Destined for Earth

Log 1

++LOG BEGINNING++ 

>Log location?<

++Flight log recorded in the black box contained within Navy Thunderbolt Fighter++

>Designation?<

++Cypra Mundi Class Thunderbolt Fighter {SERIAL:F97856534}++

>Pilot?<

++Corvin Nepthune {Ident: CN54983278}++

>Warzone?<

++Warzone Designation{:} =][= BLOCKED BY INQUISTORIAL DECREE =][= {:}++

++VALID CREDENTIALS REQUIRED++

>                                         <

++ACCEPTED//Port connection found//Offload data?++

>Confirmed< 

++Offloaded++

++Begin Log?++

>Confirmed<

The cockpit of Foxtrot Nine rasped shut, the sharp screech of aged adamantium grinding against equally aged metal pierced my ears. I settled into the seat of the machine and wrapped leather gloves around the joystick. My hands were shaking, I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. It did more harm than good. I hacked and coughed, tear laden eyes shakily guided my hands over to the oxygen mixer. I adjusted the knobs and inhaled a far more refreshing breath. "Bad start kid." I heard over my vox bead, my brain took a minute to register my new squad lead. "Sorry sir, had to tweak the mix." My cheeks were flushed red from embarrassment, I had somehow left the vox open and the rest of the squadron heard my fit. "You're okay, just keep your vox off before we're in the air." I sheepishly switched the comm bead off and leaned back into my seat, letting out a sigh. Not a truly bad start, but pilots were a superstitious bunch. Omens and all that. I laughed softly, at least I was finally in the air. Even if the circumstances bringing me here weren't all that great. "All right squadron, final weapons and engine checks. Oxygen too." The squadron leaders last statement elicited some chuckles from everyone else. I laughed along with them, I'd rather not come off as the proud type. "The Chief just gave me confirmation, all units prepare for take off. Rookie, you go first, lets see how you like the real thing." 

I gulped, the simulations had been very in depth about take-off and landing. First engage the engine, I flicked the switch bringing the turbofan jets into operation. Then taxi to the strip, I placed the fighter's engines at a low power and slowly turned onto the strip. "Control? Foxtrot-Niner is ready for take-off." The slight vox echo made me cringe, my voice was so child-like compared to that of my comrades. All silently watching from their own machines at the left of the strip. "Foxtrot 9 you are cleared, The Emperor Protects." The voice of the control operator was soothing and the prayer at the end of her statement calmed me just a bit. "The Emperor Protects." I repeated, I began to slowly pull on the engine control and sped the Thunderbolt fighter up. Soon the machine was slowly taking off, I felt a smile break out across my face from the sheer power of the machine. I bet my Da would've never guessed I'd be flying for the Emperor's own Imperial Navy! The strip almost lazily grew smaller behind me, as I turned my rear mirror to look back at the quickly shrinking strip I could already see the squadrons planes lifting off after me. 

"Flawless job Rookie, ease up and fall in. All units form up on my plane, ident Acharius." I let up on the throttle and fell in behind the slowly forming squadron. Soon the dozen or so aircraft were arrayed in a neat little spear tip, My own place somewhere at the bottom left made me feel a little inadequate. I occupied myself by looking at the sights around me, the clouds were so small from so high up. Their plump shapes like those of sheep. I continued to stare out while periodically checking I wasn't about to crash into the machine in front or behind me. It was surprisingly peaceful, if not for the thrum of jet engines and another sound. A shrill shriek, that was growing substantially louder. I stopped staring at sounds and began to scour the skies. When I saw a slight shimmer amidst the clouds, a black and purple smudge. "Oh Throne! Hostiles on our left bearing...um..." I scrambled to locate the compass at the dash of my plane. When I found it and turned back to the smudges last position it was...gone. "Repeat last Foxtrot 9?" My eyes widened with surprise as I heard the sound of control instead of squadron lead. "Control? What? I-Damn, Do you have any reports of hostiles in our area? I...might have seen something."

Vathor lulled his craft into obedience with a small flicker of his thoughts. The Razorwing's engines screamed as it plummeted in an exhilarating dive. Vathor felt the forces of reality press upon him, his vision clouded and his mind rebelled. Unacceptable. The biodermic implants within his flesh activated, the sharp pain brought him back to alertness. Soon enough to pull up on the yoke of his craft and line up directly over the mon'keigh lines. In the eyes of his craft he watched them scurry and scatter in the wake of his shadow. He laughed. How pathetic. The trigger rune of his craft lit up and he began to rain death on the unprotected. Men and material evaporated in the wake of missile strikes, they were shredded in seconds by lances of shimmering light.  He pulled off and began to bank slowly, this pleasure needed to last.