of the plane, before following them out.

This was not the first time he had done a combat drop. He breathed evenly. The wind rushed around his helmet as he angled himself face first towards the ground. An altimeter on his display showed he was 1000 meters from the floor.

An explosion tore the skies.

"This is Crimson 1 to all teams. They know we've dropped. Repeat, they're onto us. White team, secure the LZ, be prepared for ground troops. Once Blue team lands, clear out and find us an escape route. Each team is to hold the position until the next team lands, then clear to the escape route." He shouted down comms. 850 meters. Gunfire rattled around him. The Falcons were doing their best to distract the enemy fighters, drawing their attention away from the falling platoon.

"Green 5, this is Crimson 1." He opened direct comms to Jameson. "Once you reach 100 meters, activate you boosters. They'll flip you around for a safe landing."
"Yes sir."

750 meters.

He fell in with the rest of his squad, taking the lead position. As a group they dived.

White team had landed, and were busy establishing a defensive perimeter. Blue team quickly followed. Green landed, then Black, all without an issue. 100 meters.
"Engage thrusters." His body flipped, and began a speedy but controlled descent to the ground. That's when he noticed the troops making their way over a sand dune towards Black teams circle.

"Black team, be advised, multiple hostiles converging on your position due East. Green team, move back to assist, White team and Blue team, hold the exit point.

25 meters. He could hear the gunfire now, even over the wind rushing past him.

10 meters. He pulled his gun from its back holster and checked it was loaded.

5 meters. He raised the weapon and braced for impact.

His legs slammed into the sand, knees folding to assist the shock absorbers in the armour. Without a second thought, he straightened up, falling into position alongside Black team, just as the first of the hostile troops began to come over the hill. A platoon of infantry in total, Frago guessed. Outnumbering his force by approximately two to one. However, his troops had the advantage of armour.

Raising the gun up, he took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. His shots found the target, three bullets plunging deep into his body in a diagonal line. One on the left side of his chest, one through the neck and one through the side of his head. The body jerked and flew backwards in a spray of blood, bone and brain tissue. Around him, the members of Black team were doing the same, and it soon became abundantly clear that the armoured men of his platoon would win the fight.

The last body hit the ground. There was silence.

"Green team, Black team, join up with Blue team and White team. Crimson team, come with me. There's a few things I need to check before they realise they've lost and send more troops."

No one questioned the order. The two other teams made their way slowly to the escape route, whilst Frago lead Crimson team towards the sand dune the enemy had attacked from. He stepped carefully over the bodies of the fallen, weapon raised in case more troops appeared. None did. He made his way up, crawling the last few meters to avoid being spotted.

What he saw shocked him.

A huge crater in the sand. A desert dig site. A battalion of infantry ready to defend it.

He zoomed in on the centre, where the dig hole was situated. Hover diggers moved in and put, depositing large piles of dirt.

"What are they looking for?" Frago murmured to himself. He slid his way down the dune, not wanting to expose himself for any longer than he had to. He rejoined Crimson team.

"It's some sort of dig site, but I don't know what their looking for. Come on, let's get out of here before they start looking for us."

They made their way across to the rest of the platoon.

He quickly checked his compass. He turned left.

"North is this way."

He started the walk.

The long way home.